“Yeah, I don’t—wait. She has a dead boyfriend?”
I nod, taking another bite of food. “He died almost two years ago. Car accident.”
“Fuck,” Jax mutters, turning his attention back to the MMA game on TV. I finish eating, take a shower, and fall into bed. I’m tired but can’t fall asleep because my damn mind won’t shut off and I keep thinking about Sierra. Doing the right thing has never kept me up at night. I’ve never lost sleep over what someone might think of me.
Sierra changes everything. She’s changing me without trying. Or maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s just exposing who I’ve been all along and fought hard to cover up.
“My mother has formally invited us to family dinner this Sunday,” Sierra tells me. I brought her lunch at The Book Bag today, and we’re sitting together behind the counter. “I’m sorry in advance.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She purses her lips. “You don’t know my family.”
“Tell me about them.” I put my hand on Sierra’s thigh, inching my fingers under the hem of her black skirt.
“Scott’s cool. But he doesn’t live here. My sister Sam is as type-A as type-A can be. Same with her husband, Brent. My dad talks about two things: work or the New Orleans Saints. My mom and Aunt Kelly are judgmental as fuck, and my Gran knows everything about everyone in the town.” She dips her fry in cheese sauce. “They’re not bad people though. Very nosey, but not bad. Nothing is off limits either.”
“I can handle it.” I squeeze her thigh and Sierra moves her leg, letting me slip my fingers further between. Then the bell above the door dings and I move my hand down to her knee.
“Hi, Mrs. McKay,” Sierra says to the woman who walked through the door, greeting her with a smile.
“Hello, darling,” Mrs. McKay replies. Her eyes go to me and narrow.
“She works with Judy Henson,” Sierra whispers to me once Mrs. McKay walks down an aisle. Sierra rolls her eyes and puts her hand on mine, letting me know she doesn’t give a shit what people think.
I stay with Sierra a while longer and then leave to work at the bar. I’m opening and closing tonight and already dreading it. I’m not a nine-to-five guy. Hell, even working evenings and nights at the bar is already getting to me. Maybe Jax was right to think living a life like this is bullshit.
Chapter 23
Sierra
“This looks amazing!” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. “I can’t believe it’s done already.”
“I had a decent designer.” Chase puts his arm around me and kisses the side of my head. “And once I got Jax off his lazy ass, the sanding and painting went fast.”
“I love it. White cabinets are trendy right now, and it really brightens up this space.”
“Exactly what I was going for,” Chase teases, taking another look at his renovated kitchen. Jax snores loudly from the couch, half covered with the rainbow unicorn blanket I brought for Chase as a joke.
“How long is he going to be here?” I ask. “Not that I mind or anything.”
“I mind,” Chase grumbles, eyeballing the empty containers of takeout on the floor. Overall, Chase is a neat person. He doesn’t make his bed or vacuum every day, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t like clutter or things being out of place. “It’s been nearly a week and shouldn’t be too long. He’s waiting for his mistress’s husband to go on a business trip before going to her summer house in Florida.”
“That sounds like a joke, but you look serious.”
“I am serious. She’s old enough to be his mother.”
“Good for her,” I say and take Chase’s hand. It’s Sunday afternoon and we came back to Chase’s from church so he could change into jeans and a T-shirt. He asked me three times on the way if he should stay in his dress clothes for dinner tonight. He says he’s not nervous, but seeing him want to make a good impression means more to me than I expected it to. He wouldn’t want my family to like him if he wasn’t serious about us, right? Chase is a person who gives no fucks. So when he does, it means something.
We go into Chase’s room, and watching him unbutton his shirt is an instant turn-on. I bite my lip and reach up, pulling on the silver chain hanging around my neck. Chase catches me watching and grins. Slowly, he undoes the rest of the button and peels his shirt back Magic Mike style. As soon as the shirt hits the floor, I’m a goner.
“Chase?” I ask, reaching for him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, pressing his hand to his stomach. “Got a random cramp. I’m fine now.” I’m lying in his bed, sheets covering my naked body. He’s in the middle of the room, searching for my clothes that were ripped off and strewn about. He keeps his hand on his abdomen and straightens up, tossing me my underwear and dress.
I get dressed and then go to the bathroom, coming back in the room to find Chase balling up the dirty sheets. He has one hand pressed to his stomach again but brings it away as soon as I set foot in the room. I internally roll my eyes. Not feeling well isn’t anything to hide.
“Have a stomachache?” I ask, grabbing new sheets from the closet.
“Yeah. I have all day,” he confesses and grabs the opposite end of the fitted sheet. We have to turn it twice before getting it on the right way. “I’m fine though.”
“You’re nervous for tonight,” I joke.
“I’ve never felt sick from nerves,” he tells me. “I don’t feel nervous often, either.”
“Lucky. Nerves go right to my stomach. It’s not always pretty.”
We head to my house and spend the rest of the afternoon lounging around in the hammock. Tinkerbell and Dolly are with us most of the time, and Dolly’s approval of Chase makes me like him that much more.
“You feel kind of feverish,” I tell him, pressing my hand to the back of his forehead. “Are you still not feeling well?”
Chase shrugs. “I’m tired.”
“I’m going to take your temperature.” I get out of the hammock and return with the thermometer. I put it to Chase’s forehead. “Ninety-nine-point-two. You do have a fever.”
“I’ll take a Tylenol and be okay.”
“We don’t have to go to dinner. Not if you’re sick.”
“I’m fine,” he says again. “And it’s just dinner. I’ll be sitting there eating, not running a marathon.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” He pushes my hair back over my shoulder. “My only concern is making you sick.”
“I don’t get sick very often. I used to eat dirt when I was a kid. My mom jokes it gave me a hell of a good immune system.”
“I did not eat dirt as a child,” Chase laughs. “Maybe I should have.”
“I’m like never sick. I highly recommend it to children everywhere.”
Chase takes my hand and gets off the hammock, stretching his arms above his head. His T-shirt rises, giving me a glimpse of his abdomen. We bring the cats in, feed them, and get in Chase’s car to drive to my parents’ house. I notice him wincing when he gets out of the car, but does his best to hide it.