Chapter 31
CHASE
Seconds pass and I don’t tear my eyes from Pippa as she scopes out the room for my “date” and the camera crew. Her profile is perfect. I’d like to kiss her cheek, the space behind her ear...her neck.
The back and forth, hot and cold, up and down has been going on for too long and the kiss changed something within me. No, it lit a fire. I’m always the nice guy, going along with the crowd.
All this time, I’ve felt like I’m a kid again, subject to the rules of the adults in my life. Admiring Pippa in secret, stolen moments from across the dining hall. Only, I’m the adult. This is my life.
It’s time for me to man up or shut up.
So here I am. No, here we are.
“Good evening and welcome to Dalton’s. May I get you something to drink?” the server asks.
“He’ll wait for his date,” Pippa responds, now reviewing her menu like a chemistry exam study guide.
“Uh, okay,” the server says, seemingly perplexed that she’d replied to the question even though we’re at the same table with only enough for two people.
I place a little bet with myself to see how long it will take Pippa to realize she is my date. After our kiss on the street, I went home and sulked. Then I snapped.
It was time to make a change, so I called Rhiannon and told her what’s going to happen for the final installment of Crush or Cupid. She went along with it when I told her The Crush List on her desk was about me, rendering her services as a dating coach unnecessary if she’d let me do things my way.
Raising my first few fingers in a friendly gesture to retain the server’s attention, I say, “Actually, I’ll take an Arnold Palmer and she’d like the pink mint lemonade granita.”
Pippa wiggles in her seat. “Ooh. That sounds good. Lucky lady. I haven’t heard you order for your date before. That’s old-fashioned. Some women are okay with it and others not.”
I let out a breath. “I haven’t quite had a date like this before.”
“Well, don’t mind me while I wait for a nearby table to open up. I am just here to observe. So far, so good.” She gives a couple slowly finishing their meal, the side-eye as if that’ll get them to move along.
“Don’t worry about the table.”
“But your date, Jude, should come at any moment and would be insulted if she saw—”
“I sincerely appreciate your concern about what my date will think about me. But seeing as this is all for show...”
“Not if you get your happily ever after.”
“Who said I want a happily ever after?” I ask.
Trust me, I want one.
“Family, farmhouse, dogs...you said so yourself.”
“So that’s what a happily ever after looks like, huh?” An amused smile plays on my lips. “Then we want the same thing.”
“I didn’t say I want that.”
“Okay, then describe your happily ever after.”
Pippa’s throat bobs as if she’s nervous to confirm that we want the same thing. “Um, I’ll live in an apartment with a bunch of cats, alone.”
I squint because this is such a lie. Then again, she’s been telling some whoppers lately. “You’re allergic to cats. Cats and chocolate. A crying shame, if you ask me.”
“How do you know?”
“In high school, Marlow was asking around about who had a cat so she could collect fur, probably for a prank. Your brother said he didn’t have a cat because you’re allergic. I am too, so it stuck in my mind. I like cats.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Brow a rumpled mess, she sets down the menu.
“Later, we found out that Marlow thought it would be funny to make you have a sneezing fit, so she planted cat hair on your tennis uniform in the locker room. She was wicked.”
“And you’re going to marry her.”
“I thought I was going to marry my date, here tonight,” I say, playing along with her elaborate attempt to deny our attraction to one another.
She checks the time on her phone. “Jude is late.”
“And I’m getting hungry.”
“Be a gentleman and have some patience.”
I level her with my gaze. “Pippa, I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
“Yeesh. Alright. Alright.” She looks around as if my date will materialize.
The comment is meant for her. After the kiss we shared under the maple trees, I’ll wait for Pippa even if it takes another ten years.
Her eyes drift to meet mine. The flickering candlelight from the tables paints her skin like soft sand painted on a canvas. She’s the woman of my dreams, but this is reality and there aren’t any cameras on the premises.
Then Pippa abruptly hops to her feet as the couple at the nearby table gets up.
“Pardon me. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be sitting over here.
” She lowers down and wrinkles her nose.
