Take Heart

by Smith, Lauren

  Chase is trying hard to suppress a smirk.

  “Okay, so maybe not on the hood in the Texas heat. How about the backseat?” I recover.

  He drops his arms and walks over to where I’m standing. He reaches out and grabs my face. “Babe?”

  Reluctantly, I look up at him. “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t scratch the car.”

  My eyes widen and I push at his chest. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?!”

  He stumbles backwards and throws his head back, roaring with laughter. “You should’ve seen your face. Fucking priceless.”

  “You jerk! I almost had a heart attack. You even had me trading in sexual favors to make it right!” I shout.

  “No, Mia, that was all you,” he holds up his hands defensively.

  “I’m so mad at you right now.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll make it up to you on the hood of my car,” he bursts out laughing again.

  I feel a raging fire spread inside me and I turn to walk away.

  “Hey, wait up!” he calls after me.

  I ignore him and pick up the pace. He charges me from behind, wraps his arms around me, and lifts me off the ground.

  “Put me down!” I try to wrestle out of his hold.

  He sets me down on my feet, dips me low, and kisses me hard on the mouth before I have a chance to yell at him. Caught off guard, I freeze, then slowly close my eyes and wind my arms around his neck. I passionately return his kiss. He brings us both back up and breaks the lip-lock.

  “You’re beautiful and incredible,” he murmurs, stroking my nose with his. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”

  I feel my anger evaporate and I soften in his arms. “You. Me. A bike ride?”

  “Done.” He casually wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks us over to the rental stand.

  We spend the next two hours racing around Barton Springs, even making a quick stop to dip our feet in the water. It’s warm out, but the trees are doing a decent job of shading us. I feel just as wild and untamed as these rocky trails we’re conquering together. Chase seems to think he’s some kind of motocross star. He’s performing small jumps and tricks every now and then, keeping me on my toes. Showoff. Pssh, whatever. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s actually good. He’s stupid awesome. There’s really no use in denying or fighting it anymore; I’m falling for him...hard.

  TWELVE

  c h a s e

  I’ll admit, I’m not the world’s greatest cook. I’m technically way out of my element here, but I’m trying. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I offered to cook her dinner. It sounded like a good idea in theory, but in practice it’s quickly turning into an impossible task. I’m not even making anything that complex. I’m making farfel with a wild creamy mushroom sauce, baked potatoes, and a side salad. What’s throwing me off, you ask? The damn multitasking cooking involves. But have no fear because I have a backup plan if things go awry—Chinese takeout.

  Hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

  The good news is that I chose a pretty good wine to go with our food tonight, and I’ve lit candles—all over the living room and kitchen table—making my apartment look and feel romantic.

  It’s almost six-thirty, which means Mia will be here any minute. I pull the baked potatoes out of the oven to let them cool down, and grab two wine glasses from the cupboard. I pour the wine, let it breathe, and pace around the kitchen nervously, waiting for the sauce to finish heating up. I focus on keeping myself busy and set the table with two plates, napkins, and all the utensils we’ll need. It’s right then that I hear a knock, but before I get a chance to walk over to the door, it opens up and closes.

  “Oooh, it smells good in here,” a female voice praises.

  It’s not Mia’s.

  Megan walks over and sets her purse down on the couch. She’s dressed in a white button-up blouse, a black skirt, and heels; she just got off work. She wanders into the kitchen, her heels clacking against the tile floor, and leans over the stove to take a whiff of the sauce.

  “It’s definitely the candles,” she concludes.

  “Shit, Meg, don’t tell me that, okay?”

  She comes up and puts an arm around my back and pulls me into a side hug. “Lighten up, I’m only kidding. The food smells delicious. Need any help?”

  “No, what I need is for you to leave before Mia gets here.”

  She swings around, grabs a glass, and starts to pour herself some water from the fridge, making herself at home.

  “Meg, I’m not kidding. You need to leave, like now,” I urge.

