My Forever (Our Forever Book 3)

by Elena Matthews

  I blush at that comment, and my nipples seemingly pebble at his sudden attention to my bare tits beneath the T-shirt. Ignoring his comment, I hand him his beer and pray my T-shirt isn’t see-through—not that it really matters, considering he saw more than my boobs last night.

  “Here. It’s not the fancy shit that you like, but it’s good.”

  He chuckles as he unscrews his beer with a flick of his wrist. “I’m so not a fancy guy,” he argues.

  I bark out a laugh. “Well, your taste in cars begs to differ.”

  “Would a fancy guy have three weeks of laundry to wash? I literally used my last pair of boxer shorts just this morning.”

  “Three weeks?” I balk as I grab a couple of plates from the cupboard.

  “I know. What can I say? I’m useless when it comes to laundry.”

  “And what happens tomorrow when you go to get dressed in the morning?” I teasingly ask him as I grab a few napkins and place them on top of the plates.

  “I’ll just go commando until I buy some more boxers.”

  I all but burst out laughing as we begin to make our way back through to the living room.

  “Wow, that is some rich-boy shit right there. I bet you’re like Justin Bieber. I once read that he throws away boxer shorts after only wearing them once. He either has more money than he knows what to do with or he’s skidding his undies like there’s no tomorrow.”

  He chuckles as he takes a seat, and I have to say, seeing his big, lean body sitting on my sofa honestly makes me a little wet. I have to clench my legs together as my pussy throbs.

  “What trash do you read?” he asks, almost appalled.

  “The only trash that matters. Celeb news is the best news,” I tell him as I set the plates down on the coffee table and sit beside him.

  “You do realize the tabloids only tell you lies, right? Everything they print is bullshit.”

  “OMG, really?” I say in an exaggerated voice, as if I really didn’t know. “Well, they obviously Photoshopped Justin’s dick that one time because, damn, he was hung like a motherfucker.”

  He just stares at me before his smile turns up into a big-ass grin, shaking his head. “You always know how to make me smile. You don’t have a filter, do you?” he asks as he flips the lid on the pizza box and grabs himself a slice.

  “Nope. I usually say what’s on my mind, and Justin’s dick was just that.” I sound like a total perv, but Chase laughs, and the very sound seriously makes me weak at the knees. I grab a plate and a napkin. Then, I slide a slice of pizza on my plate before sitting back and crossing my legs.

  “On a serious note, I’m doing my laundry tomorrow, so if you want to drop yours off, I’m more than happy to do it for you.”

  His eyes warm at my offer, but he just shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  I just shrug my shoulders. “It’s not a biggie. I know, what with coaching, running a charity, and being there for Olivia, laundry is the last thing on your mind.”

  “Honestly, I was going to ask my cleaner if she would mind doing them for an extra hundred dollars. It’s fine.”

  “Well, the offer’s still there. I can’t have you in dirty underwear. It will ruin your sex appeal,” I tease, tearing a bit of pizza off and plopping it into my mouth.

  He snorts as he takes a bite of his pizza. “Sex appeal? Now, that’s funny.”

  I frown. “Why is that so funny?”

  “I just don’t associate myself with being a sex icon. I mean, I used to get attention from women, but I just thought that came with the territory of being a hockey player.”

  “Believe me, chicks weren’t looking at you because you were a hockey player.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that, just focuses forward on the TV. Sometimes, I don’t think he knows what to do with my brazen honesty, and I love that vulnerability about him.

  He deftly changes the subject. “Were you watching something in particular or just this incredible screensaver?” he asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he points out to the TV screensaver that pops up onto Netflix when you haven’t been watching anything in some time.

  Busted. He knows I’m the loser who was asleep before eight p.m. on a Saturday night.

  I grab the remote control from the arm of the sofa and click the app back to life, laughing lightly under my breath. “I was watching The Big Bang Theory. You ever watch it?”

  “Yeah, a little when it first came out, but I’m seasons behind now. The last episode I remember was the bowling match with Wil Wheaton.”

