Chapter 21
twenty-one
With every passing ring, my heart rate rises, but it’s too late to hang up. He’ll see I’ve called. Or I could play it off as an accident. Yeah. Maybe I’ll just say?—
“Candace?”
His voice sends a rush of heat through me, and I’m already a little breathless when I say, “Hey.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course. No—everything is fine. I was just . . . calling you. Should I not have?”
What sounds like a leather couch cushion shifting in the background catches my attention. “You can always call me. I just . . .” He lets out a breath of laughter. “I probably shouldn’t talk to you right now.”
“Are you with someone?” I blurt. There’s no background noise, but he could have a girl at his place. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I think I might be sick. “I’m sorry. I should have texted. I’ll let you?—”
“Yes,” he chuckles in my ear. “I’ve been on a date with a bottle of scotch all evening. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, and she’s telling me I should definitely not talk to you while I’m with her.”
I freeze until I manage to slowly take a seat on my bed. “Are you drunk? ”
“I prefer the word inebriated. Sounds better.”
I laugh. “And why are you inebriated?”
He lets out a groan that gets muffled, like he’s rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the plan. I just needed a drink after work, which led to thinking about shit, which led to drinking more.”
My smile fades. “What shit were you thinking about?”
He lets out a sigh, and when he speaks next, it sounds like he’s on the move. “It’s just my job. I swear this promotion is going to be the death of me. My boss expects too much. Way too much. And I’m having trouble keeping track of it all because the only thing I want to think about is you in that black dress.”
I stop breathing.
The sound of my pounding heart is accompanied by the sound of him rummaging through something. “Where the hell are my Oreos?” he mutters.
The air I’m holding rushes out in a laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What do you need me to repeat?” He sounds distracted. “The part about the Oreos, my shitty situation at work, or the part about you torturing me in that dress.”
The fact that he’s thinking of me at all has my stomach clenching. My mouth opens to say I wasn’t trying to torture him, but he speaks before I get the chance.
“Aha! I found the bastards. At least one thing is going right for me today.” The rummaging continues, and I listen with rapt attention. His voice gets a little muffled as he mutters about knowing they weren’t all gone, and I imagine he has the phone tucked in the crook of his neck. He groans, and in a louder, but more muffled voice, he says, “Damn it. They’re stale.” It sounds like he still has a mouthful of cookie. “See? I work too much. I’m not even home enough to enjoy the shit I buy before it goes bad.”
“We’ll get you more Oreos.”
“The mint ones.”
“Sure.”
“They’re the superior Oreo.”
“I believe you.”
“And you,” he says before I hear him collapsing back onto a leather couch. “You are so beautiful. And you and I . . .”
When he doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “Are friends?”
“Yeah. You and I are friends.” There’s another pause. “Why are we friends again?”
I smile even though he can’t see me. “Because you asked me to be your fake date for the Christmas party. How much have you had to drink?”
“No. I mean, why are we only friends?”
Time stands still. This being fake was all his idea to begin with. As much as my body buzzes at his words, I have a feeling it’s just the alcohol talking. “Because men are dumb. Remember?”
A humorless laugh leaves him. “Right. I’m working on it.”
“Are you?”
“Well, I thought I was. But getting drunk and calling you is probably sending me ten steps back.”
My lips twist into a smile. “Chase.”
I’m pretty sure he still has the stale Oreos with him because his mouth sounds a little full when he says, “Yes?”
“I called you.”
“Oh.” There’s more shuffling, like he’s sitting upright. “Why did you call me again?”
“No reason, really. You just seemed a little off earlier.”
“Yeah. I guess I was. ”
“Want to talk about it?”
“With you?”
My lips lift. “I am the one asking.”
“It’s so nice of you to ask. Did I mention how gorgeous you are?”
“You might have said something along those lines.” My voice is quiet. I know he’s drunk. I know I can’t take anything he says right now for face value, but God, does it feel good to hear him say it.
“And smart, too. As your friend, I feel like I should mention this isn’t just about your looks.”
A torn smile pulls at my lips. This conversation somehow makes me both elated and disappointed. “You’re a good friend.”
“No. No. I’m not. I’m pretty sure good friends aren’t supposed to think about you the way that I have.”
The air gets caught in my throat, and my thoughts betray me. I let myself picture Chase’s mouth on my neck, his hands in my hair while he?—
“You were right. I’m despicable. A despicable, despicable man. The things I would do to you if given the chance. Fuck, I need to get off the phone.”
Afraid he’ll hang up, I quickly blurt “But—” even though I don’t know what to say. This is definitely the alcohol. And for both our sakes, I should let him hang up. I should even encourage it.
“But?” His voice is low, rough, husky , and Chase being turned on might be my new favorite version. Forget weekend Chase with his relaxed clothes. I want bedroom Chase. I want the man whose voice sounds like this just from thinking about me.
Who am I kidding? I want them all.
“But you didn’t even kiss me last night,” I say quietly as I try to click all the pieces into place .
He lets out a breath caught between a scoff and a laugh. “I didn’t think you wanted me to. I was all over you last night, and you barely gave me anything back. Which is fine. I know our deal is for the party.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. He’s right, of course. I know I didn’t give him much to work with. He was practicing, and I was . . . focusing on not letting it affect me.
Before I can say anything, he adds, “And I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stop. I knew one kiss wouldn’t be enough. If I kissed you, I would have kissed you all the way to your bed and had my way with you.”
I look at my bed with new eyes, imagining what could have happened in here last night if I had just been a little more—well, more. A heavy heat settles between my legs at the thought of him being here with me. I’ve slept with guys I’ve liked less than Chase, but maybe that’s the issue. I like him too much for this to be casual. On second thought, I’m already in this deep, so if I went a little deeper . . .
“If you wanted me to, of course.”
Blinking, I come back to reality. I was so distracted by the sheer thought of him, I’d left him hanging. My mouth has suddenly gone dry, and I swallow. “Of course.”
There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for more, and I know I should say something. This is the part where I tell him I feel the same. This is the part where I let my guard down. Hell, this could be the part where I have a little fun with him and hear his husky voice again.
Fuck.
My forehead falls forward into my palm, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can do this. I can put myself out there for him. He might not want to date me, but he certainly wants something. I can be open to it, right? Maybe?
“I think I should hang up now,” he says, his voice a little sloppy, like he’s getting tired on top of being drunk. “I’ve been making a mental tally of all the things I’ll need to apologize for tomorrow, and it’s getting up there.”
I let out a laugh, but it does little to ease the tension in my body. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“You’re too good to me, Candace.” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice.
My heart races because there’s so much I want to say—so much I’m not sure I should. But ultimately, I shouldn’t say any of it while he’s drunk. Then we’d both have things to apologize for.
Letting out a sigh, I clench my fist around my blanket and say, “Goodnight, Chase.”
His voice is low as he says, “Goodnight, Candace.” Then he disconnects the call, and I ache to have him back on the line.
I think I did the right thing. He may not have meant half of what he said, but I can’t help feeling like I just missed the opportunity I’d been hoping for.