“I’m not blind or dead,” he says with a laugh. “You haven’t said much about her.”
He steals the ball from me and runs it to the basket for a layup, sinking it for two.
“Not much to say.”
“Still boning her?”
“Boning?”
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the term,” he says and props the ball on his hip, breathing hard.
“We are still having sex.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
He rolls his eyes and dribbles the ball for a moment. “Not dating her or anything? Just fucking?”
Why does it piss me off when he cheapens what Maura and I have? It shouldn’t. That is all we do.
But it does piss me off, damn it.
“I’ve asked her out.”
“Once?”
“Well, technically four or five times, but only once since we’ve been…boning.”
He stares at me for a moment, as if I just said I was joining the Nazis, and then he breaks out into uncontrollable laughter. He drops the ball, which bounces over under the basket, and has to bend at the waist, propping himself on his knees.
“Real mature, man.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he can catch his breath. “It’s just, girls never turn you down, and now this one has, and you actually want to date her.”
“Thanks for the recap.”
“But she keeps telling you no.”
“I’m aware.” I narrow my eyes, not finding this funny in the least.
“Okay. I’m done.” He wipes his eyes and continues to chuckle. “What is it about this woman that makes her different?”
“She’s not clingy. Not at all. And she bickers with me.”
“She doesn’t just give you your way,” he says with a nod.
“No. She makes me work for it.”
“Good for her,” he replies. “I like her now, too.”
“She’s stubborn and smart. So fucking smart.” I shake my head and pace around the court. “I want to spend time with her. I don’t really know her very well. I know how to get her off, about fifty different ways, but I don’t know anything about her childhood, or why she chose to be a teacher, or even what her favorite pizza is.”
“Fucking hell, you’re falling for this girl.”
I shrug, wanting to deny it, but Mac is the one person in this world that I can be brutally honest with.
“I don’t know.” I rub my hands over my face in frustration. “I don’t know what I feel, or what I want from her. But I want more than what she’s been giving me.”
“I think this is the first time that I can remember that you’ve been interested in more than sex from a woman,” Mac says, totally sober now. “I think you need to ask her out again, and this time, don’t make it flippant. Talk to her, tell her that you’d like to spend some time with her that doesn’t include one or both of you getting naked.”
“Well, let’s not go crazy. We can get naked after the date.”
He laughs, and then nods. “True. Ask her again.”
“She’ll probably say no,” I reply. “I don’t think she wants to see me.”
“If she didn’t want to see you, she wouldn’t have fucked you after the first time. There’s chemistry there, and she likes you.”
“Are Kat’s psychology skills rubbing off on you?” I ask, lightening the mood.
“Maybe. You could talk to Kat about this.”
“I don’t think we’re there yet,” I say and retrieve the ball from the ground. “Let’s play.”
But just as we’re about to start again, my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Maura says into my ear, making me immediately grin.
“Hey, yourself.”
Mac makes obscene gestures, and I wave him off and turn my back on him.
“So, I still have your shirt,” she says, bypassing any small-talk bullshit. “You didn’t take it with you either time you’ve been here recently.”
“I forgot about it,” I say honestly.
“So, does that mean that it’s mine now?” Her tone is light and teasing. “Like, have I inherited it?”
“No way. That’s an expensive shirt.” I smirk. Who gives a fuck about the shirt?
“I didn’t realize it was so important,” she says. “You’re welcome to come get it.”
“I have a better idea. Come to my place for dinner tonight.”
She’s quiet for a long moment.
“Maura?”
“I’m here. I can just drop the shirt off.”
“Stay for dinner.” It’s not a question. “I’m a relatively good cook. That’ll be my payment to you for keeping my shirt safe.”
She chuckles, and electricity shoots straight to my dick. What is it about this woman?
“Okay. What time should I come over?”
“Six.”
“What can I bring?”
“Just my shirt.”
I end the call and glance over at Mac, who wipes an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Shut up and shoot the ball.”
Chapter Seven
~Maura~
I’m armed with his shirt, a bottle of wine, and a sexy dress. After last night, I’ve discovered that sexy dresses turn Chase on, so why not wear one? I feel good in it. Confident. Flirty.
He opens the door and takes me in from head to toe, then grins and leans over to kiss my cheek. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” I reply with a smile. “I know you said to just bring the shirt, which I did, but I also brought some wine.”
He takes the bottle from me and reads the label. “This is an excellent wine and will be fantastic with dinner.”
“What are we having?” I ask as I follow him into his house. He takes his shirt and tosses it on his couch, then leads me into the kitchen, where pots are boiling and something is baking and smells absolutely delicious.
“Chicken.”
“All of this for chicken?”
He smiles and offers me a spoonful of something hot. “It’s gravy.”
He blows on it to cool it, and I take a sip from the spoon, immediately falling in love with it.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I told you I can cook.”
