Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,100
look on his face, before speaking. “You know, Mrs. Breeland, I think you’re right.”
What?
What?!
If he just said what I think he said, I’ll be heading for the exits faster than you can say enjoy-your-life-with-Cherie.
“Oh, good!” Mrs. Breeland smiles, beyond pleased with her efforts to proposition her daughter. “I’ll tell Cherie to expect your call.”
My jaw clenches. I’m about ready to blow my top and unload two hours worth of pent-up anger on Chase when I feel his arm slide around my midsection, his fingers curling tight against my stomach, so I’m forced to step closer. I startle at the sudden movement — besides my fingers on his arm, or the light brush of our hands, we’ve barely touched since we stepped through the front doors — but when his head turns and he looks down at me, I see his eyes are simmering with equal parts anger and amusement.
“Oh, no, I meant about settling down,” Chase tells the woman, still looking at me. “Sunshine, what do you think? One kid? Two? I’ve always thought three might be too many, but if we had four, so they each had a playmate, maybe it wouldn’t be half bad.”
My jaw falls open.
I hear Mrs. Breeland gasp.
Chase grins. “Once you hit five, it’s basically a litter. But there’s a certain elegance in a clean half-dozen, don’t you think?”
He’s joking.
I know he’s joking, just to piss off this lady for disrespecting me.
But I’m having a little trouble processing the humor in his words, what with the images of our half-dozen green-eyed, towheaded, paint-splattered babies running around the yard.
“Um…” I squeak.
Chase looks back at Mrs. Breeland. “Tell Cherie hello, for me. I’m sure she’ll find someone soon, with a mother like you extolling her many graces at every opportunity.” His grin widens when she clucks in shock. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to find a broom closet somewhere and get started making those babies. Or, at the very least, practicing.”
With that, he nods to Mr. Breeland, pivots with me still tight against his side, and starts walking toward the bar.
“Nasty old bird,” he mutters. “And I remember her daughter — just as snotty, even as kids.”
“Um,” I squeak again.
“Gemma, relax. It was a joke.”
“Uh huh,” I agree, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.
“I’m not going to impregnate you with a half-dozen babies.”
“Oh, good.” I breathe out a huge sigh of relief.
“Not yet, anyway.”
“What?!”
He chuckles. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
A drink would be good.
Actually, seven drinks would be good.
But I’ll stick to a single glass of pinot noir and hope it’s enough to take the edge off… and make me forget about Chase’s seriously not-amusing jokes.
***
“Is your uncle here, yet?”
Chase looks at me. “Jameson?”
I nod.
We’re in a small alcove by the bar, surveying the room as I sip my wine. Chase is pointing out the different couples, telling me some of their scandalous family backstories, which range from alcoholism to accidental pregnancies to the occasional fetish — it’s all very entertaining — but I can’t help but notice he’s been tiptoeing around actually introducing me to any of his family members. Which is weird… considering we’re at a Croft event, and all.
“No, he’s not here.”
My eyes widen. “But didn’t he plan this whole thing? One last hurrah as CEO and all that? It’s kind of weird he wouldn’t come to his own party.”
“He’s not well.” Chase’s words are flat. “He probably won’t come until dinner, to make his speech.”
“Oh, Chase…” I trail off, looking at his stone-set face. “I didn’t know he was sick. Is he… is it…”
“Cirrhosis of the liver. He’s got a few months, at best.”
“Chase.” My voice breaks on his name.
“It’s fine, Gemma.” There’s so much suppressed anger in his words, I can tell he’s anything but fine.
“I’m so sorry, Chase. He’s been — well, sort of like a father to you, right?”
His jaw ticks, a sure sign he’s searching for control. “Something like that.”
My eyes search his face as confusion stirs in my veins. Chase isn’t ever one for big shows of emotion — I don’t expect him to weep openly about his uncle’s illness or even act too upset. But this… this is just strange. Because, if I’m reading him right, I think he’s almost… angry with his uncle.
I open my mouth to ask him about it, but his abrupt curse cuts me off.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“Brett’s here.”
“Where?”
“By the doors.” Chase’s whole body goes tense. “And he’s not alone.”