The Chase

by Elle Kennedy

  “Okay, I’ve let you avoid it for long enough,” I announce after the waitress takes our order. “Are you ready?”

  She wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Hit me.”

  For more than a day, my overflowing curiosity has been contained by a dam named Brenna. Now that she’s broken, there’s no stopping the flood.

  “Is he a good kisser? What’s our penis situation like? Did he go down on you? Did you sleep with him? Why did you do this? Is he annoying in bed? Do you regret it? Is he—”

  “Omigod!” Brenna exclaims. “I am not answering any of that.”

  I get one last question in before the buzzer. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

  “No, but I have an ex-best friend,” she says sweetly.

  I ignore that. “Speaking of your boyfriend, he walked in on me in the shower this morning.”

  That momentarily distracts her from whatever murder plot she’s devising about me in her head. “What?”

  “Hollis walked in on me showering.”

  She perks up. “Nice. So I don’t need to punish you for referring to him as my boyfriend. The universe did it for me.”

  “It was so embarrassing.” I fill her in on the morning’s theatrics, ending with the grand finale: my towel dropping in front of three boxers-clad college boys.

  She purses her lips. “You just described the setup for a porno, so I assume the scene ended with you jacking them all off?”

  “No, you brat. It ended with Fitz promising to fix the lock. Which was nice of him,” I force myself to add.

  “See? I told you, he’s a good guy.”

  “Are you sure about that? Because I saw him outside my lecture hall earlier and he didn’t even say hello. He looked right at me and then ignored me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t see you.”

  “Did you miss the part where I literally just said he looked at me?”

  She lets out a sigh. “He’s really not as bad as you think, Summer.” Under her breath, she mumbles, “Hollis, on the other hand…”

  I pounce like a jackalope. Well, if a jackalope pounces, that is. And if I knew what a jackalope was. “If Hollis is such a bad guy, then why’d you sleep with him?”

  “Because I was drunk. And we didn’t sleep together.”

  “As I recall, you weren’t wearing pants yesterday morning…”

  “I’m not sure if you learned this in sex ed, but it is possible to be naked with someone and not have sex.” She throws me another bone by relenting, “He’s not a terrible kisser.”

  “Are you going to hook up with him again?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Our food arrives, and Brenna is extra speedy about taking a huge bite of her club sandwich. I suspect it’s so she doesn’t have to talk.

  I pick at my chicken Caesar salad with my fork, my appetite easing slightly as I remember what else happened today. “Some girl in my History of Fashion class asked Fitz out.”

  Brenna answers while chewing. “Really? Who?”

  “Nora something or other. This little indie chick with pink hair.” I take a tiny bite of my salad. “He said yes.”

  “How do you know he said yes?”

  “I heard her telling her friends.”

  “Okay.” Brenna swallows and sets the sandwich on her plate. “I’m not sure what the proper response is—do you want me to be happy for Fitzy that he’s gettin’ some, or outraged on your behalf because you still have a thing for him?”

  “I don’t have a thing for him,” I object instantly.

  “Doth protest, et cetera et cetera.”

  I glare at her. “Of course doth protest. I’m not attracted to guys who think I’m fluff.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. So you’re saying if he called you up right now and said, Hey Summer, I’d like to take you on a date and possibly show you my penis at the end of it? You’re telling me you’d say no?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Fitz can date every woman at this college for all I care. He blew his chance with me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “He did.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I growl in aggravation. “You’re such a child.”

  “Right. I’m the child. Just admit you still like him.”

  “Sure, if you admit you enjoyed fooling around with Hollis,” I challenge.

  It’s a stalemate.

  Brenna shrugs and resumes eating. I keep picking at my salad. My appetite is completely gone now, because the knowledge that Fitz is going out with another girl bothers me much more than I thought it would.

  In high school, I was a cheerleader, captain of the dance team, and co-captain of the girls’ swim team. The latter meant that I didn’t just hang out with hot football players, but hot swimmers as well. The boys with the lean muscles and smooth, aerodynamic bodies. So I’m not at all fazed the next evening as I lounge on the couch next to a very hairless Mike Hollis.

