by Serena Bell
“Then why were you doing it?”
Her eyes are huge, fixed on my face. The moment feels super-charged.
“Because I wanted to.”
Her expression is a question. I have to stop myself from grabbing her and kissing her. I have to tell her the whole truth first.
“I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Because I wanted you. Want you. And I’m sorry if I made you think it was for any other reason.”
“Oh,” Liv says. “Wow.” Her cheeks are pink. She bites her lower lip, which makes me want to lean in and lick the bitten spot. And kiss the hell out of her.
I take a step toward her.
“Daddy, can I watch Frozen?”
All the air goes out of the moment. It’s like we were both holding our breaths and when Katie stepped in, we exhaled. It’s both a relief and a disappointment.
I glance at Liv. She looks—stunned.
I’m perversely glad I’ve knocked her so off balance. And I want to knock her more off balance. I want to sweep her off her feet. I want to make it impossible for her to think straight.
“Let’s find something else for you to do,” I tell Katie, and I take her hand.
As we’re walking out of the room, I turn back.
“Because I wanted to,” I repeat to Liv, because saying it felt so good and because the color high in her face makes her look even more beautiful than usual. “And unless you tell me you don’t want me to, I’m going to do it again.”
Chapter 16
Liv
The doorbell rings—Chase’s parents must be here. I’m up to my elbows in cooking, and that’s probably a good thing. I’d rather let Chase and Katie get the door and hang back. I’ve got a lot to think about. Like how much I want Chase to kiss me again—and how much I shouldn’t.
In the foyer, Katie squeals, and unfamiliar voices fuss and coo over her, telling her how big she is, how old she’s gotten, how pretty the pink dress she and I picked out looks on her.
“It’s a party dress,” I hear Katie tell them.
“Of course it is!” the woman’s voice says.
Chase leads his parents into the kitchen, Katie skipping alongside, and I’m—surprised. In that way you’re surprised when you don’t even know what you were expecting, you know this isn’t it.
“Mom, Dad, this is Liv. Liv, my parents, Frannie and Sidney Crayton.”
“So nice to meet you, Liv,” Mrs. Crayton says, extending her hand. She’s tall and slim and absolutely gorgeous in an expensive way—styled ash-blond hair, diamond-stud earrings, makeup, white capris and a melon-colored flow tank, heels and polished toes, and toned, tanned arms. And Mr. Crayton is her perfect partner—meticulously trimmed silver hair, beard, and mustache, linen shirt, tailored slacks, and shoes that can’t have cost less than $500. He shakes my hand, too, with a restrained nod of greeting.
I guess it’s the expensive or maybe the tailored that surprises me. Chase is so outdoorsy, sporty, down-to-earth, and, in his own words, low maintenance, I guess I figured his parents would be more like him.
“Liv’s a good friend of mine, and she’s helping Katie and me out while we look for a new nanny. She’ll be here a couple weeks and then she’s leaving for Denver. She got an amazing new job.”
There’s pride in Chase’s voice, and for some reason that warms me to the core.
“Nana and Papa, we’re having sketti with meat sauce and Liv is making the sauce!”
“It’s very kind of you to cook for us,” Mrs. Crayton says. “Chase says it’s not in your job description.”
That makes me smile. “Oh, it’s my pleasure.”
We offer them drinks and stand awkwardly for a moment.
It’s funny. I think if I’d met Chase’s parents before tonight, I might have suggested a different dinner menu. They seem more like the tofu stir-fry set than the spaghetti-with-meat-sauce set. I set out the chips and salsa and guac, wishing I had made lemon hummus and served it with crudité. But what can you do? They’re gracious and obviously grateful for what we have put in front of them.
They ask me a whole bunch of polite questions—what’s the job I’m going to, where I’m from originally (I always say the Boston suburbs, because that’s where all my foster homes were), how I’m planning to get to Denver. I answer as best I can as I finish putting dinner together. In turn, I ask them how their trip is going, and they tell me all about the San Juan Islands and Vancouver and Victoria—all places I’ve never been.