  My eyes almost bug out. “That’s an old episode—from season three. Oh my God, you haven’t even met Shamy yet.”

  “Who?”

  “Sheldon and Amy—Shamy. They are, like, my second favorite TV couple. In between Nathan and Haley from One Tree Hill and Meredith and McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy. We need to rectify that right now,” I say, my pizza now forgotten as I make it my mission to bring joy into his life with TBBT.

  “Is this how you spend most of your Saturday nights?” he asks with an amused smirk as I scroll through Netflix and start from the beginning of season one.

  “Usually, no. Remember, I did have plans with Jo for the entire weekend, but then she went and got her ass all sick. Although, even if she hadn’t gotten sick, we wouldn’t have been able to do any of the fun stuff, like drinking, so we would have just ended up lounging in front of the TV with a pint of ice cream each. So, the evening is right on schedule.”

  “Well, at least we have pizza, not ice cream. It shakes things up a little,” he says with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Um, I actually demolished a pint of ice cream earlier,” I confess.

  He laughs. “I thought you only ate ice cream when you drank tequila?”

  I give him a sheepish look, smiling like an innocent four-year-old who was caught with her hands in the cookie jar after repeatedly being told she couldn’t have any more.

  “I might have tossed back a few shots when I got home, but in my defense, a woman fainted on me during one of my yoga sessions this morning. I swear, the woman took, like, five years off my life.”

  “Jesus,” he breathes. “Was she okay?”

  “Yeah, she came around quickly. It seems she was pregnant and had a heavy bout of morning sickness. It seems to be going around today,” I muse, not meaning to, especially with everything Chase’s going through, but I guess I just let it slip.

  “What do you mean?”

  I shake my head, worrying my teeth between my lips. “It’s honestly nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “Kaelyn, I’m not going to have a meltdown at the mention of pregnancies. Just tell me.”

  I let out a long sigh and pivot my body toward him. “After learning about Olivia, my best friend told me on the way to work that she was pregnant, and then the pregnant lady passed out in my class. It just seems to be the subject of the day.”

  He tilts his head to the side and bores his eyes into mine. “You don’t seem too happy about your friend?”

  I shake my head. “No, I am. She deserves it, so much. She’s been through so much, lost so much, that seeing her this happy makes me so unbelievably happy. I just…I always thought I’d be settled down by now, and instead, I’m spending my Saturday nights doing Netflix and chill by myself.”

  He tries to fight it, but suddenly, he starts laughing. “Do you mean that in a sexual way or the actual watching Netflix and chilling?”

  I cock an eyebrow up and flirtatiously smile. “What do you think I mean?” I totally meant in a sexual way. I mean, when do I not mean anything in a sexual way? It’s my MO.

  He shakes his head, humor flitting across his face. “Again, why the hell are you single?”

  “It seems I just attract assholes,” I state.

  He straightens his face, the smile now gone. “It’ll happen, you know,” he begins seriously.

  “What will?”

  “You’ll meet a guy who isn’t an asshole, and everything
will click into place.”

  What if I’ve already found him? I think to myself.

  Shit, no. I can’t be thinking that. If thoughts like that keep entering my head, us working out as friends won’t last longer than a week. He is off-limits, and the quicker I let that sink in, the better.

  “I don’t believe you. All guys are assholes. Even you and my brothers,” I state, smiling.

  His eyes narrow on me. “I’m an asshole?” he questions with disbelief.

  “Yes, especially since you didn’t let me drink on my birthday,” I say lightheartedly, rolling my eyes.

  Chase laughs. “You won’t let that drop, will you?”

  “It’s a crime against birthdays if you don’t drink on them.”

  He blinks and then blinks again. “Shit, I can’t believe that was only yesterday. It’s definitely been a crazy twenty-four hours.”

  I smile softly, my finger pausing on the play button on the remote control. “Yeah, it really has. Well, you know what the remedy is for a crazy day?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Big Bang Theory,” I state as I click on episode one, and Sheldon and Leonard come into shot, walking into the high-IQ sperm clinic.

