Chase

As I pull my Dodge Charger Hellcat into my best friend’s driveway the following night, I briefly scan the car parked directly behind Cassie’s BMW. I’m thinking Cass might have company. A good friend would probably put the car in reverse and head home.

I’m not that friend.

Grinning, I unfold myself from the car, hit the key fob to lock it, and stroll up to the front door, choosing to ignore the things I don’t care about. Namely, the tricked-out Lexus in the driveway.

I don’t even pause as I insert my key into the lock, twist, and then let myself into the house.

And, okay, fine. The car behind Cassie’s isn’t a Lexus and it’s not tricked out. More like a Jaguar. Base model. Small dent, front fender—probably shitty driver.

“At least she didn’t change the locks like she threatened to do,” I mumble when I walk into the foyer, not even bothering to knock. If the woman wanted me to exhibit manners, she wouldn’t have given me a key. I mean, Cassie Desrosiers knows me better than anyone else. We’ve been friends for a whopping nine years. If she knows nothing else, she’s at least aware that I’m not big on social niceties and all that shit.

Closing the door, I give a one-sided knuckle bump to the weird-ass iron sculpture sitting on a marble table in the foyer. Cassie has some sort of fascination with abstract art. And by abstract, I mean awful. Shaking my head because I still haven’t figured out what the damn thing is, I hang my keys on what very well could be a metal penis before pausing in the living room.

Hmm. All is quiet.

Time to announce my presence.

“Honey, I’m home!” I glance right, then left, then make a beeline for the refrigerator. I need a beer.

Still no Cassie.

Where the hell is she?

I know she’s got my Leinenkugel’s in the fridge because she’s good like that, and I intend to make myself acquainted with one while I wait. I twist off the top, then turn when I hear footsteps on the hardwood in the hallway.

“Chase. I…uh…What are you doing here?” Cassie steps into the living room, her blue-gray eyes wide with what I can only assume is surprise. I’m not sure why she’s shocked to see me, I stop by all the damn time just to chill, watch TV, play pool, talk. We’ve been hanging out pretty much since the day I met her, so you’d think she would be used to me dropping in for the hell of it.

“You invited me?”

Cassie’s dark eyebrows dart downward. “I did not.”

“Well, you should have.” I’m curious as to what she’s doing, why she’s acting so damn weird.

“Chase.”

She’s cute when she chastises me.

“What? I needed a beer. I’m out.” I hold up the bottle to show her that I’ve retrieved one on my own. I’ve noticed her hostess skills are lacking.

“Chase! You can’t just barge in without calling me first.”

Ever hear someone shout when whispering? Well, Cassie has clearly perfected the art. Her voice is so low, it’s a wonder any sound comes out at all, her eyes darting down the hall.

Ah.

I’m smart. I know what’s going on here, even if I choose to pretend otherwise. Based on my deductions, the shitty driver of the crappy Jaguar is down the hall.

I don’t speak, choosing to take a long pull on my beer and watch while Cassie has a minor freak-out moment.

I mean, seriously. She looks to be in a panic. Mind you, I’m probably a good twenty feet away, across the spacious open-concept living room that acts as the center of the house, so it very well could be a trick of the lighting.

I squint to be sure.

Nah. I doubt the recessed lights are putting that glimmer of alarm in her eyes.

While I sip my beer, I move closer, bypassing the marble-covered island and the bizarre barstools she found at a flea market. Then over to the sectional sofa that separates the living room from the hallway that leads to her bedroom.

I lift my head slightly so I can see over the back of the black leather cushions.

That’s when I notice she’s not wearing any pants.

Interesting development.

I give her a good once-over, starting with her bare feet on the Travertine tile and working my way up. Past her sexy fucking calves, then higher. I quickly become aware of the fact that the woman is wearing a man’s button-down shirt, the tails hovering right at her cute little dimpled knees.

Oh, shit.

I laugh, can’t help it.

“Did I interrupt a booty call?” My eyes immediately dart to the hallway.

