“Don’t most guys have a problem with that?”
“No,” he said, perfectly straight-faced. “Why would they?”
Sometimes Chase forgot that not everyone had the titanium self-assuredness he had been blessed with. Particularly when it came to their manhood. But he had BDE for a reason. Nothing fazed him. Case in point, this entire discussion.
“I don’t know.” I chewed my bottom lip. “I guess I thought it might make them feel threatened.”
“Baby, I can do all kinds of things to you that a little toy can’t.” He gave me a mischievous smile that, despite the situation, had its intended effect. Something inside me really, really wanted to find out what those things were.
“I bet,” I said, suddenly a little breathless.
“But in this case, it might help you get over the hump, so to speak. Especially alone.”
“Hump? That was the worst pun ever.” I groaned, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
“I know, right?” Chase leaned on his elbow beside me. He traced a finger along my ribcage, down to my hip. “Look, it’s just a theory. But being more comfortable with your body alone might help you be more comfortable with your body with me. Does that track? You can tell me if you think I’m wrong.”
“No.” I sighed. “It does.”
“You still haven’t answered my other question.” He ducked his head, catching my eye. “Have you?”
I covered my face with my hands. “What do you think?”
“Oh, I think we should go shopping.” He grinned.
“Shopping?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You know, pick up a little something for you.”
“I don’t know.” I crinkled my nose. “The idea of a sex toy seems so freaky.”
“It’s okay to be a little freaky. You can be freaky with me.”
I pressed my lips into a line for a minute, considering. “Fine. I’ll be open-minded.”
“Good,” he said, holding eye contact. “And as far as you and I go, I’m in this for you. I want to make you feel good. Remember that, okay? You can trust me.”
“I know.” Somehow, I did.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 24
OceanofPDF.com
CANDY STORE
Chase
The week dragged on in a monotonous cycle of school, practice, and dryland until it was time for Bailey’s birthday dinner. Ever since our talk, we were closer than ever, but sometimes I could still sense her holding back. Even so, I’d win her trust or die trying.
After suffering through a morning of classes, doing my best to focus and failing, I bolted off campus and headed over to Ice Life to have James’s skates sharpened. Could have done it at the rink during practice, but I wanted the excuse to window shop for shit while I waited.
Unfortunately, they were having some epic one-day sale I hadn’t been aware of, and the place was packed. Normally, I would have bailed, but I had a few hours to kill, and I wanted to check out a bunch of newly released equipment, so I decided to stay and deal with the crowds. Plus, I was more than a little distracted thinking about seeing Bailey later. Completing schoolwork or doing anything else remotely productive wasn’t an option.
I navigated through the throngs of shoppers over to the skate-sharpening counter in the rear corner. There was usually no wait, but today the line was at least a dozen people deep.
When I joined the lineup, Morrison suddenly appeared from out of nowhere like a preppy little demon summoned from the depths of hell. Pale blue polo, slicked-back blond hair, and an overwhelming aura of entitlement. That he’d been handed everything his entire life was written all over his cocky face.
What were the fucking odds?
I balled my hands into fists, squeezing until my knuckles turned white; I wished they were around his neck. I’d always hated the guy, but it was next-level at this point.
Pulling out my phone, I sent Dallas a quick text about the practice plan for later. Then I popped a piece of extreme mint gum, taking my hostility out on it. And I checked our fantasy hockey results to find that James was right about taking the trade. After last night’s games, I was in second place overall, while Dallas had fallen to fourth. Nice.
Despite my blatant attempt to ignore him, Morrison slithered my way, coming to hover close enough that I was engulfed in a cloud of his too-strong, obnoxious cologne. His presence was irritating on every level.
He nodded at the skates in my hand. “Are those Bailey’s?”
The fuck?
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a creep?” I asked.
Morrison squinted his watery blue eyes, glaring at me. Or attempting to, anyway. He didn’t have enough spine to lend the weak glare any credibility.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a dick?” he countered.
I grinned. “All the time, man.”
A compliment, really, considering the source.
The winding line moved forward, turning right, which created a buffer of people between us. No longer able to needle me, Morrison lost interest and wandered off.
Once I dropped Bailey’s skates off at the counter, I browsed the store, making a conscious effort to avoid him—not because I was scared of him, but because I was scared of what I might do to him.
He talked a lot of shit for someone who couldn’t back it up. I should pummel him for the text message thing alone. But I couldn’t afford to lay him out off the ice. Good thing we were playing them again soon.
As I rounded a corner near the sticks and tape, I ran into Morrison again, standing near the CCM display. Like the gods wanted me to beat his ass. The fates were practically begging me to do it.
Of course, leaving the area because of him wasn’t an option, so I carried on browsing the shelves like he wasn’t there.
He glanced over at me, setting down the stick he was holding. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Carter.” His voice oozed with syrupy smugness. “We both know you’re a rebound.”
Ah, fuck it. We were tucked away in an aisle at the back. No one around to see. Probably no cameras, either.
I pivoted to face him, and his expression instantly shifted from cocky to apprehensive. His eyes darted around, confirming that we were very much alone. I prowled in his direction, taking my sweet-ass time closing the distance between us. Daring him to run away and relishing how his discomfort visibly climbed with every step I took.
There were so many things I knew, so many things I wanted to say. But I wouldn’t sell out James. He wasn’t worth it.
Intentionally invading his space, I came to a stop a little too close. He stiffened and shuffled back, flinching slightly as he hit the metal shelving behind him. We stood nearly nose to nose, although nose to forehead was a more accurate description.
“You’re real mad that she moved on, huh?”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. Of course not, now that we were alone and within swinging range.
“Got anything else to say?” I asked.
A beat passed. I raised my eyebrows. He glared at me, still silent.
“Yeah,” I said evenly. “That’s what I thought.”
My phone beeped with a text message. Her skates were probably done.
I nodded at him. “Later, fuckface.”
After narrowly refraining from committing a felony, I channeled all my leftover aggression into our afternoon practice and crushed it. It was a great way to forget about that asshat and head into an evening with James. My mood was sky high. Until I had to deal with her roommate.