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CHASE
“So, Olivia was telling me you have a niece,” Addison says, her sweet eyes landing on Drake. Mine do too, but with a lot less innocence and a lot more red. The grip on my fork digs painfully into my hand.
Stop looking at him with murder in your eyes, Chase.
She’s his niece, and he can talk about her until he’s blue in the face for all I care. But it still feels like a betrayal, mixing our life back home with this fantasy world I’ve been trying to immerse myself in for a few short days.
It only proves that we all have lives elsewhere. I have one that I am very specifically trying to avoid, which is hard to fucking do if we’re talking about our families.
I shift my eyes to the table. My drama’s not his problem. I know that. Giving in to my anger will only lead to a shit show, and I have no interest in ruining the night for everyone here.
Trying to steady myself, I take a few deep breaths and turn back to Drake, awaiting his response. Without skipping a beat, he clears his throat.
“Willow!” he says. “She’s ten going on twenty. Eighty percent spitfire, twenty percent angel, but one hundred percent incredible.”
I have to hold back an eye roll, but it’s true—she’s all of those things.
I watch him shift, no doubt pulling out the pictures of her he’s been carrying in his wallet for the past ten years.
“Using a ten-year-old to impress women, Drake?” I eye him passively, knowing he can sense the joke in my voice.
He’s proud of her—he has every right to be—so I can’t fault him for wanting to show her off. His grin spreads wide, and I shake my head, stabbing the crisp piece of lettuce in my bowl and shoving it into my mouth.
“Well, it’s working. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Right, ladies?”
Looking between the two of them, it’s apparent they’re charmed by his bullshit, so there isn’t much more I can say to that.
“Anyway, where was I?” he asks, feigning a look of annoyance. Wallet in hand, he pulls out her pictures and presents them to the table like this is show-and-tell hour in fucking Kindergarten.
“This first one was when she was, like, four months old or something. We were at the park, and I was pushing her on the swings when she laughed for the first time. For me, mind you, no one else. Her first laugh was for me.”
“She was laughing at that mess you call a face,” I tell him. I don’t need to look up to know which picture he’s talking about, considering I was the one who took it.
“This one was taken at her first ballet recital. She was the star of the show. Wasn’t she, Chase?”
I nod, the smallest of smiles playing on my lips. He hands the picture over to Addison, and her face lights up. It’s such a gorgeous sight that it almost cracks a hole in my tough exterior.
“Aw, she’s so cute! Who’s the woman beside her? Your sister?” She hands the picture over to Olivia.
Olivia must have already seen it because she passes it right back over to Drake. The grin she directs toward him shows how wrapped up she is in that idiot.
I’m surprised he isn’t acting on that.
“That’s her mom, Emily. Not my blood sister, but she might as well be. We grew up together.”
The picture is still in his hand, his eyes glued to his lap. I clear my throat, bringing his gaze up to meet my own. The pain there causes an uncomfortable pinch in my chest.
“Speaking of ballet,” I say, “it seems you and Addison have something in common.”
He eyes me questioningly, and I turn to Addison.
“Drake is actually the one who got Willow into dancing. She found out he started taking dance classes in college, and she wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
“What?” Olivia exclaims. “Never in a million years would I have pegged you for a dancer.”
“Yep, I’m surprised too,” Addison agrees.
Drake raises his hands in defense. “I had to. It was a requirement with the football program at CU. Dance helps with flexibility and agility.”