“Oh, the chair is warm. Well, thank you. Hope you enjoyed your meal. Can’t wait to try that whipped ricotta caprese appetizer,” Pippa rambles.
“You can’t just rush customers out of the restaurant,” I say softly.
“They were done eating and paid their bill,” she says innocently.
“They’d hardly set down their napkins.”
“They probably have theater tickets or have to get home to the babysitter. Hurry, scurry in the city.” Her accented voice rises a pitch as if she’s trying to rationalize her irrational behavior.
“This isn’t a seat yourself joint. What about the rules?” I ask.
She waves her hand. “It’s fine, Chase. I’ll mind my own business and wait over here, but let’s hope Jude doesn’t take too long since the runner-up is Marlow.”
“Marlow is not the runner-up.” I shake my head slowly and deliberately. I haven’t spoken to my father since the scene at the restaurant in London. I know it’s only a matter of time before I have to face him, but Marlow isn’t going to be part of the conversation. That’s a non-starter.
“Your father wants you to marry her,” Pippa says as if begging me to tell her otherwise.
I will tell her otherwise, loudly and repeatedly. “My father also did everything in his power to keep me from playing football. And look, I’m one of the top players in the country. Just because Rhett Collins wants something doesn’t mean he’ll get it. Me, on the other hand—”
“You what?” she asks, leaning across the aisle toward me.
“Have you ever watched a Bruiser’s game?”
She leans back in the chair and her cheeks tint pink. “Of course,” she says quietly.
The corner of my lip lifts because I didn’t expect the sheepishness accompanying her answer.
“I didn’t peg you for a football fan.”
“I’m not necessarily. Just, um, appreciating athletic talent and skill.” She picks up a few crumbs with the pad of her pointer finger and lets them drop onto a napkin.
The conversation takes an interesting turn because, by athletic talent and skill, I think she means a particular athlete’s talent and skill.
“Would you say that you’ve watched, say, a decent amount of football? Is that correct?” I’m baiting her because I have a sneaking suspicion that I know the answer and the reason why, by the way she shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with the salt shaker.
“Mmhmm.”
“Just Boston Bruisers games or other teams too?”
“I’ve caught a few games here and there. Boston Bruisers, their rivals, the Miami Riptide, and um, teams.”
“I see.”
Flustered, she eyes the room like a nervous hen who lost her flock. “Where is this woman? She’s going to be broadcast on television. She can’t just show up late to a date.” Pippa checks her phone again.
The server appears, her head volleying between us as she sets down two baskets with rolls and butter. “Did you want to order any appetizers for your, um, tables?” she asks, confused about our arrangement.
“We’re not together,” Pippa says, matter-of-factly.
“You sure about that?” I ask Pippa. “We drove here together and I just learned that you’re my biggest fan.”
She gasps. “I said no such thing.”
I explain to the server that Pippa watches the Boston Bruisers games but isn’t a football fan. “Maybe you could help me understand why that would be the case.”
The server bats her eyelashes at me. “That’s simple. She must like one of the players.”
“As I was saying...” I toss a smirk at Pippa and then turn back to the server. “Are you a Bruisers fan?”
“Yes,” she gushes about the team.
“Then you’ll know that we have a saying. Well, a few. My grandfather would be proud. He was a big fan of sayings, idioms, maxims...”
The server raises her hand as though she’s in class and has the correct answer. “I think the saying you’re referring to is ‘It ain’t over ‘til we’ve won.’” She correctly recites the classic Bruiser’s team quote.
I give her a nod of affirmation.
The server bounces on her toes and grins.
“I knew that.” Pippa swivels in her seat to face me, her cheeks pink with frustration. “It means that you’ll play until you win.”
The tension between us is as dense as cold butter, but as our eyes make contact, it slowly starts to melt.
“And I play for keeps,” I say, my voice a growl.
The server waves her order pad in front of her face. “I’ll leave you two to think about those appetizers for a few more minutes.”
The tables still divide us, but I say, “There’s an elephant in the room.”
