by S. R. Grey
“Ouch.” He pretends like my play-punch really hurts, which makes us both laugh, because, really, who is he kidding?
“Okay, tough girl, turn around,” he says, spinning me so my back is facing him and he can put the tie he stole back in my hair.
I stand perfectly still while Chase works my hair back into the tie. His fingers work adeptly, but also gently and carefully, never pulling or tugging. It amazes me that hands that punish and perpetrate violence against men—I’ve heard of how brutal some of his fights have been—can touch me like this, tenderly, so sweetly. But I already know Chase is complex and his actions are sometimes contradictory. After all, the same hands that break bones also create beautiful art. Yet another contradiction of this complicated man. This complicated man that I am really starting to like.
Chase’s fingers graze the back of my neck lightly as he secures the tie and the hair around it. I shiver a little, my body instinctively leaning back into him.
Maybe Chase feels the pull too, because he places his hands on my shoulders, his lips at my ear. “All done, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing my neck and giving me goose bumps.
Our bodies are so close, touching, but not. Heat radiates from his chest to my back. His proximity, his lips at my ear, I am left all aflutter. But then Chase breaks the spell when he gives my newly secured ponytail a little flip and steps away.
When we start to walk once more, I cannot stop smiling. I glance over at Chase, and though he stares straight ahead, I see a grin on his lips too.
I decide this day with Chase Gartner—my friend, my maybe-possibility—is the best one yet.
The weekend is weird with no Chase, no lunches with him at the diner. I do see my sharply dressed boy on Sunday, at Mass. He’s sitting in his usual spot in the back, and I’m sitting with Missy and her mom.
I find it odd that Missy doesn’t glance back even once to where Chase is seated, nor does she urge me to do so. Nonetheless, I steal a peek on my own and when Chase looks up I give him a quick wave. He smiles and waves back, and then he bows his head.
When I turn back to Missy she’s glaring at me. “Why are you waving to him?” she hisses.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know, Why not? You’re the one who’s always going on and on about how hot he is. What’s with the change in attitude anyway?”
She snorts. “He may be hot, Kay, but he’s also a real prick.” She says this low, so her mom doesn’t hear.
The organ music begins to play so I don’t have a chance to ask anything more. But I have to wonder: Did Chase do something to piss Missy off? I didn’t think they really knew each other all that well, but maybe I’m mistaken. Or, maybe her crush has just run its course. Who knows? Who cares? I let the thought slip away as I open my hymnal.
The minute Mass ends, Chase is out the door, which is just as well. I have my weekly visit to attend to. But this week when I kneel at Sarah’s grave I don’t just tell her three more things I’ll never forget about her. I also tell her all about my new friend, Chase Gartner.
“I think you’d like him,” I say while clearing grass clippings from her marker. “He has a younger sibling too. A brother named Will. He’s turning fifteen soon.”
I pick up the tiny bouquet of wild violets from last week. It’s wilted and dried. I sigh and put it back. “Chase doesn’t say it outright, Sarah, but I can tell he misses his little brother. It’s kind of sad. He told me Will won’t talk to him anymore. And the look on his face…I just don’t know.”
I exhale loudly and think about how Chase quietly told me on one of our walks back to the church that his brother hates him for going to prison. I’d suspected as much. Anyway, Will refuses to respond to any of Chase’s calls or texts. I told him I feel confident his little brother’s cold shoulder won’t last forever. That made him smile.
What I didn’t say is that Will is alive, not gone like Sarah. And where there’s life, forgiveness always has the chance to prevail.
The next two weeks are more of the same. Lunches with Chase go on, and we continue to learn more and more about one another. There are smiles and laughter, playing and flirting, and more confiding.
Something I keep to myself, however, are my feelings for this man. They’ve deepened considerably and Chase is becoming more than just a very good friend. He represents life and friendship, two things that were seriously lacking in my pre-Chase existence. But it’s more than just the hope and possibility Chase shows me that draws me to him. There’s definitely something else, something strong, something burning. I don’t know, though, if I’m ready to label all these foreign emotions I’m feeling. Maybe that’s because I have a secret I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to share. And that bothers me, because we’re starting to share just about everything.