  “But, I want to meet her,” she presses.

  “No. The last thing I want is for this date to turn into a family affair. We’re still getting to know each other and I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable because my older sister is around. I don’t want to feed her to the wolves.”

  Meg scoffs and takes a sip of her water. “I’m hardly a wolf, Chase. Just because I didn’t like Christa doesn’t mean I won’t like Mia. I’m sure she’s a completely different type of girl. It’s nice to see someone get under your skin for a change. Based on that alone, I already like her.”

  I turn the stove off, reach for the sauce, and take it off the burner. I carefully pour it into the bowl with the pasta and stir it all up. One by one, I set each dish down on the kitchen table for us to self-serve. Three loud raps echo throughout the apartment. Meg quickly sets her glass down and races to the front door, beating me there. Highly impatient, she opens it, and there stands Mia. She’s wearing a turquoise T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and brown cowgirl boots. She looks breathtaking, like always.

  I stand next to Megan, completely captivated. She looks between Meg and I, uncomfortable—and if I’m not mistaken, maybe even a little hurt. She shifts back and forth on her feet and tucks an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. She looks up at me with a frown. Oh, shit. I clear my throat and push the door open wider, out of Meg’s hold, and stand off to the side, silently inviting Mia in. Reluctantly, she steps inside the doorway and takes a rigid stance on the opposite side of us.

  “Amelia, this is my sister, Megan. Meg, this is Mia, my girlfriend.”

  Yeah, I just labeled it.

  Mia looks at me with a hint of surprise—or maybe shock—but then composes herself and relaxes some. Her hurt expression is replaced with a friendly smile as she extends her hand.

  Meg grasps it and returns the smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Mia. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says politely.

  “It’s great to meet you, too. Chase has told me a lot about you, as well.”

  Meg looks at me and raises her brows. “Is that right?”

  “All good things,” I reassure her.

  “Good,” she says with a satisfied nod. She walks over to the couch to retrieve her purse and pulls the strap up over her shoulder as she strides back over to the door. She pulls me into a goodbye hug, and then turns and regards Mia warmly. “It was nice to meet you, Mia. Maybe I’ll get to see you again sometime soon and we can get to know each other a little better,” she suggests.

  “I’d love that,” Mia says with sincerity.

  Meg steps out and turns around to face us. “You two enjoy your evening. And Mia, don’t be surprised if his cooking is awful. He can’t cook to save his life, but on the flipside, he makes great furniture, so I guess it all balances out. Either way, you’ve been warned.”

  Mia laughs. I could seriously strangle Meg for that comment. I know she means well, but I’ve stressed about it enough and she knows that.

  “Bye, Meg,” I say loudly and start to close the door. Last thing I see is her grin. I lock the door and slowly turn around to face Mia.

  “Your sister seems really nice.”

  “She’s a pain in the ass.” I leisurely saunter towards her. With Mia looking that sexy, I’m done talking about my sister. She automatically takes a few steps back to widen the space between us. I pick up my pace and quickly fill it. The backs o
f her legs meet the back of my couch and stop her from going any farther. Our bodies are barely touching, but her chest is lightly brushing up against mine with each breath she takes. I can tell from the look on her face that she wants to say something, but she hesitates. I gently stroke her forehead with the tips of my fingers, moving her side-swept bangs out of her eye. She reaches up and grasps both of my arms, closes her eyes, and leans forward to inhale my scent. I’m wearing my most expensive cologne.

  She makes a satisfied little noise in the back of her throat and slowly opens her eyes to capture my gaze. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours tick by as we continue to just stare at each other. Tilting my head to the side quizzically, I reach up to cup both of her cheeks in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks. Her skin is always so soft and smooth.

  “What’s on your mind, baby?” I ask softly.

  “It’s nothing,” she says dismissively.

  “Tell me.”

