Chapter 44
forty-four
When I turn around, Miles and Elvis are both looking at me over the back of the couch with wide eyes like I’m deranged. My heart can’t decide if it wants to drop out of my chest or stop altogether and let me die. He’s here. He’s here?
A thud followed by a light knock on the door makes me jump, and I imagine he has his forehead pressed against the barrier between us. “Candace.” Chase’s smooth, deep voice slips under and around the cracks until it has enveloped my entire body with a rush of warmth.
I stare at the door. I know I should open it. I have to, right? But still, I look between the door and Miles with frantic eyes. Finally, I let my stare settle on Miles long enough to ask, “What is he doing here?” in a sharp whisper.
He whisper-yells back. “I don’t know. Maybe open the door so you can ask him!”
I bite my thumb just as Chase lets out another, “Candace.” The strain in his voice has me melting and wanting to bolt at the same time.
“Quit being a baby, and open the fucking door!” Miles whispers a little louder .
I shoot him a glare before biting the inside of my cheek and turning to grip the door handle so tightly my sweaty palms slip against the metal. Looking up, I take a deep breath before slipping out into the hall.
Chase takes a few steps away from the door to give me space. We’re standing across from each other in the small hallway, my back against the door, and his against the opposite wall.
He runs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Candace. You decide to say, ‘Jack Frost’ now? ”
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” I mutter as I look down the hall, desperate to avoid meeting his stare. “What are you doing here?” A young couple a few doors down lock up with a pie in hand like they’re about to head out for their holiday plans.
“Miles invited me last week. He didn’t tell you?”
I look at him. “Does it look like he told me?” Of all the things for Miles to do, this has annoyance prickling through me. “Wait. How would he even invite you? You haven’t seen him since we all went out.”
Chase tilts his head slightly. “He follows me and sent a message.”
My laugh sounds more like a scoff. “Of course.” I wonder if Miles has been following Chase on social media since he showed me his profile. Probably. My eyebrows furrow as I study him. “Why would you still come here?”
“Because sleeping together meant something, and you know it.”
My eyes dart around the hallway, and I hiss, “Can you keep your voice down?”
“No.”
I roll my eyes before pulling him to follow me. “Then let’s talk outside. I have a very nosy roommate whose ear is definitely pressed up against the door right now. ”
To my relief, Chase willingly follows. As soon as we step through the lobby doors, the wind whips stray strands of hair from my bun, and I wrap my arms around my torso to shield myself from the sudden chill. I would normally love this. All I ever want is for the temperature to drop on Christmas so it can give me an excuse to wear a sweater, but since I had no intentions of leaving my apartment today, this T-shirt isn’t giving me much to work with.
Chase takes in the sight of me and immediately shrugs off his jacket. “Here.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re cold.”
“We’re in Florida. It’s not that bad.”
“You’re right, we’re in Florida, and it’s not that bad.” He holds my stare. “You’re still cold.”
The last time I wore his jacket comes to mind. The way he looked at me as he kept his distance in his kitchen. The way he said it made me look innocent. The way he wanted to . . . I shut down the thought and grit my teeth. “I don’t need your jacket, Chase.”
He’s made up of harsh lines. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so stern, and that alone has me losing my bearings. With all seriousness, he says, “Candace, either you put on this jacket, or I drop it at your feet. At least your toes will be warm.” He holds out the jacket again, his eyebrows raised. “Well?”
I glance down at my bare feet before snatching the jacket out of his hand and slipping it on. “You are so dramatic.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m dramatic?” He holds my stare, waiting for some type of confirmation, so I cock an eyebrow. With a shake of his head, he runs a hand over his face. “You won’t even talk to me, but I’m dramatic.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of his jacket to stop myself from wringing my fingers until they’re sore. It’s warm, and it smells like him. I wish I could bring the fabric to my nose and breathe him in, but I fight the urge. The right pocket has a small piece of paper, and my fingers clutch it tightly. Chase’s eyes are already heavily landing on me again, so I say, “What is there to talk about?”
My question hangs in the air between us. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, but his eyes never leave mine. The weight of his stare has my nerves frayed, my pulse quickening beneath the surface. My fingers crumple the small paper, my tight fists hidden within the jacket pockets.
“I think you like me.”
My cheeks flare, and I let my eyes track a car passing because it’s easier than looking at him. “Well, I did sleep with you.”
“No.” He takes a step forward, forcing my attention back to him. “I think it’s more than that.”
He’s going to corner me about my feelings? Half of me wants to run while the other half wants to march up to him and remind him that he was the one who made this fake. He was the one who didn’t mean to ask me out in the first place. The result has me frozen in place, stuck between the two. My only defense is to raise an unimpressed brow. “You think it’s more than that?”
He considers me as he takes another careful step in my direction. “A lot more.”
I let out a huff and beg my cheeks not to give me away.
Even though I haven’t said anything, Chase closes the space between us with one final step. My body feels more alive than it has in days. When it comes to Chase, my body doesn’t care about self-preservation one bit. It’s only my heart that stands tall with the caution tape around it.
“I want a lot more,” he finally says, his voice quiet.
I blink, my hand loosening around the tiny paper. “No, you don’t. ”
Chase forces a laugh. “How are you going to tell me what I don’t want?”
Instead of answering his question, I blurt, “Your boss,” and hope he understands what I mean, even though I can’t make a coherent sentence right now.
He waves off my concern. “We don’t have to worry about her.”
My eyes widen. “She’s going to ruin me.”
He stares at me for a beat too long, like trying to figure something out. He needs to understand that it’s not a matter of just not wanting to lose those clients. I can’t afford to lose them.
“How much?”
“What?”
He keeps his eyes steady on me. “How much do you make from them each month?”
“A lot.”
“How much?”
I let out a breath. “Close to a grand? Sometimes more.”
He shrugs. “Cut my hair instead.”
“No,” I say with a snort of laughter. He can’t be serious.
Chase doesn’t crack. “Charge me whatever you want, and I’ll pay it. There’s no reason for you to be stuck under her thumb.”
“Because being stuck under yours is so much better?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and for the first time since getting here, he looks more like himself. “Yes, being stuck under me is better.”
He knows exactly where my thoughts have gone on that one because his lips pull into a subtle smirk. I stare at him, my eyes narrowed as I try to figure him out. “When did things change?”
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“When did you want this to be real? ”
He stares at me, his expression open and vulnerable. “Right after I met you.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Right after you met me, when? ”
He swallows. “At the coffee shop.”
That doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t until a week later that we got drinks, and a week after that when we went on our fake date. My emotions swirl beneath the surface, but I make sure to keep my expression neutral. He’s lying. As much as I wish Chase were different from the other guys I’ve gone out with this year, he has to be lying . . .
His jacket suddenly feels too hot. The few people walking the streets fade away. Even the paper in my clenched fist threatens to burn my palm. I pull my hand out and unfold it, no longer caring if I look nosy. It might be a receipt. It might be a gum wrapper. I don’t care. I need something to look at other than him. But what I pull from Chase’s suit pocket isn’t either of those things.
It’s a woman’s phone number.