“I half expected to show up and see takeout,” I admit, making him laugh.
“I wouldn’t lie about my cooking skills.”
“What would you lie about?”
He stops stirring and turns to me, his face sober. “I’m not a liar, Maura.”
I take a deep breath and nod, relieved. “What can I do to help?”
He crosses to me and boosts me up onto the island and kisses me thoroughly. “You can sit here, look gorgeous, and keep me company.”
“I’m quite sure I could chop something,” I offer. “Or open something.”
“Does this mean that you don’t cook?”
“Not well,” I admit with a cringe. “I mean, I probably wouldn’t make you sick, but it’s really best for all involved if we just go out somewhere.”
He smirks and sets to work chopping vegetables for a salad. “Well, lucky for you I love to cook, and have even taken classes.”
“Wow. An expert.”
“A novice,” he corrects me. Just as he finishes chopping a cucumber, my phone rings.
“Hello?”
It’s an automated message from my school district, alerting me that school is canceled tomorrow due to inclement weather.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“School’s closed tomorrow,” I reply with a frown. “For inclement weather. I didn’t see any stormy weather when I was on my way over here.”
“We’re supposed to get an ice storm later tonight,” he says.
“I hadn’t heard.” I set my phone on the countertop. To be honest, it’ll be nice to have an extra day to sleep in. Chase sets his salad aside, se
ts a timer, then walks over to me and plants his hands on my hips.
“This dress is fucking stunning.”
“Thanks.”
“Your legs look six feet long.”
“I don’t think they’re quite that long.”
He buries his face in my neck and kisses me there, then nibbles his way up to my ear. “Did you do this on purpose?” he whispers.
“What is that?”
“Wear this dress to make me crazy.”
I smile and let my fingertips drag lightly down his arms and then I work on getting his shirt off of him. “Maybe.”
He lets me lift his shirt over his head and toss it on the floor, out of his way, and he grips my ass in his strong hands and sinks into a kiss that has me soaking wet and practically begging for him to do me, right here on this countertop.
But the timer dings, and he backs away to continue cooking, shirtless.
Now I’m turned the hell on, and I get to watch him cook without his shirt. Good Lord, this doesn’t suck.
Chase is a sexy man. His hair is dark blond, bordering on light brown. His eyes are bright blue, and they darken with lust when he looks at me, making the butterflies in my stomach start to dance.
And physically? Well, it’s clear that he works out regularly. He’s solid. Defined. Lean.
He makes my pussy drool, and that doesn’t happen every day.
“I’m almost done here.” He pulls a roaster out of the oven. “I just threw together a lemon chicken with some potatoes, gravy, and salad.”
“You just threw it together?” I watch in wonder as he transfers the food from what he cooked it in to serving dishes, then sets the dining room table. Finally, when everything is ready, he helps me off the island and leads me to my seat.
“It’s not a difficult meal,” he says and pours the wine.
“It smells delicious, and I’m starving.” We dish up, and after the first bite, I stare at him in wonder. “Are you sure you didn’t have this delivered and pretend to cook it? Because I’m telling you, this is so good.”
“It’s all me.” He holds a bite of chicken out for me to eat off of his fork, which I accept. “Has anyone ever told you that you make sex noises when you eat?”
“Yeah, sorry. I can’t help it. Good food and good sex both deserve noises.”
He laughs and reaches over to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You’re a fun woman, Maura.”
I smile and take another bite of food, watching the muscles in his shoulders move as he eats.
“Are you getting cold?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should put your shirt back on.”
His lips twitch. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“You’re hot, Chase. This isn’t breaking news. A girl can’t eat dinner in a civilized manner while the guy she’s with looks like sex on a stick.”
“She can’t?”
“No. She can’t.”
He retrieves his shirt and pulls it over his head. “Better?”
“For now.” I smirk and take a sip of wine and gesture to his T-shirt. “Did you go to Stanford?”
“I did.”
“Ivy League.” I nod. “Impressive.”
“Where did you go to college?”
“University of Texas. It was close to home.”
He chews his salad, watching me. “Tell me more.”
No way.
“It’s not an exciting story. What did you study at Stanford?”
“Business with a minor in romantic languages.”
I blink at him, surprised. “What other languages do you speak?”
“French, Italian, and some Spanish.”
I take a sip of wine, processing this information.
“You seem surprised.”
“I’m totally surprised.”
The sexiest man alive also speaks foreign languages? Christ on a crutch, my ovaries might just explode.
“Do you speak any other languages?” he asks.
“Not really. I can get by with a tiny bit of Spanish, but it’s really just so I can order a fajita in a restaurant.”
He laughs and refills our wine glasses. “You’re funny.”
“I’m passionate about Taco Tuesday,” I reply. “There, now it’s out there and we can just deal with it.”
He’s still laughing, and it makes my stomach tighten more. “I’m a fan of Taco Tuesday myself.”