Pippa looks around. No elephants or other pachyderms feature in the décor.
“When we were at the park the other day, you kissed me.” I gaze from her eyes to her lips, feeling the same surge I did when I kissed her back.
“Think of it as a rescue mission. After all, you saved me from Benedict.”
“But you’re right. I do need rescuing...from this charade. From people trying to keep us apart.”
One after the other, she taps the table with all five fingertips. “Apart? It’s only a table between us while we wait for your date.”
“Why don’t you be my date?”
“Chase, I can’t do that,” she whisper shouts as if appalled I’d suggest such a thing, and yet her eyes dim. “I can’t date you. You’re off-limits. Plus, rich, handsome, and famous.”
I smirk. “What was that second one? Handsome. You think so?”
She looks around guiltily as though being caught on film and then nods. “You’re also intelligent, kind, funny, but—” She wrings her hands in frustration.
“But?”
“But that’s why you’re so great for Crush or Cupid.”
“Do go on.” It’s better to let her sing my praises first because the list of things that I love about Pippa would keep us here all night and I imagine the waitstaff have places to be.
“I hate to admit it, but those things are all true. You know I can’t lie.”
“But you have been. To yourself. To me.”
“Chase, you know we can’t.”
“Our parents seem to disagree.”
“Your dad does, that’s for sure.”
“Chase.” She gazes at her hands. “You can’t keep chasing me.”
“Then stop running.”
Our gazes lock. Hold. The chemistry between us lights a spark, igniting a light to illuminate the truth. There is nothing that can keep us apart. Not rules or tables or the past.
“Come here,” I say.
She looks around. As if realizing nothing is going to stop this lion, or our destiny, a cute little smile picks up her lips. “Come get me.”
Mine quirk.
Her eyes dance with desire.
I push out my chair, preparing to get up and bring her over here if I have to—the busboy still hasn’t cleared the glasses from the previous guests. “I made my own arrangements for tonight when I decided that I’m done playing games, well, off the football field.
Pippa blinks a few times as though slowly understanding what I said. Her lips ripple and the corners of her eyes crinkle. Laughter comes in fits and starts, but it’s contagious because a chuckle rolls through me and soon, we’re both practically doubled over.
Seeing the relief on Pippa’s face and the freedom there fills me with something rare. Something I want to snatch out of the air and hold close, keep safe.
“This isn’t the high school dining hall.
We’re sitting together. I’ve gone along with this nonsense, as endearing as it is, long enough.
” I roll my shoulders, crack my knuckles, and then get to my feet.
While Pippa watches my every move, I set aside the second chair from my table.
Marching over to her table, I pick her up, chair and all, and then set her down back at my table.
Everyone else is staring, too.
“Now, can we try to be adults and not irrational teenagers and enjoy a meal at my favorite restaurant?”
“Fine,” she says, returning to her deep menu study.
“The flatbread pizza appetizer sounds good,” I say.
“It’s always you and the pizza,” she says.
I close Pippa’s menu and set my gaze on her. “I love pizza. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In between. When I see pizza, I get excited. I have to have it. I cannot get enough pizza.”
She gives me a long look as though wondering if I’m talking about pizza at all.
The server appears, at last ready to take our order. To make up for being rude patrons and hogging two tables, I place a sizable order and plan to leave a generous tip.
“You were saying about pizza?” Pippa asks.
“For years now, I’ve been searching for the best one.”
“Then what? What will happen when you find it?”
I chuckle. “I’ll retire.” I’ve never told anyone my big plan before. And I can’t tell her right now either because a couple appears at our table, explaining that they couldn’t help but notice me and are wondering if they can have me sign their receipt.
“Only if you already paid,” I joke.
It’s no surprise I got noticed, considering the scene we’d caused with the tables.
For the rest of the meal, I’m met with numerous interruptions by friendly fans. This isn’t quite the date with Pippa that I’d been hoping for when I scrapped the final date on Crush or Cupid, promising Rhiannon a great finale. But that’s okay. I still have a little patience left.