Chase and I share a lot, we’ve become much more open, but I still can’t bring myself to divulge the biggest secret I hold—the facts surrounding what really happened the night Sarah died. I worry if I confess to Chase what role I played—or the things I should have done, but didn’t—he’ll see me as a different person. What if that happens and he turns away? Losing him would hurt badly. Just the thought alone leaves my stomach heavy and knotted. I don’t know if I can take that kind of a chance. So, for now, I keep this secret hidden.
I push these thoughts away as I work through another Monday morning, the start of the last week of June. This Monday is the same as most. I am sitting at my desk, counting down the hours till lunchtime with my guy.
At five to twelve, I am out the door, and, within minutes, halfway down the steps to the gymnasium, where Chase is working on repairing one of the backboards.
I catch sight of him and stop in my tracks.
He’s up on a ladder, and since today is a scorcher, especially in the non-air-conditioned school, my gorgeous friend isn’t wearing a shirt. Chase’s entire upper body is bare, all toned and hard and tight. He even has a little bit of a tan from the work he does outside. His jeans hang low on his hips, revealing two indentations on either side of his lower back, right above the band of his black boxer briefs.
I fan myself a little and catch my breath. His lower body is nothing short of amazing—strong legs, great ass— but my eyes return to his bare back, to where ink I had no idea existed is on full and vivid display. I can’t help but stare. I’m frankly mesmerized by the intricacy and beauty of the tattoos Chase has on his back and shoulders.
There’s an angel inked between his shoulder blades, in profile with her head bowed. The angel is beautiful, but in a sad and tragic way. Framing her are large wings, inked above and on either side. The tips trail down the sides of Chase’s back, while a few feathers cascade down around the angel. One or two even reach to just above those sexy indentations.
Still unaware that I’m on the steps, Chase reaches to tighten something on the backboard. His two other tats that, up until now, I’ve seen only bits and pieces of are finally fully visible. The number—72, just as I thought—inked on his right bicep is clear as day, the ink heavy and dark. The mysterious scroll of words trailing around his left bicep is also fully visible, but the words still elude me. I can’t make them out from this distance.
Chase turns and catches sight of me. He smiles. “Hey, you snuck up on me,” he says as he begins climbing down from the ladder.
His T-shirt is draped over one of the bleachers. He picks it up and fluffs it out, unknowingly making his upper body muscles tense and flex. I know Chase’s body is incredible, but I’ve never seen it like this, half of it bare. Nor was I aware my badass boy was this heavily tattooed. Damn. Chase is so lean and ripped, and such a real-life bad boy. There’s something very alluring about all that.
Today I have on an above-the-knee skirt and cotton blouse, but I suddenly wish I’d worn something more revealing. I fumble with the button at the top of my shirt, debating whether I should undo one more. After all, I have a valid excuse—it’s stifling hot in here.
But before I muster up th
e nerve to pop open a button, I notice Chase eyeing me curiously, gunmetal blues focused on my fingers that are caressing a button. I quickly lower my hand. Chase looks away and pulls his shirt over his head.
“Am I early?” I ask, pretending as if I am not aware that I’m exactly on time.
It’s kind of hard to come up with witty banter when you’re almost drooling.
Chase gives me another funny look, and all I can envision is him walking over to me and hiking my skirt up, much like I hiked it up myself the day I ran after him to retrieve my hair tie. That day, I hiked just a smidge, but today I want Chase to hike higher, much higher. I want to feel his hands, his gentle fingers, on my legs, all over my body. I loved the way his fingers grazed my neck when he slipped the tie back on my hair. What could those adept fingers do to other places on my body?
