“I take it you don’t want to see them?”
I frown. “They were already drunk when they talked to me earlier, and I bet it would be worse now. They had me pretend I was tossing a football to them, over and over, while they tried to film a TikTok.”
“Come here,” Chase says, clasping his hand around mine.
He tugs me a little further down the hall and uses his access card to beep into an employees-only door nearby.
He pushes the door open and flips a lightswitch, pulling me into the small room. It’s a storage pantry full of bulk supplies for the bar. Extra bottles of fruit syrups and jars of olives fill the metal shelving units around us, as well as boxes full of paper towels, napkins, and coasters.
It smells like lime and sugar in here, in a comforting way.
My pulse steadies.
My nerves finally calm.
Being around overzealous fans has gotten a hundredtimes easier over the past year, but when they appear at certain times, I still want to disappear.
“Thanks.”
“Easy dodge,” he says. “Do your fans know you’re bi yet? My friends all know I am by now, probably because I never shut up about it.”
“You know I don’t care if people find out I like guys, Chase. I just don’t want them snapping pictures of me with anybody.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that anymore. I have nothing to hide about my life,” he says firmly, almost like he’s trying to prove a point. “Any exposure is good exposure. I want to sell art, too.”
He leans back against the edge of the tall shelves, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.
God.
Chase looks even better than I remembered, too.
Quitting the excessive drinking seemed to do him a lot of good, and he looks like he might have started working out more, too. Even under his uniform, I can tell he’s filled out more. He probably looks incredible under those clothes.
“So…” he says, looking down and then back up at me. “Are you going to get mad if I show up at your door?”
“Mad wouldn’t be the word I would use,” I tell him softly. “But I might think it’s a questionable idea.”
Chase nods slowly. As he paces back over to me, he’s fiddling with a thin black string around his wrist, and when he approaches me, he reaches out and puts a finger through one of my belt loops.
I know it’s just automatic for him. But it makes it feel like no time has passed since the last time I saw him.
“So you’re going to be here for two months?” Chase asks.
“Filming a movie calledSilent Brutalityfor the next two months. I’m going to a premiere tomorrow for another movieat the Lincoln Center, and having plenty of meetings while I’m here, as always.”
I feel him give the loop a little tug.
“Are you comfortable?”
I nod. “I am.”
The air between us suddenly feels charged. It doesn’t help that we’re tucked away in this storage room, and that Chase is fiddling with my waistband and tugging at me. We stay silent for a while, and his finger roams along the edge of my pants, back and forth.
“What are you thinking?” I ask to break the silence.
His lashes flick up to meet my gaze. “You asking for the truth?”
I swallow. “Sure. I always want honesty.”
