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We’d reached the diner and I pulled the door open and held it for him. He stepped close to me and tilted his head up so our eyes could meet. “Coffee, pie, a little conversation, and then I’m going home.”
He stepped inside and I followed him to a booth. “Works for me,” I said as I scooted in across from him. “You live close or do we need to take the train?”
“Wow, you’re something else,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Alone. I’m going home alone.”
“Oh.” The answer took me off guard. “Why?”
“Because we just met!” Chase looked truly surprised. “You always hop into bed with guys you just met?”
The way he said it, I understood the answer was supposed to be “no,” so I kept my mouth shut.
“I see,” he said after the silence had drawn on too long. He reached for his bag and started climbing out of his seat.
“Where’re you going?” I asked as I reached out and grasped his arm, keeping him in place.
“Look,” he said with a sigh. “You’re super hot in that rough and tumble way, and quirky in a funny way, but this”—he moved his hand back and forth between us—“isn’t gonna work and I don’t wanna waste your time.”
I started preening inside when he called me hot but it was immediately tempered when he described me as quirky, which didn’t sound so good.
“What do you mean?” I said. “We’re getting pie, remember? Pie is never a waste of time.” I smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Sit down.” I gestured to the seat with my chin.
He lowered himself back to the seat and let go of his bag just as the waitress arrived.
“What can I get for you boys?” she asked.
“He’ll have a slice of lemon pie and a coffee,” I said. “And I’ll have a piece of the chocolate cake and a glass of milk.”
She nodded and hustled away.
“Milk?” Chase asked. His expression seemed to be teasing again, but his eyes were twinkling so I let it go.
“Milk goes with chocolate cake,” I answered. “Everybody knows that.”
“Is that right?” he asked with a laugh.
“Yup.” I nodded firmly. “It’s, like, a law or something. I’m pretty sure I learned it in my first year.”
“You’re in law school?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And those people in the bar are your friends from school?” he asked.
“They’re in school with me, yeah,” I said, not responding to the friend question. I didn’t consider anybody in that bar a friend, not really. But that was okay, because I hadn’t moved to New York to make friends, I had moved because Columbia was the top law school I’d gotten into and I wanted to get a good education followed by a great job.
The waitress came over with our food, which was a good opportunity to change the topic.
“So is your name really Chase Rhodes?” I said after taking a bite of cake.
“It’s Charles, actually,” he said with a chuckle. “But everybody calls me Chase now.”
“Makes sense,” I said after looking him over carefully. “You don’t look like a Charles.”
“No?” he asked. “What does a Charles look like?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Stuffy and proper and tall….” When I noticed his shoulders shaking, I stopped talking and flicked a little piece of cake at him.
“Hey!” he said, trying to look affronted but failing. “Don’t throw food at me!”
“Well, then, don’t laugh at me,” I countered.
“You do realize you were describing the prince of England, right?”
I paused and thought it over. “Was I?”
“Yes!” he huffed.
“Huh. Well, that makes sense too.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why does that make sense?”
“Because—” I took another bite of cake and waggled my eyebrows at him. “The prince of England probably wouldn’t let me fuck him either.”
“Well, I’m not the prince of England,” Chase said meaningfully.
“And yet….” I let the sentence trail off and raised both eyebrows.
“This is yummy.” He pushed his plate toward me. “Do you want a bite of my pie?”
“Is that some sort of euphemism for fucking you?”
He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “No, it isn’t. I’m literally offering to share my pie with you.”
“Then no.”
Chase shook his head, pointed his fork at my plate, and said, “Eat your cake.”
The little lilt when he talked, the way he styled his hair, the clothes he wore, hell, even the way he swayed when he walked—Chase Rhodes was not my type. But my dick hadn’t gotten the memo and my chest swelled every time he smiled and looked up at me from underneath his too-long lashes, so I did what he asked and ate my cake.
Chapter 9
INTRODUCTION
Charlie (“Chase”) Rhodes
TO TEMPER the icy, harsh picture of Adan I added to the album, the next one is going to show a completely different, and rarely seen, side of him. I took it when he was asleep on my couch a few days after our first date. He looked young and vulnerable when he was at rest, and it was such a contrast to his normally rigid, tense demeanor that when I saw him sleeping, I knew I had to record it on film.