  The bare arm resting haphazardly on the cushion between us and the bare legs up on the coffee table don’t have a single hair on them, yet somehow this doesn’t take away from his masculinity. Hollis might be annoying, but he does have sex appeal, I’ll give him that.

  Also, he and I—and this slightly horrifies me, as I’m not sure what it says about me—have a lot more in common than I ever could have imagined. In the past hour, I’ve discovered that he prefers tea to coffee, isn’t ashamed to say he loves Harry Styles’ solo album, and is as obsessed with the movie Titanic as I am. It’s currently playing on one of the movie networks the guys subscribe to. We landed on it at the halfway point, and the film is now gearing up for all the epic, devastating moments.

  “We might need to turn it off before the real shit goes down,” he warns me. Then he snickers at his own pun. “Goes down, get it? Like the ship.”

  “Yes, Mike. I got it.” I lift my socked feet on the table, nudging his left foot with my right one. “And we can’t turn it off. The ending scenes are the best ones.”

  “Babe. Please. I’m not in the mood to cry tonight.”

  Laughter bubbles in my throat. His serious expression tells me he’s not even joking. “Which part gets you? Mother reading to her children? Old couple on the bed?”

  “All of the above. And don’t get me started on Jack’s senseless death. Goddamn unnecessary.”

  I nod wholeheartedly. “There was room for two on the door.”

  “Damn right there was. It was even myth-busted. He didn’t have to die.”

  When my phone chimes, I tear my gaze off young Leonardo DiCaprio’s beautiful face. Though really, his face is as beautiful now as it was then. He’s an ageless wonder.

  I read the incoming text from Hunter, who’d gone out tonight with a few guys from the team. I stayed home because Brenna had been supposed to come over and hang out. I have a feeling that’s the only reason Hollis stayed behind too. But she canceled at the last minute, hence why Hollis and I are alone.

  Fitz isn’t home either, but I’m trying very hard not to dwell on why that is.

  “Hunter wants to know if you want him to bring you some chicken wings,” I tell Hollis.

  “How is this a question?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a yes,” I say irritably, “but I’d like to be sure.”

  “I won’t even justify his question with an answer.”

  I swear one day I’m going to murder this guy. I text Hunter a yes to the wings, then send a message to Brenna.

  ME: Due to you ditching me, I’m chilling with your bf tonight and he is mighty annoying.

  BRENNA: Didn’t mean to ditch u, GB. Forgot about study group.

  It takes a second to figure out “GB” means Greenwich Barbie. Grinning, I type back, All good. J/k anyway. Well, not about the annoying part. Because he is.

  BRENNA: Very much so. And he’s not my bf.

  She punctuates that with the middle fin
ger emoji. Just to mess with her, I turn to Hollis and say, “Brenna says hi.”

  His blue eyes light up. “Legit? Tell her to give me her number already. I’m tired of begging for it.” He stops, his gaze dropping to the phone in my hand. “Better yet, how about you give it to me and I’ll tell her directly?”

  Oh my God. She won’t even let him have her precious phone number? Poor guy. I want so badly to laugh, but I think it might hurt his feelings.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” I say lightly. “Can’t do that. It’s against hoe-code.”

  Despite his disappointed expression, he leans over and drops a solemn pat on my shoulder. “I respect that. We all need to live by a code.” His attention returns to the film. “Jesus fuck, Kate Winslet looks so hot wielding an axe.”

  I snort out a laugh. We watch as Kate wades through knee-deep water to rescue a handcuffed Leo. “See, rich girls can be badasses,” I tell Hollis.

  “If that’s your way of offering to break my handcuffs with an axe, I graciously decline. In no way do I trust your aim.”

  “No? How’s this for aim?” Lightning fast, I grab a peanut from the can of mixed nuts we’ve been passing back and forth and flick it at him.

