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CHASE
I had long ago acceptedthat I was what some people would call a control freak. I’d never really considered this a bad thing because it had served me well most of my life. Right now, however, as I scratched a nonexistent itch on my thigh I was willing to admit it might not always be beneficial to need to be holding the reins in every situation.
Not only did I not have the reins for the date with Mack (the fact that was even a sentence I was saying was still mad), but he was giving me absolutely no clue as to what he had planned. This could be because he didn’t yet have any plans, which would not surprise me in the slightest, or he was trying to torture me. It was difficult to know which was more likely. I had to believe he had something in mind. He’d told me to keep Monday open, but had given nothing else away. Time had genuinely crawled to date day. Yesterday I’d been convinced that I’d wake up today and it would be Sunday again, forever stuck in this hell of waiting. I had well and truly lost count of the number of times I’d imagined kissing him.
I’d already been awake for close to an hour by the time my alarm went off. My mind rolling around and around. The only thing I had been told was that I needed to be home, ready for him to pick me up, at four. Four pm. A whole eight hours from now. Barre and brunch would take up a solid three of those, if I stretched it out with an extra mimosa or two. That still left five hours. I couldn't even go to Rudi because I would be refused entry thanks to Mack also organizing for Greyson and Micky to do this week’s stock count. The man had thought of everything, apparently.
Except what I was going to do with a spare five hours. At least I’d make it to barre on time for once.
I did not makeit to barre on time.
I was starting to think that maybe it was physically impossible for it to happen. I’d had over an hour to get myself together yet, between thinking about kissing Mack (again) and wandering aimlessly around my apartment in a daze, I lost track of time. As usual, I skidded into the studio and took up my place at the back of the class, Jeremy once again beside me as Lindsay stood in front ready to torture us all in the name of fitness.
It was a good thing she was so damn nice because otherwise I would consider procuring a voodoo doll and doing my worst because, holy Hell, the woman was a devil when she was in charge.
I slumped on my mat as the class finished. I’d been coming for over a year, shouldn’t it be getting easier? Shouldn’t I feel more in control of my gelatinous limbs by now? Maybe one class a week wasn’t enough, maybe if I wanted to have an ass like Lindsay I’d need to come daily (and have different genetics)?
“Come on, Princess,” Jeremy nudged me with his toe.
“Do not touch me with your feet, that’s disgusting.” The statement lacked the required venom. He did it again. “Dooooon’t.”
“I’m just going to keep doing it until you get your sorry ass up off the floor,” he said, smiling like an angel as he prodded my ribs with his big toe. Swatting him away would require me to lift my arms, which was no longer possible.
“I live here now.”
He laughed. “Do I need to drag you to brunch?”
“That would be great, thank you, I’m sure I can get a straw for my mimosa.”
“Okay, come on … you can do this, up, get up.” He slipped his arms under mine and hefted me to my feet. I only swayed for a second when he let me go. He dealt with my mat and weights like the gentleman he was as Lindsay appeared looking fresh as a fucking daisy.
“You did so well today, Chase!” she said, making me stand just a little straighter.
“Thank you,” I said as Jeremy snorted out a laugh beside me.
“So, where are we headed? Huckleberry or Cream and Sugar?”
My first instinct was to say Cream and Sugar, I was becoming somewhat dependent on Harley’s ice coffee. But I was also in the mood for haloumi, and would rather not sit under Harley’s x-ray stare, so I said, “Huckleberry, let’s go to Huckleberry. I’m craving the halloumi bagel.” That was true, at least.
The three of us settled into a booth fifteen minutes later and I immediately ordered my halloumi bagel, a coffee, and a mimosa for good measure. I really needed the mimosa. Now that I was no longer distracted by my muscles liquifying, thoughts of Mack and our date had returned to the front of my mind and I was on the brink of hysteria. Part of me was desperate to talk about it, to ask for some advice, maybe, not that I knew what I’d ask. But that was out of the question. I was not going to start talking about one date. Because that’s all it was going to be. One. Date. Singular. Uno. After tonight, I would tell Mack that I had fun (I assumed I was going to have fun, it was rare that I didn’t have fun with him) but that we were better off as friends. Without question. I was absolutely not letting myself think about his promise for the end of the date. No way. Not if I wanted to keep my shit together.
As soon as my mimosa hit the table I downed it in one long gulp. Jeremy and Lindsay shared a look.
“Okay I have to ask…” Lindsay started, after a delicate sip of her own mimosa, and the hairs at the back of my neck prickled. “What’s going on between you and Mack?”
“What!?” Too loud. I needed a second mimosa. I attempted to compose myself before asking, “Why would you ask that?”
She smiled. “Look, we had fun, he’s a great guy, but it was pretty clear that his interest lies elsewhere.”
“No, that’s–I don’t–it’s not—” Oh, god, I was going to be sick. I didn’t want to talk about me and Mack. I definitely didn’t want to talk about me and Mack with Lindsay, who he’d been on a fucking date with a week ago. That was a dick move.
“Chase, it’s okay.” She reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “It was hard to not see it. I mean, he bought you shoes.”
“He did do that, yes,” I conceded. “But that’s just him. I bet he would have bought you shoes too, if he knew your size.”
She smiled, it held only the slightest bit of pity, like I was woefully underestimating the situation. “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure it’s not just him, it’s himwith you.”
“It wasn’t—it didn’t mean anything. We’re friends.” It wasn’t technically a lie, we were going on one date, and that wasn’t going to change the fact we were friends. Neither Jeremy or Lindsay looked particularly convinced but they didn’t push the point and I spent the next two hours all but mainlining mimosas and halloumi.