Chase is surprised I’ve never been to the San Juan Islands. He starts quizzing me about other Pacific Northwest destinations—Portland; Cannon Beach, Oregon; the Washington coast; the Olympic Peninsula; the North Cascades. When he discovers I’ve never been to the North Cascades National Park, he says, “That is a crime against humanity.”
“That’s putting it pretty strongly,” I say, amused.
“It’s the best backcountry camping in the country.”
I scrunch my nose, because Chase, of all people, knows how I feel about camping. I’m about to say so when his mother interjects, “Chase, dear, not everyone likes camping. Some of us value civilization.”
Oh. I remember what he told me yesterday, about feeling “real” or “alive” when he was outside and trapped inside. When he talked about hunting and camping and fishing, he said that he did those things with his uncle.
There is more than one way to feel like you don’t belong. Bouncing from foster home to foster home definitely made me feel that way. But clearly Chase felt that way in his own home, growing up.
Whereas under other circumstances I might have jumped in to agree with his mom about the lures of civilization, I say, “Sounds amazing.”
“It is,” Chase says, and there’s little-boy-at-Christmas excitement in his voice.
The food is ready, so we make our way to the table and sit down. Katie wants her grandparents to sit on either side of her, which doesn’t take much convincing. I’m expecting to need to jump in to cut her spaghetti, but she asks her grandfather to do it, and he obliges. I’m charmed, watching him, all groomed and dignified but totally suckered by Katie.
“So, Chase,” his mother says. “How are things going? You need help with anything? Are you getting the rent paid on time?”
Wha—? I shoot Chase a quick glance. Like, Something I don’t know about? As far as I know, Chase doesn’t have money troubles or any issues like that at all.
He rolls his eyes. Ignore her, the look says. “Mom. I’m on it.”
“You getting yourself to work on time?” his dad asks, handing Katie her fork. “You stepping up when you have a chance to take stuff on?”
“Yeah, Dad, of course,” Chase says. “Work’s good.”
“The owner wants Chase to buy him out,” I say. Because Jesus, they’re both making it sound like they expect Chase to be barely functional at his job and his life, when he and I both know he’s a superstar. Good enough to be heir apparent at the store. And I want him to know I’m proud of him the way he’s proud of me.
It doesn’t have exactly the result I’m expecting, though. Instead of looking proud, both of Chase’s parents look worried. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Chase’s mom says, and his dad says, “You don’t have to prove anything to us, son. We know how far you’ve come.”
And again, I’m like, wha—? They’re asking these questions, saying this stuff, that doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s as if they think he’s a kid who can’t tie his shoes. He’s twenty-fucking-eight, and the Chase I know can more than take care of himself and whoever else needs taking care of. He’s running the store, raising his daughter, and hosting his parents for dinner. Why can’t they see how competent he is?
“If I buy the store—and that’s a big if—I’ll make sure I know exactly what I’m getting myself into,” Chase says, a lot more
patiently than I think either of his parents deserves.
“We want you to know, Chase, we’re so proud of you.”
“I know, Mom.”
He shoots me a sideways glance that’s full of humor, and I realize: This is old hat to him, and isn’t bothering him nearly as much as it’s bothering me. This conversation happens all the time between him and them. Which—I’m going to need to ask him some questions, later.
“What about you guys?” Chase asks. “Heard anything about how the company’s doing?”
His parents begin talking, and it doesn’t take me long to piece it together. Apparently, they ran a local grocery delivery service until maybe five years ago, then sold it. And his dad is not happy with the people who bought it. They’re running it into the ground. They’re incompetent, they’re greedy, and it sounds like they might be unethical, too.
And the longer his dad talks, the more Chase’s jaw tightens, and I can’t help the feeling that if his dad doesn’t shut up soon, Chase is going to say something he’ll regret.