That explains the Jaguar out front. And her weirdness.

And it also proves that my timing is impeccable. I’m good like that.

“Shut up,” she hisses. “Now go away before he sees you.”

“Aww, come on, Cass. You can’t throw me out. Where will I go?”

She frowns. “You have your own house, if I do recall.”

I shrug, then tilt the beer to my lips. “Worried he’ll be freaked out and think your husband’s home?”

Suddenly a man appears at her side, his eyes wide as he glances over at me. His attire is opposite of Cassie’s. I mean, obviously, since Cassie’s wearing his shirt, but thankfully the douchebag has on pants.

That could have been awkward.

“Husband?” The guy’s eyes enlarge, practically bulging out of their sockets.

Dude is rocking some seriously fucked-up hair. Now that I think about it, he looks like one of those troll doll things.

“He’s not,” Cassie insists, her cheeks a rosy red.

I assume she’s referring to me not being her husband and not responding to my inner monologue about doucheboy being a troll doll.

“I swear to God, he’s not.” She looks seriously horrified. “I’m not married.”

This guy clearly doesn’t know Cassie all that well even if he has loaned her his clothing. Cassie Desrosiers wouldn’t get married if her fucking life depended on it. I know because we’ve been best friends since college. At twenty-eight, Cassie’s still sweetly naïve when it comes to dating, but long-term certainly isn’t in her five-year plan.

She has one of those, by the way. It involves a financial planner, IRAs, 401(k)s, promotions, advancement, and a whole list of other BS. The girl has it all laid out nice and neat, wrapped in dollar bills and gold watches. My five-year plan involves getting injured as little as possible and having a kickass thirtieth birthday party when that day comes. I’ve got some time.

What neither of our plans include is marriage, babies, settling down. Maybe Cassie’s ten-year plan includes the whole family thing. I’m not sure. I’d have to check with her. I tend to tune that shit out.

On the other hand, it does look as though I’ve finally gotten her to come around to my way of thinking when it comes to casual sex. Hence the shirtless douchebag standing next to her.

Granted, when I’ve talked to her about this sort of thing, I’ve been secretly hoping she’d want to be casual with someone less douchelike. You know, like me. Not that I’ve laid it all out there or anything. Nor do I intend to. I’ve harbored a secret fascination with Cassie all this time and I’ve never let the cat out of the bag. No reason to start now. And since douchetroll is the first guy I’ve seen her with in years, I’m not too worried about it. Sure, she’s told me stories about guys she’s dated, but I’ve never actually seen one.

Apparently, they do exist.

“Tell him you’re not,” Cassie orders me, her head swiveling back to the guy. “He’s not.”

I cock an eyebrow and tilt my beer to my lips. I know I’m making the situation worse, but seriously. What does she see in this guy? First of all, he’s not at all her type. I know this because she has droned on and on about her type and not once has she mentioned a blond-haired, blue-eyed douchebag.

“I should go,” the half-dressed man says, glancing back and forth between me and Cassie.

“You should go,” I echo sympathetically, gently nodding as though that’s the only thing that makes sense.

Cassie glares at me.

“Give him his shirt, honey.”

Yeah. That doesn’t go over too well with her either. Still, I can’t keep the grin from locking up my face. This is fucking fun. It sure beats the ass reaming the team took last night on the ice.

“Chase! Go away!”

“Me?” I try to sound appalled. “Why should I go?”

“I’ll go,” Mr. Jaguar says.

“No, Andrew, you really don’t have to.”

“Oh, I really think I do.” His eyes dart to me, then lower to the floor.

Listen to him, Cass, he really does.

I perch on the arm of the sofa, watching the two lovebirds while I drink my beer. Cassie shoots me one more ball-shriveling glare before she stomps down the hall with Mr. Jaguar in tow. Several minutes later, they both return. This time the dude is fully dressed and Cassie’s wearing a pair of those frumpy pajama pants and an oversize T-shirt that she loves so damn much.