“Have you been to Raul’s?”
“It’s the best place in town,” he says with a nod. “I haven’t been over there in a while.”
“Oh, we should go,” I say, before realizing what I’ve said and feel my cheeks turn red. “I mean, if you want to.”
“I’d like that.”
I take another bite of food, a big bite, so there’s no room to ram my foot in there, too. Did I seriously just invite the guy I only have sex with to Taco Tuesday?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Taco Tuesday,” I admit and take a sip of wine. “It’s an addiction at this point.”
“The first step is admitting there’s a problem,” he says with a wink. He glances out the window, and I follow his gaze, gasping.
“Holy shit.” It’s darkened outside with huge, heavy clouds, and it’s sleeting. “Here’s the storm.”
“Here it is,” he agrees with a frown. “It’s ugly out there.”
I set my fork down and watch the heavy, icy rain. “I hate to bail on you, but maybe I should head home now before it gets too bad out there.”
“You’re not going home.”
My gaze whips back to his, but he’s still chewing calmly, watching the storm. “Excuse me?”
“We’re looking at the same storm, Maura. You’re not going out in that.”
I shake my head and stand, carrying my mostly empty plate to the sink. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay to help you clean up.”
He hasn’t stood up, but he’s watching me gather my purse and head to the front door. Now he follows me to the front door, and when I step out and immediately slip on the ice-covered porch, he catches me and murmurs into my ear, “This is why you’re staying.”
“I’m just in heels,” I insist. “Once I get to my car, it’ll be fine.”
“Maura,” he says and turns me around to face him, still gripping my shoulders. “Please stay. The weather is horrible and you don’t have school tomorrow, so you won’t be in a hurry. Just stay.”
I sigh and look back to my car, horrified to see the ice already forming over it. He’s right. There’s no way that I should be out driving in this weather.
So I turn back to him and nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
He leads me back inside, takes my purse and sets it on the table by the door, and encourages me to step out of my heels.
“Get comfortable,” he says. “Besides, you would have missed dessert, and that’s the best part.”
“You made dessert, too?”
“Of course,” he says, as if the mere thought of not making dessert is offensive.
“Is it chocolate?”
He grins. “It is.”
“You’ve convinced me.” I follow him back into the kitchen. It’s warm in here. Inviting. His whole house is cozy, not the typical bachelor pad at all. “How long have you lived here?”
“About three years,” he replies.
“I like it.”
He pauses in clearing away the leftovers and looks around the space. “Me too.”
“How can I help? And don’t tell me that I can’t help.”
“You can pull the chocolate mousse out of the fridge.”
“Best job I’ve had all day,” I say with a smile and make a beeline for the fridge.
“I made biscotti to go with it.”
“Who are you?” I ask as I uncover the sweet dessert and he passes me the biscotti.
“Hi, I’m Chase,” he says, shaking my hand and making me laugh. “Nice to meet you.”
“Smart ass.”
>
He shrugs as he wipes down the countertop and tosses the rag in the sink, then snatches two dessert dishes out of his cabinet and helps me dish up the most decadent-looking chocolate I’ve seen in a long time.
“How about I turn the fireplace on and we eat this in the living room?”
“Add another glass of wine into that equation and I’m all in,” I reply.
Once we’re settled on his couch with the fire going, the electricity goes out, leaving us in the dark, aside from the fire.
It’s immediately intimate and completely relaxing.
“I’m going to grab one more thing,” he says, setting his plate and glass on the coffee table. He rushes out of the room, and less than a minute later is back with a radio that he sets on the floor.
Whitney Houston is singing about always loving me.
“That’s an interesting radio,” I remark.
“It doesn’t require power or batteries,” he says proudly, showing me the crank on the side of it. “It’s the perfect zombie apocalypse radio.”
“Right.” I nod, trying not to laugh. “Because it would be tragic if we couldn’t listen to the easy listening station during the zombie apocalypse.”
“There might be news that I’ll need to hear, should something apocalyptic happen,” he says reasonably. “And this way, I can hear it even without electricity and batteries.”
I sit quietly, watching him reach over to crank the radio, and can’t help but chuckle. “Hey, whatever floats your boat. I’m not judging you.”
“You’re totally judging me,” he says with a laugh and nudges my leg with his foot.
“Only a little bit.” I watch the fire and happily munch on my biscotti. “This doesn’t suck.”
“Not at all,” he agrees. “So, tell me more about you. Why did you decide to move to Portland?”
“For the teaching job,” I reply easily. It’s not a lie.
“Had you been here before?”
“No.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Yes.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re quite chatty.”
“I don’t usually talk about myself a lot.”
“You’re kidding,” he says, joking. “Okay, what about your family?”
“What about them?”
“Maura,” he says, and I can see that his patience is wearing thin. “I’m not trying to dive into all of your deepest secrets. I’d just like to get to know you better.”