But it doesn’t happen. Instead, Chase’s mom changes the subject and starts asking Katie about what she and I do together when Daddy is at work. Katie is thrilled to be the center of all the adult attention and launches into a whole speech.
The moment passes, and we all move on.
Chapter 17
Liv
“What was that about?”
Chase just got back downstairs from putting Katie to bed. His parents left to go back to their hotel—they’re flying out at the crack of dawn tomorrow and didn’t want us all to have to wake up to see them off—so it’s just the two of us in the living room now.
“What was what about?”
“When your dad was talking about the guys who took over the business. And you looked like you wanted to take a bite out of someone.”
He shrugs, but I’m starting to know Chase a little better, and I don’t buy it.
“Seriously, Chase.”
“It’s nothing.”
I wait. I’ll wait all night if I have to, and I can see him starting to get uncomfortable in the silence, and then he says, “It’s a long story, Liv. And water under the bridge.”
“Didn’t look like water under the bridge.”
“It just pisses me off. When he talks that way about it. Because I could have kept all that from happening if he’d left me the business. Or even sold me the business.”
“Why didn’t he?”
Chase folds his arms and looks away. “He didn’t think I could hack it.”
“What do you mean he didn’t think you could hack it?”
“Are you sure you want to open this can of worms?”
I nod.
“I had a tough time as a kid, which means they had a hell of a time with me. ADHD and a whole card deck of undiagnosed learning disabilities. Didn’t learn to read till I was almost ten. It’s still slow going for me if I have to read anything long.”
He pauses, as if waiting for me to react. It’s startling but not, somehow, shocking. I mean, Chase is a crazy-smart guy, but not a book-smart guy, the other kind. It doesn’t make me think any less of him that he’s not book smart, not when I know how capable he is in so many ways. I know even more of them now than I used to, having seen what a great dad he is, and knowing how much Mike values his work at the store.
His eyes search mine, and there’s a look in them—as if he’s still waiting for my disappointment—that I don’t much like, but he takes a breath and goes on.
“Homework was hell. Projects were hell. Teachers couldn’t handle me; I got kicked out of elementary school and then out of the private school my parents tried next. My mom homeschooled me for a while, and then she couldn’t handle me, so they sent me to a different private school, and—the short version is that my parents have always seen me as that kid. Troublemaker, class clown, not going anywhere. They sent my brother to Yale and didn’t even talk to me about college. Which is—I mean, I get it. I didn’t do anything to challenge their assumptions. But it still stung when they sold the business instead of giving me a shot at running it.”
“I can see why,” I say quietly. I sit down across from him on the couch.
“They wanted Henry—that’s my older brother, you’ll probably meet him at some point—to take over the business, but he went and got a medical degree and became an emergency room doc. He was basically their perfect son, except for the not-taking-over-the-business part. And I guess I assumed it would be mine, since it wasn’t his. When my dad told me he was selling it instead of passing it along to me, he said, ‘You have no idea how much it hurts me not to be able to pass this business on to one of my sons, but it would kill me to watch someone else destroy what I’ve worked my whole life to build.’ ”
I flinch. “Jesus, Chase, that is so unbelievably harsh. What kind of dad—?”
“A dad who meant it,” he says quietly, and my heart squeezes.
“But you’re not that guy now. Not at all. I mean, the whole time they were talking about you at dinner, it was like they were talking about someone else completely. I couldn’t recognize that guy. Why don’t you get in their faces and tell them it’s bullshit, the way they see you? The way they talk about you?”
He shakes his head. “Because I don’t have to. It doesn’t matter how they see me. I know who I am, and what I’m capable of. Once I knew Thea was pregnant, I did everything I could to get my act together. I doubled down on all the tutoring and therapy and medication and meditation that people had been trying to get me to take seriously for years. Even more to the point, I started taking responsibility for myself. And I did it. I figured out how to be a competent adult and a good dad. That’s who I am now, and that’s what I focus on. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have let Katie come live with me. If I thought I wasn’t capable or competent to support her and raise her, you better believe in a split second I’d have found another place for her. My parents wanted to take her. They tried to convince me they should. But I said no. I said this was the right place for her. And I believe that.”