The girl has a rocking body—I mean, totally rocking—so it pains me to see her always trying to cover it up. When Cassie puts on something formfitting that doesn’t include a blazer…guys come out of the fucking woodwork just to try to talk to her. Probably doesn’t hurt that she’s wicked smart, has a killer smile, and mile-long legs. Plus, she’s raking in the dollars with her corporate gig.

“Later, Andy!” I call after him. “Be sure to rub the metal penis for good luck. It might help for next time.”

He doesn’t respond, of course.

Rude douchebag is what he is.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Cassie says softly, standing at the door as Mr. Jaguar steps out into the night.

“It’s…okay.”

It’s not okay, we all know that. Not sure why the prick can’t simply say as much. If he was a real man, he would’ve demanded I leave so he could stay. Come on, did he not see how fucking hot she was with that shirt on and her dark hair all tangled around her face? The kind of hot that should have been accompanied by porno music. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

Only a pansy-ass would’ve let me stick around.

Since Mr. Jaguar’s balls are clearly in his mommy’s purse, it’s safe to say he’s not good enough for Cassie.

I flinch when the front door slams shut hard, but I smile against the lip of my beer bottle, trying to compose myself before Cassie appears.

“Chase Barrett, you are a world-class asshole,” Cassie grumbles when she passes through the room.

See, I told you that’s what she calls me.

Oddly enough, there isn’t an ounce of heat in her tone.

That’s certainly a change of pace. I tend to irritate her to the point of insanity, so it’s nice when she doesn’t appear to want to throttle me.

“I won’t deny that.” I grab the remote off the coffee table and click the power button.

She walks into the kitchen, her voice carrying as she opens the refrigerator. “Why did you do that? He could’ve been the love of my life and you ran him off like a puppy who peed on the floor.”

“If he was the one, you would’ve hung his tie on the front door,” I tell her. “That’s what we agreed on.”

She appears in front of me, rolling her eyes before passing me a fresh beer, then flopping down on the cushion right beside me. “That’s a stupid plan, Chase. And no, I never agreed to it.”

“Well, you should have.” It would have kept me from barging in. Maybe. Okay, probably not, but still.

I grin, enjoying the fact that I’m still here and the douchebag is now gone. I’d like to say that I planned it that way, but that’s not true. It just works out for me sometimes.

My nostrils flare and it’s possible some of my nose hairs have been singed off.

“I don’t mean to be rude—”

“Yes you do,” she interrupts.

Cassie looks so damn cute right now even if she does have some serious bed-head. I prop my arm over her shoulder and tug her close, despite the stench.

I clear my throat. “I don’t mean to be rude,” I repeat, “but you need a shower, honey. You reek of his cheap fucking cologne.”

“It is bad, huh?”

That’s an understatement.

“Oh, God, he was awful,” Cassie groans as she covers her face with one hand.

I tilt my head, trying to look at her face. Her head’s resting on my shoulder, so it’s nearly impossible. “Seriously? Yet you opted to loosen the bolts on your headboard with the guy?”

For the record, the thought of Cassie screwing this guy—or any guy for that matter—makes me want to put my fist through the wall. My abdominal muscles literally contract because it turns my stomach. Yet, I’ve perfected the art of pretending not to be bothered by it. After all, she is my best friend and if I intend to keep her in that role—which I certainly do—then I have no choice.

Cassie will be the first to tell you that relationships are not her thing. And she has good reason, I guess.

“We were not loosening the bolts.” She sighs. “God, Chase, you’re so crass.” Cassie takes a sip of her beer. “Seriously,” she says, a hint of defeat in her tone. “We didn’t even get to the sex part.”

“You had on his shirt,” I inform her unnecessarily.

“I had clothes on underneath. Sort of.”

“So y’all were mattress surfing and you had your bra and panties on?” The guy has officially been promoted to King Douche. “You were showing him how it’s done, huh?”

“Shut up.”