  The next couple of Saturdays are the same. Around eight p.m., Chase arrives with a pizza after finishing at the rink, and we continue our The Big Bang Theory marathon with beer and tequila. Then, around ten p.m., the ice cream comes out, and around one a.m., Chase sends for an Uber. It might sound like a pretty pathetic Saturday night, but nights in with Chase are becoming one of my favorite pastimes. I’m even choosing nights in with Chase over a night on the town with Penelope. Plus, it gives Chase respite from his life—at least for a little while. I’m happy to free up my Saturdays for him if it means I can help him forget for a while. It’s what friends do, right?

  And, tonight, he’s like clockwork when he knocks on my door at eight p.m. on the dot. I grin down at the pajamas I have on tonight—Ren and Stimpy. After the first Saturday when I had the hideous neon-green lounge pants on, I’ve gone out of my way to wear novelty only pajamas, and tonight isn’t any different. It’s how we met, and honestly, I love the smile I receive. I can tell I’m the only reason he gets to smile, and I’m latching on to that for as long as possible because his smile is fucking everything.

  I know a friend isn’t supposed to think shit like that, but it’s the truth.

  I answer the door, ready to see that brilliant smile when I start giggling at the sight in front of me. He’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles onesie, the same onesie he was wearing when we met.

  “Wow, you’re all kinds of green tonight. Did you run out of laundry again?” I ask teasingly.

  He grins as he steps inside with a pizza box in his hands.

  The perfect food for a Mutant Ninja Turtle.

  “No. I actually have my laundry under control. I just wanted to join the crazy pajama club.”

  As we stand idle in the hallway, he glances down at my Ren and Stimpy T-shirt and shorts. I don’t miss the way his eyes linger for a few seconds longer on my bare legs.

  “You’re a Ren and Stimpy fan, too?” he asks when he finally tears his eyes from my naked body parts and toes off his sneakers.

  “Of course. I might have been born in the ’80s, but I’m a ’90s girl through and through.”

  “Well, you look cute,” he compliments before heading into the direction of the living room.

  The way my heart speeds up in my chest and the way butterflies float around in my belly, you’d think I was fourteen years old all over again.

  Jesus, get a grip on yourself, woman.

  “Hey, you decorated,” Chase states with a smile as he takes in my living room.

  I have a seven-foot Christmas tree in front of the bay window that glitters away in the dimly lit room, several Christmas ornaments lined up along the fireplace mantel, and a single stocking with my name hanging loosely in the center. A three-foot Santa Claus with a sack is standing beside the fire, and scattered around the living room are tiny Christmas trinkets that I’ve collected over the years.

  “Yeah, it’s Christmas in just a few days, so I finally pulled the decorations out last night.”

  I see the moment his eyes take in the three-foot Santa.

  He suddenly stills in his steps and whips his head in my direction, pure horror in his expression. “What the fuck is that?”

  I step up to Santa Claus and pat him on the head. “It’s Father Christmas. Sweet, huh?” I say in a sugary-sweet voice.

  He just stares blankly at me. “More like creepy as hell. How he doesn’t give you nightmares is beyond me.”

  He sets the pizza down on the coffee table before he closes the distance between us—or I should say, between him and Santa—and turns him around, so he’s facing the wall like a naughty little boy on a time-out. I chuckle with disbelief.

  Poor Santa.

  “That’s better,” he declares with an accomplished smile.

  I follow him into the kitchen. “God, you’re the Grinch who stole Christmas, aren’t you?”

  Chase barks out a laugh. “No, I’m not. But, while I’m hanging out here, I don’t want that pervy-looking motherfucker staring at me all night.”

  “He isn’t a perv. He’s Santa.” I burst out giggling.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like any normal Santa I’ve ever seen. That ugly-ass thing is just waiting for lights out, so he can go snooping through your underwear drawer.”

  I snort. “He so doesn’t.”

  “I bet you twenty dollars that, when you go to bed tonight, you’ll be wondering if he’s going to watch you sleep,” he says with a shit-eating smile.