God, I want Chase Gartner, more than ever before. My body burns to feel his touch, anywhere and everywhere, and I long to touch him too. I want to run my fingers over the lines of his tattoos, trace them with my tongue. But this isn’t all about lust. I long to touch Chase in these ways because I’ve grown to care for him—as a person, as a man, as my friend. Touching him, letting him touch me, it feels like a natural progression. We share so much emotionally that sharing ourselves physically seems inevitable. How much longer can we deny this attraction?
“You’re not early,” Chase is saying. Focus, focus. “I lost track of time.”
I nod absently and work on pulling myself together.
By the time we reach the diner—our diner—we’re thankfully back on track. Or, at least, I am. Chase seems mostly unaffected by my earlier ogling, even though it had to have been obvious to him.
Suddenly, I realize something, something terrible—maybe Chase isn’t all that attracted to me. Sure, he flirts, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Insecurity rears its ugly head, making me doubt. Chase is an incredibly beautiful man. He could have anyone he wants. Why would he want me? I’m probably far below his usual standards. I mean, I know he likes me as a friend. But is there a possibility of something more? Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself.
An all-consuming need to know washes over me. I absolutely have to find out if I’m the only one feeling this attraction, this pull. With renewed purpose, I set my iced tea down on the table. “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.
Chase is swallowing a bite of a club sandwich and he coughs. Once he’s recovered, he says, “I don’t know. Nothing much, I guess. Why?”
I have to be brave, keep taking chances. No need to stop now, this could be the deciding factor as to where this relationship is heading.
Although this is harder than I thought.
I inhale, exhale, and say in a hurried jumble of words, “Wanttogotoamovietonight?”
For a long moment, Chase says nothing, and I feel like a fool. “Just forget it,” I mumble.
“No, wait. I’d love to see a movie with you. I was just thinking though. You do know they’re renovating the theater here in town, right?” I nod slowly. Oops, I’d forgotten about that. “Well, that means we’d have to go to the cinemas up north, which is maybe an hour away.” Chase runs his fingers through his hair, like maybe he’s a little nervous now too. “So, uh, why don’t you just come over to my house after work? We can watch something there. I have on-demand, so we’ll have lots of choices.”
Chase waits for my reply, eyebrow raised. Of course, I agree. His idea is even better than my suggestion. This way I’ll get to see Chase at home, in his own environment. That thought gives me an extra little thrill.
I know where Chase lives, but he insists on giving me directions just to be sure. He informs me he’s finishing up early today, so he’ll already be home by the time I make it out to his house. I tell him that’s fine with me.
“It’s a date, then,” Chase says as he offers me a rather stunning smile.
I wonder if he’s serious. Is this really a date? Maybe. I hope so.
I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I hope to find it tonight. Just a sign, something tangible, I suppose would be nice. Something to let me know this thing between me and Chase has potential, and that it’s definitely not one-sided.
I’m nervous, in an excited kind of way, the rest of the afternoon. Whatever the outcome, this is a step forward in our friendship. Our interactions so far have been limited to the church grounds and the few surrounding blocks. Tonight, though, in Chase’s home, I may finally get an answer to the question that’s burning me up inside: Does Chase Gartner like me the way I like him…romantically?
CHAPTER FIVE
CHASE
Maybe I am deluding myself, but it seems this friendship thing is really working. I’ve successfully kept feelings that confuse me—feelings that have me all twisted up inside—under wraps. Consequently, I can proudly state that Kay Stanton is the first female friend I’ve ever had. In fact, surprisingly, she’s turning out to be the best friend I’ve ever had as well.
I like how free and easy it is to talk to her. My girl is incredible like that. Sometimes I feel so comfortable I even find myself telling her way more than I originally intended, I get that lost in the sharing of my stories. It’s never been that way before with anyone else, only with Kay. Maybe it’s because sweet girl is such a good listener?
Nah, I think it’s something more.
I have to admit my feelings for Kay are like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Nothing, ever.
I want her, of course. What man wouldn’t? Kay is sexy and beautiful, very desirable, very fuckable. But it’s more than just some physical thing. I want to be around her all the time. And I actually care about what she thinks, about me, about life, about this crazy fucking world we live in. I guess I just want to know what she thinks about everything.