I laugh. “What the hell was he doing?”

“Some might call it kissing.”

Oh, hell. I lean back more, trying to read her expression. “Some?”

“Yeah.” Cassie turns her head, locking her eyes with mine. I’m close enough I can see the strands of gray mixed in with the blue. “You know. Dogs, maybe. His tongue…” She shivers as she says this.

“Well, it’s a damn good thing I showed up then.”

Her hand lands on my stomach with a loud thwap.

Did I mention I fucking love when she touches me? Even if it is accompanied by a little pain.

“No. It’s not. You can’t do that, Chase. You seriously can’t. I’m never going to find a guy if you’re always coming over and chasing them off.”

Kind of the plan, but denial is the name of the game.

“I didn’t chase him off.” I’m honestly surprised the dude didn’t pee his pants. “He could’ve easily told me to get the fuck out. That’s what I would’ve done.”

Cassie sighs, but she doesn’t argue.

Because she knows it’s the truth.

Cassie

Chase Barrett is a world-class asshole.

Plus, he’s a serious pain in my ass.

He also happens to be my best friend, so I can excuse his actions most of the time. Tonight…I think it’s safe to say he went a little too far. No way did he miss the fact that Andrew’s car was parked in my driveway. He knew I had company, yet he let himself in anyway.

I know I should be mad at him for what he did. I really should. But the truth is, his timing couldn’t have been better. If I had spent a few minutes more with Andrew the Tongue, I would have given him a complex. Kissing him was unlike anything I’ve ever known, and I’m not talking in a way every man wants to hear.

So, why was I with him? Half-naked to boot?

God, I don’t even know. I’d been holding on to hope, thinking perhaps he might be The One. You know, if that even is a thing, which I seriously doubt. But I’ve reached a new pinnacle in my life, one where I’m trying to think outside the box my warped and twisted upbringing has created when it comes to things like love.

No, I probably shouldn’t have gotten semi-naked with him, but it is what it is. We’ve gone on three dates now and honestly, he’s a nice guy. A tad on the boring side, but nice nonetheless. No, I wasn’t thinking he was my everlasting love, but this isn’t the Stone Age, I’m allowed to have some casual sex.

At least that’s what Chase always tells me.

So, I tried.

I also failed, but I’d like to think I get props for giving it a shot.

Turns out, I’m not the casual-sex kind of girl. I’ve never done it before. In fact, I’ve had sex with a total of two guys in all of my twenty-eight years. Both of whom I was in a semi-serious relationship with. Not at the same time, of course.

Regardless, I was invested in the relationships, hence the reason I had sex with them. This whole, casually getting naked thing…certainly not my cup of tea. I don’t think I’ll be trying again anytime in the near future.

“How’d you meet this one?” Chase shifts slightly, getting more comfortable as he sips his beer. Before I can stop him, he props his giant feet up on my coffee table.

I instantly reach over and try to knock his legs down. The guy has thighs like tree trunks, so that’s an impossible feat. “Feet on the floor, caveman.” He doesn’t budge, of course. I take a drink, then close my eyes. “He’s a software developer.”

“So he works with you?”

“Not with me, no.”

“That doesn’t tell me how you met him. Was he giving you a hands-on lesson in how to turn software into hardware?”

I smack him again. “You’re despicable. That’s gross.”

Chase plants his hand over mine, keeping me from hitting him again. I feel his abs flex beneath my palm.

“He’s gonna be at the conference in June, so he wanted to stop by and talk to me about opportunities. We’re finalizing the details.”

“Opportunities to get in your pants,” Chase mumbles, his voice ringing with amusement.

“Whatever.”

“This thing in Vegas?”

“Yeah.”

“And what? He thought if he could sweet talk your panties off, he could go as your sidekick?”

I snort. Some of the things Chase says…“No. There was no sweet-talking involved.”

Chase grips my wrist and I peer up at him. His iridescent blue eyes are wide with mock horror. “You were giving it up for free? Have I not taught you anything, child?”

