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Shockingly, I don’t have bad self-esteem on a regular basis. I’m okay with the way I look. But something about the dreamboat that is Chase Dawson makes me want to be more. Sexier, more confident, vibrant. Those are the things a man like him deserves.
Which is probably why I wrote River that way—at least, as her personality progressed and grew. She became vivacious and alluring and all the things I wish I could be when it comes to men like Chase. Sadly, it’s much easier to give those qualities to a character than to find them in myself.
I shove away from my vanity, rush into my closet, and pull the first chunky sweater I locate off a hanger. It’s not exactly Cosmopolitan feature style, but it’s flattering and comfortable, and with its golden color, any mustard I drop on myself will blend right in.
Three quick flicks of the light switches in my closet, bathroom, and bedroom, and I’m on my way back down the hall to my dinner date, with Benji following dutifully in tow.
My professional dinner companion, I correct. Professional. Dinner. Companion.
I plaster on a smile as I step into my living room, and Chase tosses my People magazine back down onto my coffee table and stands. Seeing him sitting there, reading about the Kardashians so casually, is weird. Almost too weird for even the alternate universe I’m apparently living in these days.
“All set?” he asks, his voice friendly and not at all tired. It’s almost as if sitting out here and waiting for me all this time really didn’t bother him, but I know that can’t be true. My dad and my ex-husband Jamie were both doers. Once a decision was made to go, it was time to go, no dillydallying. If you weren’t five minutes early, you were five minutes late, and any other annoying man-phrase you can think of.
“Yes. I’m really sorry it took me as long as it did, but I had to at least rinse off the cleaning chemicals in the shower.”
“Cleaning chemicals?” he asks.
“I was doing a little cleaning before you got here.”
“Gotcha. Place looks great.” He nods and then waves me off with a smile. “And no worries. I popped in on you without warning and demanded your company at dinner. I’m pretty sure you could have made me wait all night if you wanted to without any foul play.”
“But then we’d miss dinner.”
Chase shrugs. “There’s always breakfast.”
Okay, jeez. That’s a good-ass line if I’ve ever heard one.
I smile—I couldn’t stop that shit if I tried—and Chase holds out a hand toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Sure. Let me just grab my purse.” I jerk my chin at the small bag on the kitchen stool, and Chase picks it up to hand it to me.
Ever so slightly, our fingers brush in the exchange, and everything inside me stops. My eyes flick up to meet his, to search for a sign that he feels whatever this is too, but I can’t see anything other than the endless pools of sparkling blue I always do.
“Thanks,” I whisper, the raspy purr all my stolen voice can manage.
Chase’s smile climbs, the corners of his mouth carving just the slightest of dimples in his cheeks. I’ve never noticed them before—maybe because I was too busy looking at other features or because I haven’t been this close to his soft smile—but every remaining air particle in my lungs vacates. Poof, pow, my breath has left the building.
Clearly, I better get the hell out of this apartment and on with this dinner if I have any chance of surviving the rapid pace of my pride’s deterioration.
Benji’s snout bumps against the back of my thighs, his silent agreement that we really do need to get a move on it, urging me to grab his leash and snap it in place on his collar. I secure his service dog vest over his Superman cape.
The heels of my booties clack on my wood floor as we head for the door with Chase behind me, and I swear I feel the whisper of his hand at the small of my back. It’s not firm enough to know for sure, and I’m sure as hell not going to turn back to look, but in the deepest recesses of my mind, neurons fire at the potential contact.
Benji and I exit first, and then I wait for Chase so that I can lock the door behind us. We all make our way down in the elevator to the main floor below. My doorman nods as we walk out onto the street, and for the first time tonight, it occurs to me that Chase never even rang up before he was knocking at my door.
“How did you, uh…how’d you get to my door without calling up first?”
He shrugs. “I might’ve told the doorman it was a surprise?”
