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“They tried putting me on anxiety meds, but it made my management of the whole thing worse. It kind of numbed me, I guess, and I was missing all my normal warning signs. Benji takes that period of our lives very personally.”
“Well, shit.”
I almost laugh but, instead, allow myself a bemused smile. “On the positive side, it’s not contagious. So other than catching my bloated carcass every once in a while, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
He frowns so hard this time, the normally perfect skin between his eyebrows mars itself with a jagged wrinkle. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”
Hearing those words from his very specific set of lips is almost enough to trigger me into a backslide. But I fight the feeling, shoving the excitement of having my crush’s interest in anything about me down into the depths of my stomach.
“And that’s seriously so nice of you. But I swear, I don’t get into too much excitement on the regular. This is a rarity, really. Nothing to worry about.”
He scoffs. “The last two times I’ve seen you this has happened.”
That, of course, is true. But Chase Dawson and his strong jaw are definitely considered extenuating circumstances. How to explain that to him, however, is quite the dilemma.
Unsure of any other option, I settle on avoidance. “It’s okay, I swear.”
He stares at me for a long, long moment. So long that I find myself sinking into the depths of his eyes for a nice cool-down swim. They’re so blue and perfect and welcoming, like the gentle lull of the waters on the shores of Aruba. Or, at least, I think. I’ve never been to Aruba, but I’ve included it in a novel, and everything I researched said that’s how it is.
“I’m going to drop this because I can sense by the tense line of your mouth that you want me to drop this.”
My mouth is that visibly tense?
“But I want the record to show that I don’t believe you when you say it’s not a big deal.”
“I’ll be sure to notify the court reporter,” I tease, using a joke to wiggle my way out from under the overwhelming discomfort sitting atop my chest. I don’t like the look of Chase Dawson frowning at me. I don’t like it at all.
“Good.” He nods, and one corner of his mouth lifts. “Now, I’d like to take you to dinner.”
I sputter so hard at the non sequitur, I can see a droplet of my own spit land on the front of Chase’s dress shirt and spread. I expect him to break character at any moment, possibly find the horror in my saliva bomb, but instead, he stands there, staring at me, his invitation lying in wait.
He wants to take me to dinner?
I shake my head and try to get my bearings, but when I come up empty-handed, I flutter into the kitchen to start cleaning up all my random cleaning supplies.
Chase watches, tucking his fingertips into the tops of his pockets with an ease that puts me on edge enough to provide some kind of answer to his insane question.
“I…I’m not exactly in the physical state of a dinner guest. I’ve been cleaning, and I haven’t showered, and my hair is—”
“Perfect. You don’t need to look any differently than you look right now.”
Perfect? My hair is perfect? I call bullshit, Mr. Dawson. Not to mention, I’m in my favorite velour pants from the early 2000s. No adult woman in her right mind would walk the city streets with the word “Juicy” plastered across her ass.
“I also usually have to warn places that I’m going to be bringing Benji.” I continue to plead my case. “He’s a registered service animal, so I don’t technically have to, but I know from experience that people get touchy when food is involved.”
“That’s okay. I know a place where that won’t be an issue at all. They love dogs. Specifically, German shepherds. Last time I spoke to them, they were even considering getting one.”
Good grief. It’s like none of my excuses are getting me anywhere.
“Chase—”
“Come on. If we hurry, we can make it in time for happy hour. Two drinks for the price of one.”
I have to admit, for the first time tonight, I’m hearing something that sounds like a good idea. If I drown myself in enough wine, maybe I won’t know what’s happening or who I’m with anymore. The prospect has potential.
He startles then, unsure of himself. “But wait…is it okay for you to drink now?”
It’s probably the best thing for me.
“Yep. It’s fine.” So fine, it’s perfect. “The good news about my whole ordeal is that it takes virtually no time to bounce back. Once my blood pressure comes back up to normal, I’m good to go.”
“That is good news.” He smiles at me. “It would be a shame if we couldn’t do a champagne toast to celebrate the book.”