  It hits him smack in the forehead and bounces off with an actual ping.

  I curl over, inconsolable with laughter. “Why…did…it…make…that…sound?” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. My stomach hurts from the force of my giggles. “Mike! Do you have a metal plate in your forehead?”

  Hollis is as perplexed as I am. “Dude. I didn’t think I did. Now I just want to call my mom and ask.”

  I’m still howling when the front door creaks open. I expect Hunter to appear with a platter of chicken wings, but it’s Fitz’s broad body that fills the doorway. Almost immediately, my laughter dies.

  He went out with Nora Ridgeway tonight. Hollis was teasing him about it earlier when Fitz came downstairs in nice jeans and a light blue button-down.

  Oh, and no beard.

  That’s right. He shaved for her. And unlike Professor Laurie, whose beard removal made him appear prepubescent, Fitz is all man with or without the facial hair. If anything, the clean-shaven look emphasizes his masculine features more—the hard slash of his jaw, the sexy mouth, dimpled chin. I almost fainted with desire earlier when I realized he’s got a cleft in his chin.

  “Hey. What’s so funny?” he asks gruffly, glancing from me to Hollis.

  “My skull is made of metal,” Hollis replies. “How’d your date go?”

  It’s barely ten thirty. I wonder if his early return is a good sign, but Fitz squashes that notion by saying, “Pretty good.”

  I promised myself I wouldn’t ask a single question about his stupid date.

  My mouth doesn’t feel like obeying.

  “I’m surprised you went out with a fashion major,” I blurt out.

  He shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “She’s also a Visual Arts major. Her medium’s abstract painting.”

  Of course it is. Nora seems like the kind of girl who’d throw a glob of black and pink paint on a canvas and then stand there pontificating about how the “piece” represents anarchy and/or the inequality of women.

  “I see. So you spent the whole time discussing Monet and Dalí, I suppose?” I meant to tease, but the words sound almost like an attack.

  Fitz senses it too. His eyes narrow. “We talked art, yeah. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not. Why would it be?”

  “I don’t know. Why would it?”

  “I just said it wasn’t.” My teeth clench as I reach for my water bottle. I have a hard time swallowing on account of my tense jaw, but I manage. “I’m glad you two share similar interests. Imagine how dreadful it would’ve been if she spent the whole night babbling about the Kardashians.” I cap the bottle, hastily adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with the Kardashians.” I adore Kim and the crew. I think they’re all savvy businesswomen, if I’m being honest.

  “I love the Kardashians,” Hollis chimes in.

  “If you say one word about their butts,” I warn.

  “I like the show,” he assures me. “It’s funny.”

  “Liar. No way you watch the show.”

  “Bible.”

  I gasp. “Oh my God. Okay. We’ll discuss the current season later.” To Fitz, I say, “Sounds like a super-fun date. All that art talk. Real deep.”

  He props one hand on the door jamb. “Any reason why you’re being a bitch right now?”

  What?

  “Whoa,” Hollis murmurs.

  I gape at Fitz. My hand trembles around the water bottle. Did he seriously call me a bitch? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word exit his mouth before. And for it to be directed at me? Hurt and anger war in my stomach, making it churn.

  The anger wins out.

  Slamming the bottle on the table, I get up and advance on him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Really? So you’re allowed to sit there and make snarky comments, but it’s unfathomable for me to call you on it?”

  “Guys,” Hollis interjects.

  “I wasn’t being snarky,” I snap.

  “You were mocking Nora,” he snaps back. “That’s snark in my book. And this isn’t the first time you’ve been bitchy toward me, Summer. You honestly think I haven’t noticed?”

  “Noticed what? That I don’t particularly want to be around you?” I plant my hands on my hips. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

  “Exactly. You’ve been openly bitchy.”

  “Stop calling me a bitch!”

  “Stop acting like one!”

  “Guys,” Hollis chides.

  “Why are you always yelling at me?” I growl at Fitz. “I never hear you yell at anyone else.”

