Chapter 13 This Time, Maybe
This Time, Maybe
The next morning, Savannah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, last night’s conversation replaying in her head like a song she couldn’t turn off. Every word, every glance, every fucking breath he had taken felt like it had been burned into her memory.
Chase Montgomery.
She sighed, running a hand over her face.
It was maddening, the way he had settled so easily back into her world, into her thoughts, like he had never really left.
Her body still hummed from being near him, from the way his presence had wrapped around her like a slow, intoxicating fog.
It wasn’t just that he was familiar—it was that he still felt like something she had never been able to replace.
She hadn’t expected him. Hadn’t expected the way he still looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
Hadn’t expected the way her body had betrayed her the second he stepped closer, how the heat of him had wrapped around her like a drug she hadn’t realized she still craved.
God, he smelled good.
That mix of fresh cedar and something deeper, darker—like worn leather and the faintest hint of smoke.
The kind of scent that made her want to bury her face in his shirt and breathe him in until she was dizzy.
She had stood too close, let the scent of him fill her lungs, let herself sink into it for just a moment too long.
Her fingers still itched to grab the front of his shirt, to see if he felt as solid and real as he looked.
And his voice.
Low. Rough. Like he had been holding back for too long, and every word that left his lips was a battle between control and something reckless. She could still hear it, the way it had wrapped around her, teasing and coaxing, sending shivers down her spine.
"Tell me something—if I had kissed you back then, would you have let me?"
Savannah groaned, rolling onto her stomach and shoving her face into the pillow, heat spreading through her chest, pooling lower. He had no fucking right sounding like that, looking at her like that, making her feel like she was about to combust.
She’d felt drunk on him last night, her body betraying her at every turn. The way his fingers had barely brushed her arm, how her breath had stuttered, how her thighs had pressed together against the ache low in her belly.
She had wanted him.
She still wanted him.
And now? Now, she had his number.
He hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t demanded anything. Just slipped the piece of paper into her palm, let his fingers linger against hers a second too long, and left it up to her.
No pressure. No expectations.
Just the possibility of something.
And wasn’t that the scariest part?
Savannah ran her thumb over the paper still sitting on her nightstand, tracing the numbers she had already memorized. The promise of it made her stomach twist, made something deep inside her flicker to life.
All she had to do was call.
Just one call.
One call to see if this was real.
One call to see if that fire between them could finally, finally burn.
She exhaled sharply, grabbing her phone before she could overthink it.
Before she could talk herself out of it.
Chase answered on the second ring, his voice still rough from sleep. That deep, gravelly sound that sent a jolt of warmth straight down her spine.
"Didn’t think you’d actually call," he murmured, voice laced with something warm, teasing, like he was smiling through the words.
Savannah rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her heart thudding against her ribs. "Neither did I."
A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, deep and smooth. "Well, I like surprises."
"That so?" She teased.
"Mmhmm." His voice was slow, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. "And hearing your voice first thing in the morning? Might be my favorite surprise yet."
Her stomach flipped, heat curling in her core.
Damn him.
She bit her lip, trying to keep her voice steady. "Didn’t know you were so easily impressed."
"Oh, sweetheart, you underestimate yourself." His voice dropped lower, a lazy drawl wrapping around each syllable like silk. "I could listen to you talk all damn day."
A shiver ran down her spine. "You always this smooth in the morning?"
"Only when I’m talking to you."
Her breath caught. She saw a glimpse of the Chase she remembered—the one who could disarm her with a single glance, who was smooth, witty, flirty, and could leave her hanging on to just a few words.
The kind of man who knew exactly what he was doing, and worse, knew exactly how to get under her skin.
"You busy today?" he asked, voice shifting—casual, but expectant, like he already knew the answer and was just waiting for her to admit it.
She hesitated. She had things to do. Errands, check in with work, a whole list of things she should be focusing on.
But none of it seemed to matter right now.
"No," she said. "I’m free."
"Good."
There was a pause, just long enough for her to imagine the slow smirk spreading across his lips.
"Then let me take you out."
Savannah felt the flutter in her chest, the anticipation prickling at the edges of her skin. "Is that an invitation or a demand?"
Chase chuckled, low and smooth. "Would it turn you on if it were a demand?"
Her breath hitched, pulse skipping a beat. "Bold question."
"Honest question." He answered smugly.
She swallowed, hating how easily he got under her skin. Hating how much she fucking loved it.
"Well, I’ll let you come and pick me up. How about I text you this afternoon and let you know when to come?"
There was a beat of silence. Then his voice dipped lower, raspier, and so damn confident it sent a flush creeping up her neck.
"Careful, Savannah. You keep playing hard to get, and I might just have to make you beg."
Her stomach clenched, heat licking at the edges of her control. She opened her mouth to fire back, but nothing came out—just the sharp intake of breath that she knew he fucking heard.
His chuckle was slow, knowing. "I’ll be waiting. Don’t keep me waiting too long, sweetheart."
The call ended, but Savannah just lay there, staring at the phone, her heart thudding hard against her ribs.
She realized then,
She was in so much more trouble than she thought.