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It’s not like Chase was in
the running for Mr. America.
He looked like a linebacker,
one who didn’t play much
in the sun—the freckles on his
cranberry skin almost pulsed pain.
But Bree found his bedroom
eyes—glacier blue—and brooding
demeanor quite the turn on.
“Hey, Chase,” she cooed.
He scoped me out like an old
tomcat, ogling a brand-new canary.
Do I know you?
Kristina knew enough about him
to think she ought to flee.
Chase Wagner could be
hazardous to a person’s health.
You look familiar, but not, so maybe
I’m thinking of someone else.
What’s your name?
Just like that, she had him.
If she wanted him. Her game was no
less dangerous than his. “Call me Bree.”
Right Then, Three People
shouted, “Kristina!”
Time to beat a face-saving retreat, so
I smiled and told Chase I’d catch him later.
I looked around and saw Mom,
waving to come and eat,
Leigh, minus Jake,