Considering I’m a year older than Chase, he gets a kick out of calling me that.

But, he’s right. I don’t think I held out long enough. And honestly, Chase has been trying to school me in the art of casual hookups. I mean, he is the king after all.

It’s no secret that Chase Barrett is a total manwhore. The only thing that makes it semi-okay is that he treats women like royalty. Not kidding. Any woman who has done the deed with him has moved on with her life feeling like a princess. Not a single woman in his sordid past has ever said anything bad about him. He’s the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, yet every single one would probably give him another go if he simply snapped his fingers. I don’t know how he does it either.

If rumors are true—which I cannot verify, nor do I have any desire to—then it’s quite possibly due to how well endowed the man is. Chase has since stopped bragging about the size of his penis—having grown out of the adolescent phase of his life finally—but I’ve heard it plenty of times over the years. Not only from him either. Which is weird, but whatever.

Perhaps it’s his boyish good looks with his strategically mussed dark hair and contrasting glowing blue eyes. It could be the hard angles of his face or the small scars and slightly crooked nose that add to the whole bad-boy vibe. Or maybe it’s the sensuous curve of his lip when he’s amused. The fact that he’s a well-known hockey player who makes several million dollars a year, with a body worthy of a hockey-hottie calendar, probably doesn’t hurt either. I honestly don’t know.

“So, are you going to hit him up for another round? Try the horizontal mambo again?”

“No.” That’s the truth.

It’s safe to say I won’t be seeing Andrew again. Even if I could get past the fact that he tried to lick all my makeup off, I can’t do it. I shouldn’t have brought him back here tonight.

“I think you should thank me for saving your ass. Imagine how you would’ve felt in the morning.”

“There will be no thank-yous,” I inform him, snuggling against his shoulder once more. It’s definitely time to change the subject. “Y’all lost last night.”

“Give the woman a cookie!” Chase announces gruffly, tipping his beer back as he shifts away slightly. I can hear the disappointment in his tone.

“You sat in the box for only eight minutes. Slacker. I know you can do better than that.”

Chase chuckles.

“However, I think you’ll be happy to know that you once again lead the league in penalty minutes.”

His dark eyebrows lift in question.

“One twenty-two.” I grin. “As of the last time I checked the stats.”

“That’s more than last year.”

“It is. But Sampson’s a close second.” Hopefully Chase isn’t trying to top himself every year. There will come a time when he sits in the box more than he’s out on the ice. Which would be an interesting accomplishment, now that I think about it.

“Scott Sampson?”

I nod. “Plays for Ottawa.”

He sighs. “I’ve only got a couple more games to widen my lead.”

“Does that mean the Tornadoes are out of the playoffs?” They needed five points to secure the wild card, but with last night’s loss and only two games left, that leaves them statistically out.

“That’s what it means.”

“You had a good run this year.” That’s not a lie. Chase’s stats for the season are incredible. For instance, Chase has 63 points this year alone, despite all of those penalty minutes. It’s one of the reasons he’s the top paid on the team. Plus, he was the No. 2 pick in the NHL entry draft in 2009 and the fans freaking love him.

I know all this because I pay attention to hockey.

To be fair, I wasn’t a fan of the sport until I met Chase back at the University of Wisconsin. He was seeking a statistics tutor and I’d signed up to be one. One night, when he backed out on our tutoring session, he tried to make it up to me by offering me tickets to one of his games. I’ve been hooked ever since.

“Yep.” Chase’s confirmation rings with defeat.

I hate that I so easily managed to wipe the smile off his face with my comment. “When’s the season officially over?”

“Saturday’s the last regular season game.”

So, only a couple of days away.

“Then what’ll you do?”

“Who knows.”

Knowing Chase, he’ll spend the summer doubling up on workouts, attempting to get into even better shape than he already is. That’s the way he rolls. If he isn’t playing hockey, he’s training to play hockey.