In addition, I like to see Kay happy. In fact, nothing pleases me more. That’s why I tease and play so much when I’m around her, that shit never fails to make my girl smile wide and true. And when Kay smiles at me—in that way only she can do—I know…I just fucking know…she likes me more than just a friend.
Actually, I’m pretty certain Kay is looking for a sign that I feel the same way. I do, obviously, but I can’t tell her. Maybe Kay doesn’t realize she’s too good for the likes of me. She sees only the best parts of me, and if I could be that way all the time, then maybe. But I don’t know if such a thing is possible. I’m sure I’ll fuck things up somewhere along the line. I almost always do with the people I care about.
These are my thoughts as I nervously get ready for our “date” tonight. Shit, I don’t know what this is we’re even doing this evening. I called it a date earlier, but I was just fucking around. I think.
Whatever.
I glance around my bedroom. There are some clothes strewn on the floor, so I gather those jeans and tees up now. After I set aside a pile of laundry, I turn to check out the clock on the bedside table.
Fuck, it’s after five, Kay will be here soon.
I hurriedly shower and go back to my room. I tug on a clean pair of jeans and one of those nice button-down shirts from my mother. I glance in the mirror above the dresser while I roll dark blue sleeves up to my elbows. I guess I look okay. All I know is that I want to look nice for Kay. Not that this movie night is a date or anything, I remind myself.
After I’m ready, I get to work on cleaning and straightening up around the house. It’s not that I’m exceptionally messy, but I am a guy and sometimes it takes me a while to get around to picking things up, especially clothes. Leave it where it falls is my standard motto. But I get things in order now. I throw a load of laundry into the washer, vacuum the area rugs in the dining room and living room, dust the stand the TV is on, and straighten three forest-green throw pillows that reside on a snow-white couch. I shake my head. Gram and her love of light colors. Thank God I’ve never spilled anything when watching TV in here. I wouldn’t want Kay to think I’m a complete slob.
The record album
s I brought down from the attic a few weeks ago are still scattered across the coffee table. I was listening to one in particular a day or so ago. It’s still on the turntable of Gram’s old record player, so I go over and retrieve it. When I place the vinyl back into the colorful seventies-era cover with the big spaceship, I have to laugh. There’s one song on this record that perfectly captures my situation with Kay.
Yeah, if only I could find that man, sweet girl.
With a resigned sigh, I stack the albums together and slide them onto the shelf beneath the coffee table. Then, I take a look around. All in all, the place looks damn fucking good. I run my fingers through my hair. What next? The house is clean and I’m dressed and ready. I look down. My feet are bare, but I don’t think Kay will mind.
Kay…
My feelings for her are so screwed up, but I can’t get her out of my head. If she were any other girl, I’d just bang her and get her out of my system. Then, I’d probably move on. But she’s not any other girl, she’s Kay, she’s my Kay. And though I’d love to bang my Kay—sweet and slow, hard and fast, any way she’d want it—I sure as hell don’t have any desire to move on afterward. Far from it, in fact.
Fuck. Could it be any more obvious this woman is seeping into my pores?
You’d think I’d be running for the hills, before my girl splits my heart in two. But do I want to get away? Hell, no. I actually want to get closer to Kay, lay my heart out before her, and let her do with it what she will. If only I had the balls to take a chance, I think she’d handle my heart carefully. She’s sweet like that.
Sweet Kay. I can’t help but smile. But she’s more than just sweet. She is so, so many things, and every single one of them I find cute as hell.
My girl is attentive when I talk, sitting and listening to all my stupid stories with rapt attention. Who else would do that? Only her. But she’s also more, so much more. Kay is shy-girl blushes and smiles, pretty in pink, and sexy as fuck in summer dresses. Sweet girl is vulnerable at times, but brave at others. Such a girly-girl most of the time, but sometimes she’s a wannabe-tough girl who delivers weak-ass punches with enthusiasm, like she did the day I stole the tie-thing from her hair.