I shifted, criss-crossing my legs. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a tad dramatic?”
“I prefer to think of it as having a zest for life.” His mouth tugged at the corners.
“You have something, that’s for sure.”
Chase got a gleam in his eyes that said he was definitely up to no good.
“You’re going to stay while I work on this, right?” He lowered his voice, a tactic he used, I realized, to get into my head…or maybe my pants. Yet, even knowing that, the voice totally worked. At least on the first part. Possibly a little of the second.
Maybe being in his bedroom wasn’t a good idea after all.
I raised an eyebrow, hiding all my inappropriate thoughts behind sarcasm. “You picked me up, so I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“That’s true.” He nodded. “Do any of us really have a choice? Or is free will merely an illusion?”
“I actually do have an exam to study for, so if you want company, there’s no need to get all philosophical on me. All you have to do is ask.”
I grabbed my textbook and binder and scooted back on the bed until I was sitting against the headboard. I wasn’t all that eager to spend time at my place, anyway. Lately, I felt like a stranger in my own home. Things were tense with Amelia and Jillian, and they were downright hostile when Paul was there, which was more often than not.
“You’re the best.” He spun around to face the computer, cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck. “I’m going to bang this out in no time.”
I suppressed a laugh as I bit back a dirty joke. Maybe I’d been spending too much time with Chase after all.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 17
OceanofPDF.com
NEAR MISS
Bailey
“Time for a break,” Chase announced, shoving the keyboard tray back into place. He arched back in his chair, stretching out his long legs.
I glanced up from the bed, where I was sprawled out on my stomach reading my Data Journalism and Methods textbook. “But it’s only been an hour.”
“It’s five o’clock, which means it’s time to eat. We need brain food, James. It’s science.”
I groaned. “Let me guess, and then we’re going to need second dinner. And a snack. And a pencil sharpening break. Better yet, maybe we can go chop down a tree and handcraft some pencils so you don’t have to finish your essay.”
He grinned. “Probably, but let’s start with pizza.”
We abandoned our study materials and relocated downstairs. Chase hopped over the back of the couch, parkour-style, and plopped down beside me. It was a surprisingly nimble move for such a large human, even an athlete.
“Pizza will be here in twenty-five. Time for…video games?” He turned to me, head cocked.
“Sure.” I couldn’t focus on my dry as dirt textbook knowing food was on the way.
“Really?” His eyes lit up. “I was shit testing you. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“I know,” I said. “But I have three brothers. Didn’t exactly have anyone to play tea party with growing up. We played NHL ’07 all the time.”
Much to my mother’s dismay, I had never been a girly girl. When she found out about her “surprise” pregnancy after she’d had three boys, she was excited for frilly dresses, Barbies, and tea parties. Then I was born, hating all things pink and preferring Derek’s dump trucks to my dolls. I even cried when I was five because Santa brought me a purple and pink Lego set; I wanted the “real” multicolored Legos my brothers had.
He smirked. “So you’re saying you’re good at video games?”
“Oh, I’m better than good.”
Which Luke hated. To him, having a pair of boobs was a disqualifying condition when it came to playing. He was less than thrilled when I wanted to join and even more annoyed when I beat them, which was often. He had always wanted me to go hang in the kitchen with the other girls like a good hockey girlfriend should.
“Sweet.” He stood up and turned on the game console. “None of the chicks I know ever want to play. I think Shiv would like to strangle Dallas with the controller cord at this point.”
“Who’s Shiv?”
“Siobhan. Dallas’s, ah…well, I don’t know what they are. But she’s cool. You’d get along with her.” He scrolled into the team selection menu, and we built our lineups.
“You might not be quite as thrilled after I school you.”
He scoffed. “Never gonna happen.”
By the time the pizza arrived, I’d beaten him twice.
“What do you know?” Chase turned to me, giving me a sly once-over. A thrill ran through my body. “Hot and nerdy. You’re full of surprises.” He set the controller aside and got up to answer the doorbell.
Wait. Did he just call me hot?
…And nerdy?
“Hey, let me pay,” I called out, standing up.
“Too late.” He shut the door, a truckload of food in his arms. Two large pizzas, wings, breadsticks, Caesar salad, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. It was nice, in contrast to Luke’s restrictive chicken breast and broccoli diet he paid a nutritionist thousands of dollars to create. “I paid online when I ordered. Don’t even think of trying to sneak me cash, either.”
“But you paid for dinner that other night and hot chocolate…” Luke literally kept track to ensure we took turns. Everything was always even.
“You’re helping me with my paper, remember?” He shrugged.
I followed him into the kitchen and propped a hip against the black granite counter while he set out the boxes of food.
“Speaking of your paper,” I said, “how far did you get on it?”
“Page four.” He handed me a square white plate from the cupboard.
I suppressed a groan. His essay was twenty pages long, and I had a feeling I wasn’t getting a ride home until it was finished.
Three hours later, I was hopped up on carbs and cookies, re-writing my notes for my exam. Chase worked so slowly that I had time to focus on my own schoolwork. I couldn’t get off-track and fool around on my phone, because he would immediately use it as license to do the same.
“This fucking history class is going to be the end of me.” Chase snapped his green pencil in half and tossed it into the stainless-steel garbage can beside him with a clang. “It was the only social science elective that fit my training schedule.”
I set down my blue ballpoint pen and shook out the cramp in my hand. If writing things out on paper made for better retention, I’d ace the exam. Having my laptop would have been nice, but I hadn’t planned to stay this long. I should have known to plan for contingencies when Chase was involved.
Not that I was complaining about spending time with him.
“What’s your major again?”
“Econ.” He turned the chair around to face me, and a small smile played on his lips.
My stomach flip-flopped, and not from all the sugar.
“You must be more than a pretty face if you’re studying that.” I had taken microeconomics last spring as part of my breadth requirement for journalism, and it was like a full-on foreign language to me. Production and pricing decisions, market outcomes, consumer theory. I had barely maintained my 4.0 that semester.