My mouth is all but hanging open in disbelief. “They—they said they should take her instead of you?”
He nods.
“Chase, how can they—That’s—” I’m speechless. Sputtering.
“God knows I wish they saw me as I am and not as I was, but to be fair to them, there was a time in my life I had trouble keeping a goldfish alive. They felt like they’d be lucky if I ever moved out of their place, let alone held down a job and supported my kid. They give me a little more credit each time they see me, but it’s going to take years before I fully convince them I’ve got this. But it’s okay, Liv. It’s really okay. I know I’ve got this.”
The thing is, I can tell he means it.
He’s amazing. I mean, he tosses the whole thing off like it’s not a big deal, but he turned his life around, went from being a guy whose own parents didn’t trust him to inherit the family business to being a guy whose boss wants him to take over his.
It doesn’t matter to him how they see him. Like he said, he knows who he is.
And now I know who is he, too.
Chapter 18
Chase
“Chase. You know how you asked me why I get with guys I’m not really into?”
I squint. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“No. You were right. It’s true. I do date guys I’m not that into.”
There’s something in her voice. And a little curve to the corner of her mouth. She’s serious, but she’s teasing, too.
I think my mouth falls open.
She bites her bottom lip. “Wanna help me break the habit?”
She’s crawling toward me on the couch, and holy fuck. My body starts to react long before she reaches me, blood surging in my veins, stiffening my cock. By the time she straddles me, one knee on e
ither side, I’m swollen so hard it’s as much pain as pleasure.
“Yeah,” I tell her. Because, yeah.
“Mmm,” she says, rubbing herself against me. “Wow.”
That is the word every guy likes to hear in a situation like this. I cup her head and draw her mouth down to mine. Her lips are so soft, and she smells unbelievably good. I coax her open and explore her mouth with my tongue, savoring her slickness, her taste. I’m going down on this girl. Maybe not right this second, but only because I can’t stop kissing her, delving into her mouth, loving the slide of her tongue against mine and the clutch of her hands on my shoulders.
She breaks it off, and for a split second I’m afraid she’s going to freak out and call a halt again, but she just says, “About Kieran’s kissing.”
“Yeah?”
She sighs. “The whole time, I’m like Goldilocks. Too dry. Too wet. Too sloppy. Too restrained. Too scratchy. Too peckish. I can’t shut down my brain.”
I want to smile. Part of it is the image of her as Goldilocks, part of it is the word peckish, but mainly it’s the pleasure of hearing her admit what I’d guessed. But I don’t smile. Instead I say, cool as a cucumber, casual as can be, not displaying one iota of how important the question feels, “And when I kiss you?”
She closes her eyes, and her lips part.
Jesus Christ, I thought I was as hard as it was possible to be, but I guess not. “When you kiss me…”
I think I hold my breath.
“I can’t remember my own name.” She opens her eyes and lets me see the heat there.
“Oh, fuck,” I say, involuntarily.
That makes her smile. Just a slight turning up of the corners of her mouth, but it sweeps away the rest of my restraint.
I wrap her in my arms and pull her mouth to mine. Hers opens and softens against mine. She tastes like—
Her. A taste so familiar you’d think this was way more than our third kiss.
We kiss and kiss, my tongue finding hers and refusing to stop relishing its sweetness. Her body comes into line with mine, her nipples hardening against my chest like I imagined, my aching cock snugged between us. It’s not only my cock that aches. I ache all over, and I try to bring her closer and hold more of her as if that will help—but it only amps up my hunger, particularly because she is pressing back and wiggling against me like she’s trying to get closer too. Her fingers are plunged into my hair and she’s whimpering into my mouth. The effect on my body of those little sounds, humming against sensitive flesh, is electric.