  She chews her bottom lip in contemplation and looks at me with mixed emotions. “It’s just...you introduced me as your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, so?” I say, not understanding the point. “Did that bother you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m just confused as to whether you said that because your sister was standing there, or because you actually feel that way about us. I mean, I know you like me, don’t get me wrong, but I also know that you don’t really do the whole girlfriend thing,” she says cautiously. “I guess it just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  I reach down to grab her hands, intertwine all of our fingers together, and take a small step back, my stance becoming more serious.

  “Mia, I’m kind of crazy about you. After spending the last couple of nights together, I don’t want to share you with anyone else, and I certainly don’t want to stop seeing you. I told you before; you’re more than just a fling. I value and respect you. When I feel this strongly about a woman, I give her the commitment she deserves. So whether you like it or not, you have me.” And then I can’t help myself. “You get no say in this, so just bend over and take it.”

  Her mouth falls open in mock horror. She rips her hand out of mine and pinches me hard on my side. I jump back in defense and laugh loudly, my voice traveling throughout the room. When she quickly figures out that I’m ticklish, she goes in for the kill as I try to fight her off. After a few seconds, she steps back and eyes me sternly.

  “Take it back. Right now,” she demands.

  “Absolutely not,” I defy.

  She steps forward and starts tickling me again, mercilessly, as I roar with laughter. “Fine, then you bend over and take it,” she counters.

  I seize one of her arms but she gets me with the other one.

  “Okay! Okay!” I hold my hands up and surrender.

  “So, you take it back?” she asks.

  “Yes, I take it back. After spending the last few nights together I think we should see other people. You are no more than a fling to me. And I don’t have an ounce of feeling for you whatsoever. Therefore, no matter how hard you beg, you’ll never be my girlfriend. So quit being so desperate and—”

  She grabs my face and smashes her lips to mine, cutting off my unromantic declaration. I growl in response and wrap my arms around her back, squeezing the hell out of her. After a few moments, I break the kiss before I’m in too deep. I’m keeping us at arm’s length—literally.

  “Come on, let’s eat. The food’s going to get cold and I put a lot of effort into making it. Plus, I’m fucking starving, and if you keep kissing me that way, I’ll be eating something other than food, and that’s supposed to be for dessert.”

  Grabbing her hand, I lead us toward the kitchen table. I pull her chair out, and she takes a seat, scooching herself in as I grab our glasses of wine off the counter.

  “Everything looks really good,” she says, placing her napkin in her lap.

  “There are no guarantees,” I warn. “My sister was pretty spot on when she made those comments.”

  “I’m sure it will taste delicious,” she reassures.

  “Well, don’t hold back. Help yourself and dig in.”

  I sit down and take my own advice after Mia finishes filling her plate. We spend the better part of dinner delving into deeper topics. We talk about everything from societal issues, to our personal goals and aspirations, to our family life. The wine is helping us philosophize, and it also seems to be bringing out the more opinionated side of Mia. When she says things, she says them with a strong passion and conviction. She’s not close minded or arrogant about it, just passionate. It’s quite a turn-on.

  I’m discussing things with her that I’ve never discussed with any woman other than Meg. As I sit here and eat my pasta, I listen attentively to what she’s saying and try not to focus too much on her body language. I do pick up on the way her cheeks flush when we butt heads on a topic, and how she uses her hands to animatedly describe what she’s trying to say, and how when she’s deep in thought, her fingers circle the bowl of the wine glass absentmindedly. I love how her nose scrunches up when she giggles at something I say, and how witty she can be in general. When I dish it out, she gives it right back. This woman can hold her own.

  The food didn’t turn out so bad after all. Both of us had room for seconds, finishing off almost everything I made, and we drained the bottle of wine. The sun has set outside so there’s no more natural light coming in through the windows. Now it’s just candles glowing everywhere. I’m not the most romantic guy, but I’m going to give myself points for this one (and I think you probably should too.) The effort was made; I’m behaving like a gentleman; nothing went wrong.

