“I know.”
“Long distance or short distance.”
“I know.”
“But when she texted you, you texted her back?”
Mitch didn’t answer right away.
Chase sat up. “You texted her first?”
Mitch groaned, letting his head fall back.
Chase laughed. “No more giving me shit about the alligator scientist, Landry. You fell for a girl over the back end of an alpaca.”
That was true. Mitch had met the Iowa girl at an alpaca farm.
“I know. What the hell, man?” Mitch asked. “You find a girl who’s into alligators hot. I can’t stop thinking of a girl who lives over a thousand miles away.”
“I think this is the definition of fucked,” Chase said.
Mitch just sighed and nodded.
“When are you comin’ back down here?” Mitch asked. “We need to get drunk.”
“Not ‘til Christmas, man,” Chase said. They were balls to the wall this first semester. But that would make his trip back to Autre all the better, he figured. He’d have earned the time off.
“Dammit.”
“I know.”
“Well—” Mitch tipped his beer back and took a big gulp. “—I’ll try to hold down the fort.”
“Do that,” Chase said. “And, uh…”
“Yes, I’ll tell Bailey hi and that you miss her.”
Chase frowned. Dammit. He hadn’t been thinking about Bailey.
Of course, that wasn’t true at all.
“No, definitely don’t do that,” he said. That would sound so stupid after the one time he’d tried to romance her. Or had she been trying to seduce him? Honestly, it all been so awkward, he had no idea now.
“And that you’ve been thinking about her,” Mitch said with a stupid grin.
Chase sat forward. “Don’t be an ass.”
“And that you can’t wait to see her at Christmas.”
“Remember that I’m learning to use scalpels,” Chase warned.
“And that you’re going to set all the frogs in the biology department free to prove your love.”
“There are no frogs…” Well, hell, there really might be frogs.
“Talk to you soon,” Mitch said chuckling.
He hung up before Chase could come up with a really good threat.
But the threat wouldn’t have been more than fifty percent serious.
Just like Mitch was only fifty percent serious about saying any of that to Bailey. Probably.
Chase thought about that. That would be…
Huh. Maybe not terrible.
Either Bailey would think he was a complete weirdo and avoid him altogether—making any more kissing attempts impossible—or, she’d think it was actually romantic and want to try the kissing thing again too.
Why did he want to kiss her so badly anyway?
He’d generally considered himself pretty good at kissing. Before Bailey.
Yeah, they probably needed a do-over.
Maybe with mistletoe this time.
Okay, fine, tell Bailey I said hi, he texted to Mitch before sitting back in his recliner and propping his feet up.
You’ve got it, was Mitch’s swift reply.
But only that, Chase added.
He didn’t get a reply.
That could be bad.
But he was definitely smiling when he picked up the phone to call for a pizza and beer delivery.
Chapter 4
December 22nd
“Get it!”
“I’m trying to get it. What do you think I’m doing?”
“It’s an otter. Just grab it!”
“Yeah, it’s an otter! They wiggle!”
Chase Dawson rolled over and blinked at the ceiling. He’d been awakened by alarm clocks, phone calls, sirens. Even roaming female hands. But never by an otter. Or, more specifically, by two big, loud Cajuns yelling at each other about an otter.
Yeah, he knew those voices. Josh and Owen Landry were banging around outside the house Chase was staying in. Sounded like they were in the backyard. Right under his window.
It was Louisiana, not Virginia, and even though it was December, he had these bedroom windows wide open. He couldn’t do that in D.C. He’d freeze his nuts off. But down here, at least for this Yankee, the crisp fifty-degree weather overnight was bliss.
“Son of a bitch! They also bite!”
Chase sighed. Being awakened in that cool morning air by the two guys who were, at least in part, responsible for his hangover, however, was not bliss. Chase pulled a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently, they’d found the otter. Now they just needed to grab it and get the hell out of here. Then he could go back to sleep for a couple of hours before he headed to Ellie’s bar for some good old cheesy grits to soak up the poison they called bayou whiskey. It was really just homemade moonshine. And it was evil.
But of course he hadn’t been able to resist their taunts that he’d been “up north” for so long that he’d forgotten how to hang with the bayou boys. A jar and a half of moonshine later and Chase regretted everything. Including the fried alligator and boudin balls he’d consumed for the first time in four months. He’d eaten them like he was a starving man.
Around two a.m. he’d sworn to never eat a fried ball of anything ever again.
“Dammit, you scared him! We’ll never find him now!”
Chase groaned.
“Tori is going to freak out,” Josh, Tori’s fiancé, said.
“You can handle Tori,” Owen said. “Bailey is the one we should be worried about.”
Chase sat straight up in bed. Then realized what he’d done. Damn. His head pounded and his stomach roiled with the motion, but that wasn’t the worst part.
He’d reacted. At the mention—and not even a mention directed at him—of her name. Just her name. Just her first name.
But here he was, now wide awake, sitting up straight, heart pounding.
Son of a bitch.
Bailey Wilcox.
The last woman on earth he should be reacting to.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a more awkward interaction with a female in his life. And that included the great-aunt of the girl he’d gone home with in college. The girl who had left for class the next morning without waking him up—or warning him that she lived with her great-aunt, who only spoke German, and swung a baseball bat like a major leaguer. He was still thankful for exceptionally good reflexes and that, even half-asleep, he could outrun a riled up sixty-something-year-old.
Chase sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He’d hoped to sleep in, have a huge homecooked southern breakfast, and lots of loving attention from Ellie and Cora, the grandmotherly women who’d adopted him during his two week stay in Autre, Louisiana this past summer.
Now he was wondering where Bailey was and what she was doing and if there was a chance of running into her. Then reminding himself that he’d made an ass of himself and should be thinking all about avoiding her.
But to avoid her, he needed to know where she was and why Owen and Josh were talking about her.
Good thing Cora had a remedy for everything, including hangovers. Chase knew that he should be focused on Western medicine with proven research behind it. But dammit, Cora’s cream had healed a cut on his hand in two days. Two days. And he’d used her hangover cure far more often in a two-week span than he should admit. Her homemade potions and lotions were magical. Of course, he’d deny that to any of his med school professors, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have bottles and jars with handwritten labels on them all over his apartment.