  “Deal. I’m not scared of a three-foot Santa,” I confidently declare.

  I grab a couple of beers while Chase grabs a few plates. As the humor of our banter wears off, I desperately want to ask him how Olivia is doing, but I get the sense that he doesn’t like talking about her when he’s here. I mean, he gives me updates by text during the week, but here seems to be his nirvana, and he at least deserves one night a week for himself, so I don’t bring her up. If he wants to escape the hell of his current life, then I’ll be right there with him, eating pizza in our pajamas and binge-watching The Big Bang Theory.

  “You haven’t been watching any of this without me, have you?” Chase asks as we get comfortable in the living room, and I get ready to lock and load the next episode. We’re at the beginning of season three now.

  I glance at him with a cocked eyebrow. “What kind of bitch do you take me for?” I ask defensively but smiling.

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just asking. You know Saturday nights are the highlight of my week, and I’d hate if you were Netflixing and chilling by yourself.”

  I throw my head back on a laugh. “It depends on what kind of Netflix and chill you’re referring to. If you mean the actual Netflix and chill, then no. I’ve barely had time to pee, let alone watch TV this past week. If you mean the naughty kind, then, absolutely, I have. Once a day in fact.”

  I wink, and he chuckles, his eyes widening just a little at my confession.

  “If you’ve barely had time to pee, how do you have time to masturbate?” he asks incredulously, grinning.

  “I always have time to masturbate. It’s part of my meditation routine. It helps with my Zen because a sexually frustrated chick isn’t pretty. Especially when she isn’t getting any,” I pointedly state. Then, I brazenly add, “Are you telling me you haven’t pumped the python at least once this week?”

  “Pumped the python? Really?” he asks, humor dancing in his eyes, his mouth pursed with hilarity.

  I shrug. “Well, what else do you want me to call it? Burping the worm? Looping the mule? Jerkin’ the gherkin?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he spits out, bending at the waist as full-on laughter spills from his mouth.

  I fight back my smile as I continue on, “Buffing the banana? Painting the pickle? Spanking the mo
nkey?”

  “Stop!” he breathes through his chuckles, and I giggle along with him. Eventually, his laughter subsides, and he sits back, holding his stomach. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met. Buffing the banana?” he repeats, laughing again. “I had no idea there were so many euphemisms for jerking off.”

  “Trust me; that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There is a website with over five hundred euphemisms just for masturbating.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. I can keep going if you’d like,” I offer, wagging my brows.

  His response to this? He grabs a slice of pizza and shoves it into my mouth, shutting me up once and for all.

  “Just press play, you freak,” he instructs playfully.

  A few episodes and a large pizza down, I’m feeling more relaxed than I have in forever, and I’m trying to pretend the cause of it isn’t the six-foot-two sexy beast sitting next to me, but in fact the comedy mastermind, Sheldon Cooper. But who the fuck am I kidding? Chase is the reason. Chase is the reason I do most things. I mean it’s forty-three degrees outside, and I’m wearing shorts. It doesn’t take a genius to work out why I’m wearing them. Even though, when I put them on, I told myself I was wearing them for me, not him. My mind is such a fucking liar.

  I’m finding it hard to focus on the TV when every little movement, shift, and laugh from Chase has me on high alert. He’s all I can concentrate on.

  It’s so unnerving. Especially since the only guys I usually ever sit on a sofa with and kick back with in a completely platonic way are my brothers. Every other guy has been a hook-up or boyfriend, and I guarantee we weren’t watching TV. This whole friends-with-a-guy thing is new territory, and knowing how I feel about him, it’s definitely going to be harder than anticipated.

  God, he’s just so fucking gorgeous.

  I mean, every time I look at him, all my girlie parts tingle.

  But what’s really doing it for me are his sock-covered feet. I’ve never been one for feet, but seeing Chase with no shoes on, in my house, sitting on my sofa, watching my TV, inches away from me is a really intimate move, one I find sexy as hell. I like seeing him comfortable in my house, that I make him comfortable.