  Mia excuses herself to the bathroom and I begin to clean up all of the dishes. Her phone lights up and vibrates on the table with an incoming call. I ignore it and let it go to voicemail. It lights up and vibrates again. I’m tempted to answer it this time, but I don’t want her to get pissed and think I’m screening her calls. That’s not my style. I look at the phone and see that it’s her mom calling. Figuring that it might be important, my curiosity gets the better of me and I slide my finger across the screen to answer.

  “Mia’s phone. Chase speaking.”

  “Who the hell is this?” a sharp voice bites through the speaker.

  “I’m Mia’s boyfriend,” I say casually.

  “You’re telling me that my daughter has only been down there for a couple weeks and already she has a boyfriend? What, did her legs just fall open?”

  I’m completely taken aback. I have no idea how to handle this woman, and I can’t believe she just said that about her own daughter. Mia steps out of the bathroom and stalks into the living room. When she notices my shocked expression, her brows furrow in confusion. Her mother continues to rant on the other end.

  “What’s the matter, Chaaaase?” she slurs. “Cat got your tongue? Or does Mia have it?”

  “Mrs. Foster, I don’t appreciate—”

  “Don’t call me that!” she snaps. “I’m not married to David anymore. You can call me Nancy, got it?”

  Mia’s eyes widen in horror and all of the blood drains from her face. She looks paralyzed, unable to move a muscle or even breathe.

  “Uh, Nancy? I think Mia’s going to have to call you back later.” I say, unsure.

  “Put her on the phone! That little shit owes me money!”

  Before I have a chance to respond, and tell Nancy to go fist herself, Mia snaps out of her temporary trance and grabs the phone out of my hand.

  “What do you want?” she asks harshly.

  I can hear yelling on the other end, but between the slurring and the endless run-on sentences, I can’t decipher what she’s saying. I keep my eyes trained on Mia, watching her every move.

  “Mom, I’m not paying that, again; we’ve gone over this,” Mia says, forcing herself to stay calm.

  The shouting continues on Nancy’s end, and Mia looks up into my eyes, pissed. “Mom, listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this one more time. I’m
not going to pay the house bill and I’m not coming back home,” her voice is slowly rising, octave by octave. “If you even dare call me one more fucking time,” she grits, “or speak to my boyfriend that way ever again, I’ll file harassment charges. You got that...you little shit?” She ends the call, slams the phone down, and lets out a shaky breath, using the counter to hold herself steady.

  I give her a minute to calm down before I explain myself. She looks up and studies me, a frown marring her beautiful features.

  “Why would you answer my phone?” she asks sharply, irritated.

  And cue the groveling....

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what it seemed like. I swear, I wasn’t trying to screen your calls or snoop around. I was cleaning up while you were in the bathroom when I saw your mom call. I thought maybe it was important, but I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an idiot. Forgive me?” I ask, sincere and hopeful.

  When you’ve been in hot water as many times as I have, you quickly become accustomed to these types of situations. Thankfully, I know all the right things to say and do, in order to get myself out. It goes along with my charm.

  She lets out a weary sigh, and her shoulders sag, making me feel even worse. I walk around and pull her into my arms, attempting to make it right. She’s trembling, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or anger. I rapidly rub my hands up and down her arms for comfort, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, and she begins to cry.

  “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” I soothe.

  “No, it’s not okay. I’m so sorry for the things she said to you,” she sniffs.

  I try for humor. “Don’t apologize, Mia. It’s my fault. I’m the idiot who thought it’d be cute to say hi to your mom—like when my sis crashed our party earlier just to meet you.” And then I add, “And you can’t own her actions and mistakes like they’re yours. Understand?”

  “I can’t help it,” she sobs.

  I lift her up and carry her down the hall into my bedroom, gently laying her down on my bed. I reach out to turn on the lamp, and the room warms up with some light. I crawl in behind her, fold my arms around her, and hold on tightly while she cries. I knew she had issues with her mother, but I had no idea it was this bad. No wonder Mia left.