“Come on in,” I said grudgingly. “Who knows how long this’ll take?” I pointed to the living room. “TV’s through there. You want a beer or something?”
“I’m good,” he muttered and slunk through to the living room.
Sam had gone upstairs with Mom, but she’d left all her books spread out on the coffee table. Chase’s gaze slid over them before he looked at the TV. I grabbed the remote and handed it to him, then sat down on the couch. After a moment, he sat down at the other end. It wasn’t a big couch, but it felt like the gap between us was a chasm right now. Like, a couple of hours ago I’d given him a hickey and had my dick inside him, but now he wouldn’t even look at me.
Fine.
If that was how he wanted to play it.
He flicked through the channels, finally settling on a replay of an NHL game.
“You like hockey?” I asked.
He didn’t even glance at me. “Nope.”
We watched the hockey he didn’t even like, and I stewed silently because he was being such a dick. Which turned out to be something I could work with when he was lying on his back with his legs held open, but not so much when he was sitting in my living room ignoring me.
I was a pretty decent guy, I thought. People mostly liked me and I mostly liked them. But with Chase, it felt like every stepI’d taken was a misstep, and it seemed like that was the point. As though there was nothing I could do to make him like me, because that was the way he wanted it. If it hadn’t been for those tiny accidental hints of something else going on, it might have been easier not to give a shit. And if we hadn’t fucked too probably.
But if he was so determined to hate me, why the hell had he come onto me so hard? Like, who carried a condom in their pocket at work unless you were planning something? Or trying really hard to get Employee of the Month.
I couldn’t figure him out.
“You okay?” I asked him. “After this afternoon, I mean.”
“Yup.” He stared at the screen, and did he have to be so cute? He was like an angry, feral kitten. At least his claws were put away for now, but I knew it wouldn’t take much for them to appear. That didn’t stop me wanting to pet him, though.
We watched the game for a little while longer. I settled back on the couch with my phone, scrolling mindlessly and glancing at the TV screen, but every time I looked up, Chase was watching me. He’d look away and pretend he hadn’t been, but I’d clocked the way his gaze was lingering on my chest and stomach. Kind of flattering, honestly. I was a solid guy and not everyone appreciated that, but Chase was obviously here for it.
I could feel the space between us like it was a different temperature than the rest of the room. My fingers twitched with the urge to run them over his skin and touch the places that he’d let me before. Chase was magnetic, and every sense in my body felt the pull. He was like an itch—impossible to ignore.
When I caught him looking my way again, I gave him a smile and said, “Sooo, how long does a haircut take anyway?”
His mouth twitched before he looked away to hide it.
Fuck him, I knew there was a human being in there somewhere.
I decided to take my wins where I could find them. I stood up. “I’ve gotta go make dinner.”
I thought that’d be it from Chase, so a few minutes later I was surprised as hell when he wandered into the kitchen and said, “What are you making?”
“Nothing fancy,” I said. “Just pasta and sauce from a jar. But I got a couple of sourdough loaves from the bakery, so that’ll work.” I gave him a moment to roll his eyes or something, but he didn’t. He just nodded. “I was gonna give you some too, but you took off pretty quick.”
He shrugged. “Told you. I didn’t want to clean up.”
“It was worth it,” I said, digging the big pot out of the cupboard under the sink and filling it with water. “The cleanup, I mean. Definitely worth it.”
He shrugged again, but I didn’t miss the faint flush rising in his cheeks. If he wasn’t careful, he might actually smile.
From upstairs I heard a burst of laughter, and Chase’s gaze flicked to the ceiling and then back to me.
“Sounds like they’re having fun, at least,” I said. “Gracie sure did a number on her hair.”
“Yeah,” he said, his expression softening. Another shrug. “Little kids, you know.”
“Sam cut her braids off when she was six or seven,” I said. “And I tried to give myself a buzz cut with Mom’s clippers once.”
Chase’s brow creased. “Why the hell would you do that?”