  “Because nobody else drives me insane like this.” He angrily drags both hands through his hair. “One minute you’re all smiles and hugs on New Year’s, the next you’re—”

  “We are not discussing New Year’s,” I interrupt. “Not after what you—” I stop abruptly.

  A crease appears in his forehead. “After what?”

  “After what?” Hollis echoes curiously.

  “I just told you, we’re not discussing it.”

  “Discussing what?” Fitz demands. “I still have no clue what you’re talking about. What is it I supposedly did?”

  I slam my lips together.

  He searches my face for a few seconds. Then his eyes take on a gleam of determination. Oh no. I’m starting to recognize that expression.

  “You know what, we’re dealing with this right fucking now.” He takes a menacing step forward. “‘Scuse us, Mike.”

  “Naw, man, this was just getting good!”

  I hold up my hands in a defensive pose as Fitz edges toward me. “Don’t you dare,” I caution. “Don’t you fucking—”

  I’m being flung over his shoulder before I can finish that sentence.

  Un-frigging-believable!

  “How is this happening again?” I shriek.

  My protests fall on deaf ears, because Fitz is already carting me up the stairs.

  14

  Fitz

  I won’t lie. Having an angry, squirming Summer wriggling in my arms is just the teeniest bit of a turn-on.

  Okay fine. I’m rock hard.

  In my defense, I didn’t start this argument off with a boner. I was genuinely pissed at her. I still am. Only now I’m also aroused.

  So sue me.

  “Put. Me. Down.” Summer snarls out the words, and each sharp sound sends another bolt of heat to my cock.

  Something is really wrong with me. I just spent the past three hours with a girl who dolled herself up for me, who batted her lashes and touched my hand and all but held up a cardboard sign that said FUCK ME, COLIN!

  I didn’t experience so much as a dick twitch.

  And now here I am with Summer, who’s wearing baggy plaid pants and a long-sleeve shirt, who’s shouting obsce
nities at me, and my dick is raring to go.

  “You thought I was a bitch before?” she says threateningly. “Well, how about now!”

  She resorts to her go-to move: pinching my butt.

  But the sting of pain only turns me on. I kick her bedroom door open. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?”

  The moment I set her down, she takes a swing at me.

  Startled laughter lodges in my throat. I easily block her fist before it can connect with my solar plexus. “Stop that,” I order.

  “Why? Because it makes me a brat? Oh, and a bitch too, right? And a drama queen…and a sorority girl…what else…” Her cheeks redden with what appears to be embarrassment. “Oh, yes. I’m surface level. That’s what you think, right? That I’m fluff?”

  My stomach sinks like a stone.

  Dick’s not doing great, either—one look at Summer’s stricken face and my hard-on says “peace out.”

  Her fingers, which were clenched so tightly before, slowly uncurl and go limp. Noting my expression, she gives a bitter laugh. “I heard everything you said to Garrett at the bar that night.”

  Aw hell. Guilt ripples through my entire body before settling in my gut, an eddy of shame. “Summer,” I start. Then stop.

  “Every word,” she says quietly. “I heard every word you said, and not a single one was very nice, Colin.”

  I feel like such an asshole.

  Most of my life I’ve made it a point not to be cruel to others. Not to talk trash about anyone—to their face or behind their back. Growing up, all I saw from my parents was negativity. Nasty jabs directed at each other. Your father is a piece of shit, Colin. Your mom is a lying bitch, son. Over the years they’d calmed down, but it didn’t happen fast enough. The toxic environment they’d created had already done its job, teaching me the hard way how damaging words can be. That there’s no taking back the poison once you’ve spewed it.

  “Summer,” I try again, and stop again.

  I don’t know how to explain my actions without revealing just how badly I’d craved her that night. I’d been looking for negative traits because I was having a good time with her. Because she was making me laugh. Turning me on. I wanted her, and it was messing with my head, so I started picking apart everything I perceived to be a flaw.