Or he’s banging one of the bunnies who worship at his feet. But I try not to think about that because…well, because I have better things to think about.

I turn my attention to the television for a moment. He’s watching hockey highlights, which isn’t at all surprising. We sit like that for a few minutes, finishing our beers. I can tell he came over so I could cheer him up, only I’m not feeling all that cheerful myself right now. I didn’t think things were going to get serious with Andrew, but honestly, I was enjoying the attention. Sure, I probably showed my gratitude a little too well by nearly sleeping with him, but you live and learn.

The truth is, I’ve had this feeling that I’m running out of time to find a man, have a family, live happily ever after. Not that I’ve been searching for any of those things, nor am I positive they even exist. At least not for me, anyway. But secretly, there’s a girl deep inside me who has always had plans to have the whole white picket fence, a husband, and 2.5 kids. Yet I’ve been so focused on my career, it seems I’ve ignored that little dream of mine.

Okay, so no, Andrew would not have been able to fill the fictitious future-husband shoes and make that dream a reality. He was merely a careless attempt on my part to pretend otherwise.

Thankfully, I do have the Vegas conference coming up, which means I’ll be incredibly busy for the next few weeks. It takes months to prepare for this event. My company—a well-known corporation that specializes in mobile devices and computers—does it every single year and this is one that will go down in the record books. Being that we’re introducing some astonishing breakthroughs in technology via our yearly keynote, it’s imperative that we deliver the information in a way that gets consumers excited. I’ve spent countless hours planning for the upcoming release to the world, and we’re close to ready, but not quite.

However, I don’t want to think about work right now, so I peer over at Chase. “You know, I could take a couple of days off at the end of the month and we can go home to see your dads.”

Although I lean toward the whole “it’s a small world” theory, Chase likes to claim that I’m secretly his stalker and that’s why I was at the University of Wisconsin at the same time he was. Turns out, Chase is from Madison and I’m from Middleton, which means we grew up roughly fifteen minutes apart. His dads live less than ten miles away from my mother and potential Husband No. 5.

“And your mom?” he inquires, glancing over at me.

I sigh. I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t mention seeing her, but this is Chase. He’s always attempting to find a way to fix me. I think he believes the secret is to repair the damage between my mother and me.

It’s not that simple.

“Maybe,” I say. “I’m not making any promises.”

“But you’re wanting to chill with my dads? You miss them, don’t you?”

I giggle. And yes, I kind of do miss them. Robert and Frank are awesome.

“Yes, I’ll admit that I miss them. So, I figure we’ll go up there, hang for a bit, and come back before you kick off your grueling summer training.”

Chase grins. “I like where your head’s at, Desrosiers.”

“Good. It’s settled then.”

Chase’s eyes remain focused on the television. “Cool. You and Nat still coming to my last game on Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Maybe we can go out after.”

“If you’re up for it, sure.” I like hanging out with Chase. He’s fun. But even he can’t deny he’s a party pooper on nights they lose.

Chase glances down at me, cocking one thick, dark eyebrow. “Are you jinxing me, Desrosiers?”

His hand slowly moves and I know I have to pay close attention. I can see his intention in his eyes.

I chuckle, then shift away, trying to dig myself into the cushions. “Don’t you dare tickle me.” I laugh, attempting to dodge his hand before he can get too close.

Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough and the next thing I know, I’m on the floor, Chase is dangling off the couch above me, his fingers digging into my ribs as he tickles the crap out of me. I hate when he does it, but I always know it’s coming.

“Stop!” I can hardly breathe. “I hate that. You know I do.” I’m giggling uncontrollably and trying not to spill my beer, which only makes the breathing thing more difficult. “Chase…”

He pauses, still staring down at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “We’re going out after the game, no matter what. And I’m making it my personal mission to ensure you get a proper hookup while we’re out. No pretentious, Jaguar-driving, Dockers-wearing, pansy-ass momma’s boys either.”

“He wasn’t wearing Dockers,” I argue, still laughing.

Although the rest is probably true.