Before I get up, I take a minute to look around the room. It’s long and narrow, and the wall the bed is pushed up against is exposed brick. I touch it, feeling the rough stone beneath my fingers. We’re above the bar, and I had no idea an apartment was up here.
Chase’s bed is plain with white sheets and a dark blue soft, down comforter. A bookshelf is against the wall next to the bed, and it looks and smells new like it was just put together. The bottom two shelves are full of books, and the rest of it is empty. He wasn’t lying when he said he reads anything. The books vary from thriller to historical fiction. Epic fantasy seems to be his favorite.
Across the bed is a dresser and there is absolutely nothing on it. A single lamp sits on the nightstand next to the bed, along with a glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a handwritten note. I pick it up and unfold the paper.
Sierra-
Thought you might need this.
He didn’t sign his name, but I know Chase wrote it. I read his simple words twice. Why does his compassion surprise me? I try not to judge people before I get to know them, but there are some snap judgments I can’t help.
And tall, muscular men with tattoos and eyes you can drown in are usually nothing but trouble. Usually. I’ve been wrong before.
I take an Advil and drink most of the water before getting up and gathering my clothes. I think there is vomit on my skirt, and a wave of embarrassment comes over me. I haven’t thrown up from drinking too much since I was nineteen. I shake my head and fold my skirt so the mysterious stain is safely tucked inside and away from my hands. Then I go to the bathroom, pee, and do my best to remove my smeared eyeliner.
The house is silent besides the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Holding my breath, I tiptoe out, wincing when the floorboards creak beneath my bare feet. A floor-to-ceiling window in the living room gives an impressive view of the river below. But an even more impressive view might be Chase, looking uncomfortable on the couch, still asleep. The book he bought days ago is resting on his chest.
Carefully, I move down the hall and shiver. What does he have his air set to? Arctic? He’s wearing only boxers and has to be cold. I go back to his bedroom and take the comforter off his bed, set on covering him up and trying to sneak out of here without being seen.
I furtively move to him and pause, noticing a long scar that runs the length of his thigh. It’s straight and neat, looking like the result of an operation to fix a broken bone. I tear my eyes away and raise the blanket. The moment it touches his skin, he startles awake so suddenly it causes me to jump back. The book falls to the wooden floor with a thud.
“Sierra. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing?” he asks, wide-eyed and fully awake. It takes me a few blinks, some stretches, and at least one eye-rub before I can form a coherent thought.
“I was going to smother you in your sleep.”
Chase blinks, looks at the blanket and then me. “That wouldn’t work, you know. Go for a plastic bag next time. Get it around my head and tie it at the neck.”
“Noted.”
He shifts his gaze and smiles. “What were you really doing?”
“I thought you were cold. I was going to cover you up.”
“Oh,” he says as if that’s more shocking to hear than me trying to murder him. “Uh, thanks. It is a little chilly in here, I suppose.”
“A little? What do you have your air set to?”
“Sixty-two.”
I blink. “That’s freezing.”
“Trust me, I know. But this place isn’t well insulated and doesn’t retain the cool air well. By the afternoon it’ll be twenty degrees warmer in here. I try to get a head start by keeping it cool at night.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”
He stands and pushes his shoulders back. There are scars on his chest, but are harder to see since they are hidden beneath the ink of his tattoos. Which I’m not looking at. And not finding incredibly sexy.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and runs a hand through his hair, made messy from sleep.
“I’m not sure.”
Chase laughs. “Maybe you’re still drunk.”
“No. I’m not. My head hurts and I’m dreading the stomachache that’s going to come on later in the day.” I pull my arms in around myself and look into Chase’s hazel eyes. “Thanks for everything last night.”
He gives me his trademark shrug, a move I assume he’s perfected over the years. One that says he doesn’t care, that he’s not invested, and he doesn’t feel anything toward the words spoken.
It’s something I tried to learn and tried even harder to make myself believe. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to be invested in anything. And mostly, I didn’t want to feel anything toward anything at all.
I failed.
“It was nothing,” he says casually, and then smiles. “Were you really going to have a threesome with that couple?”
“What?”
“They wanted you to join in on their ‘romantic surprise’,” he laughs.
“That’s what they wanted?” My hands fly to my face. “Oh my God.”
Chase is laughing even harder. “You didn’t know?”
“No!” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. “I thought they were just being nice.”
“Oh, they were being nice. Nice enough to get you to go home with them and then be bad. Very, very bad.”
“Oh. My. God.” I shake my head, not sure if I can look at Chase ever again. “I guess I owe you even more now.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Sierra.”
I like the way he says my name. Slowly. Softly. I raise my head and meet his gaze. “Okay.”
“Are you hungry? You really should eat, even if you don’t feel like it.”
“I am, but the thought of food is very off-putting.”
“That’s a typical hangover.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t had a hangover since college.”
Chase steps closer and a chill runs down my spine, one so deep into my bone I’m unable to hide the shiver. Chase picks up the blanket and wraps it around my shoulders, letting his hands slide down my arms.
Is it completely crazy that I want to step into him, to rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat? Yes. Yes, it is.
“Why were you at the bar last night?” he asks quietly, almost as if he already knows the answer and is waiting for me to tell the truth.
I take in a breath. Last night was a bad night. I went through a maelstrom of emotions last night. It was Jake’s birthday, and I woke up not thinking about it. I made it through breakfast and a shower before it hit me. Guilt took over, and I pulled out old photos of the two of us to look at, reminding me of what we had. I spent the morning crying and was late to work because of it.
Then regret for not going to the Chainsmokers concert hit, and then I remembered I gave Chase my number and he hadn’t called.
“I was going to yell at you,” I confess.
Chase’s eyebrows go up. “At me? Why?”
“You said you’d call and you never did. Why didn’t you call?”
His face falls and he looks at the floor for a moment. He opens his mouth, contemplating his words, looking as if he’s about to confess something. Then he shakes his head and looks back into my eyes.