Chapter 28
twenty-eight
A half hour later, I’m standing in front of Chase’s high-rise apartment. If anything is clear after the conversation I had with Nicolette today, it’s that he makes more money than I do. When Miles and I were shopping for apartments, we didn’t even look in this area because we couldn’t afford it—and that’s with two incomes.
Inside, the espresso doors contrast with the cool white walls, and the whole vibe of the place makes me feel like I’m in an art museum. I had to stop by the salon to grab my shears and a few other things on my way here. I thought about turning back and changing my mind at least five times, but I know Miles wouldn’t have it. He’s right about Chase not becoming my client. I can always tell him I don’t want to cut his hair later. I just wish we weren’t opening this door in the first place.
Contradicting my thoughts, I raise my knuckles to the dark wood and knock. It only takes a moment for Chase to answer. Even though he put a shirt on, he still looks hot. His gray sweats casually hang on his hips and the white T-shirt paired with them stretches over his frame in all the right places .
“Candace,” he says with a grin, like he wasn’t expecting me. “Come on in.” He steps aside.
“Hey.” I try my best to give him a convincing smile, even though I’m still not sure if I should be here.
His apartment is stunning. Modern. Sleek. Clean. A large black leather couch takes up the open concept family room and faces a massive TV mounted to the wall. Behind it sits a large kitchen where an impressive island houses the sink.
“Chase,” I say quietly as a marvel at the high ceilings and dark accents against the light floors and walls. “Your place is gorgeous, but . . .” I turn to face him. “There’s no Christmas tree.”
He moves his hands to his pockets and leans up against the entryway like watching me take it all in is fun for him. He shrugs. “It’s just me. Seems kind of pointless to decorate.”
I gape at him. “But it’s Christmas. ” Staring around the beautiful, but sterile room, I add, “Florida hardly feels like Christmas. Literally all we have are decorations.”
He points over his shoulder. “Say the word and I’ll fill the place with fake snow.”
I give him a warning look before my eyes trail over the sleek fireplace made of dark tile, and I point to the mantle. “You could hang some stockings.”
“It’s just me,” he reiterates.
“Or garland.”
“I’d be vacuuming up plastic pine needles every hour.”
I give him a sideways glance. “You do seem a little . . . meticulous .” Turning to face him, I take in the entire scene, assessing Chase, not for the first time. “And put together.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I like things a certain way.”
Taking a few steps toward him, I stop to examine him a little more closely. He’s watching me with mild apprehension behind those beautiful eyes, and even though his posture stays relaxed, I have a feeling he’s reconsidering letting me come here.
My fingers run through his locks before pulling the strands out at an angle to check the length. “It’s been driving you crazy not to cut your hair, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but every time you run your hands through it, it’s worth it.”
My hand stills in his hair, and we lock eyes. “Why not just get it cut where you’d usually go?”
“You’re prettier than my barber.”
Dismissing his comment with a shake of my head, I pull my hand from his hair and look around. “Well, where do you have the best light?”
Moving away from the doorframe, he cuts to the other end of the living room and flips a light on near his kitchen table. The lighting is still a lot softer than what I’d have in the salon, but it will do. Chase pulls out a chair and takes a seat. He’s so beautiful in his element this way. Seeing him in sweats, sitting in his apartment, might even beat the version of him I love seeing on weekends. It’s like the more casual he becomes, the more attracted I am. I brace myself for my next sentence. “You should probably take off your shirt.”
He raises his eyebrows, that adorable smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to take my shirt off?”
“Unless you want hair in it. I forgot to grab a cape.”
“How convenient.” He lets out a laugh as he pulls his shirt over his head. He methodically folds the shirt before setting it on the table.
I’m in a trance.
I don’t snap out of it until he takes a seat again and nods toward me. “Ready when you are.”
“Right. Sorry.” I blink and move from my spot in the living room to join him. Setting my bag down on the kitchen table, I organize my things with the distinct feeling of his eyes on me the entire time.
I shoot him a sideways glance and tease, “Are you worried I’ll mess something up?” I grab my spray bottle.
“Are you kidding? I’ve never been more confident about being in the right hands.”
Shielding his eyes and face with my hand, I dampen his hair. “But you like things a certain way.”
“I’m quickly realizing having you standing in front of me wearing leggings and a Rolling Stones T-shirt is how I like things.”
Gliding my fingers over the strands of his hair, I prepare for the first cut. “Right,” I say with a breath of laughter. “Let’s hope you still feel that way when I’m done.” The scissors snip and the first few strands fall to the floor. I know what I’m doing when it comes to hair, and since I already have a feel for how he likes his, I have no problem making the first cut and getting to work. Maneuvering around him, I take turns using my comb and shears to cut and texturize. He’s been quiet the whole time, and I hope he isn’t regretting this decision.
I stand in front of him as I finish. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this focused.”
Leaning back slightly, I run my comb through his hair to see how everything falls. “I’m working.”
“Well, it’s turning me on.”
The words come out of his mouth so casually. I almost don’t catch what he said, but as soon as it registers, I lean back to look at him again. “What?” I ask with a laugh.
His eyes jump up to meet mine. “Are you really that surprised?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically.
A ghost of a smile teases at the corner of his mouth. “Candace, you’re practically straddling me, and I think I should sit on my hands, so I’m not tempted to touch you in ways that I shouldn’t.”
I look down, and sure enough, my wide stance hovers over his leg. My heart stutters in my chest, and the room suddenly feels too warm. I should tell him to sit on his hands. I should step away from him. Flirting with Chase feels like playing with fire, but before I can stop myself, I say, “Since when do you hold back on touching me?”
“Always,” he answers too quickly. “I always hold back when it comes to touching you.”
Every warning siren goes off in my brain, but everything I’ve been trying to do for the sake of self-preservation wanes under the intensity of his stare. “Why?”
A humorless laugh leaves him, and he drops his gaze to where his hand rests on his thigh. All it takes is a lift of his pinky, and he’s grazing the inside of my knee. “Because there’s no limit for me. I could do everything with you and not regret a single thing.” He keeps his eyes trained on his hand as he smooths his palm over my thigh and hooks his fingers around the back of my leg. “But the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. If I ever did something to make you say Jack Frost, I’d be . . .” He shakes his head.
My pulse quickens, and it takes all my willpower to keep my knees from buckling. I try to brush it off with a smile as I look over my work, running my hands through the shorter hair.
His mouth quirks, but he says, “It’s not funny, Candace.”
“It’s a little funny,” I admit with a shrug, and hope he can’t see how much he’s affecting me. The way my heart is in overdrive, but the rest of my body has slowed. The way the warmth of his hand has me wishing he could touch me everywhere. And how the thought of him touching me everywhere has a heavy heat pooling between my thighs.
I continue to check his hair even though I’ve finished. He means he could do everything physical with me. That he wouldn’t regret a single thing if we crossed the lines of friendship over to something more.
But I’d want more than physical. I’d want all of him. So as much as I’d love to indulge myself in Chase, I know better. I know what sleeping with him would do to me, but he’s so damn tempting. My gaze dips to his mouth. Why couldn’t he have been a bad kisser?
“Candace?” Chase asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I dare to look at him. “Hmm?”
His hand is still on my leg, my knees weakening with every brush of his thumb. “Are you done?”
My eyes dip to his lips again. I don’t want to be done. If anything, I hope I’m just getting started.