Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,54
the elevator — and just the memory of that searing kiss, of his hard lips against mine, of my legs wrapped tight around his waist, is enough to set my pulse thundering in my veins.
I almost ask for what? — my brain is literally that scrambled by his presence — but thankfully, before the words leave my lips, I remember I’m supposed to be pissed about his alpha-male antics.
“Furious,” I say, but there’s no heat to my anger.
A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face, like he knows I’m full of shit, and it makes my stomach feel all squirmy and warm. The feeling magnifies tenfold when he takes a step closer. Then another. And another, until he’s practically pressed up against me again.
Danger!
I blink hard, trying to refocus, and make my voice casual. “Why did you bring me here, Chase? Why can’t I go home?”
My words are a stark reminder of reality. His eyes shutter almost instantly, and I mourn the loss of the heat in his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is utterly composed.
“We need to talk.”
“About?”
In lieu of an answer, he reaches out, grabs my hand, and drags me over to the couches. This time, I don’t fight him. As soon as I settle in on the cushion beside his, my earlier predictions are confirmed — it’s cloud-soft and mega comfortable.
“Brett.” Chase says flatly.
“Do we have to talk about him?” I protest, having only just forgotten about his slime-ball of a cousin.
“Yes.”
I huff but don’t object.
Chase leans back, one arm draped casually over the top of the couch. If he reaches out just the tiniest bit, the tips of his fingers will be touching my hair. Which isn’t distracting, or anything. At all.
Cue butterfly storm.
“And us,” he adds casually, like those two little words haven’t brought my world to a screeching halt.
“U-us?” I stammer, looking at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean, us?”
He holds my stare in a searching gaze. “Us. This.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can try to deny it’s there, sunshine, but I’m sorry to break it to you — you’re a terrible liar.” He grins like he’s not even a little bit sorry.
“I am not!”
“You are.”
“And there’s nothing between us!”
His eyebrows lift, calling my bluff.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Maybe there’s a little, tiny spark. But that’s it!”
He just looks at me. Looks and looks, until my lie disintegrates into thin air and floats away. And then he says, in a simple voice that makes my heart stutter, “It’s more than that and you know it, Gemma.”
More?!
“But… you don’t even like me,” I protest.
“Not true.”
“Well, I don’t even like you.”
“Gemma.” His mouth twitches in amusement. “Remember how I mentioned you’re a terrible liar?”
Shit.
“But…” I’m really grasping at straws, now. “You don’t date,” I remind him, desperate to believe my own words. “You don’t do more.”
“That’s true.”
Despite myself, I feel my heart deflate like a week-old balloon.
“Maybe that’s because I wasn’t doing it with you.”
My mouth falls open as equal amounts of hope and fear rush back into my chest, filling that damn balloon until it’s threatening to burst. Pulse pounding in my veins, I meet his eyes as panicked thoughts race through my head — about us, about the press, about his slime-ball cousin…
“But…” I struggle to find the right words. “We can’t…”
“Gemma.” His voice is steady and, when I look up at him, so are his eyes. “Breathe.”
I nod, trying to breathe, but I’m kind of freaking out about the fact that Chase has just said he wants more — whatever that means — because it’s probably the worst idea ever, considering neither of us has ever had a functioning relationship, so far as I know.
Chase senses that I need time to process and doesn’t push me. Instead, he smoothly changes the subject, so I can breathe again.
“Time to talk about Brett.”
It’s probably a bad sign that I’d rather discuss a sociopath than our relationship status, right?
Oh well.
Pushing the thoughts of more to the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and manage to calm myself down.
“Okay. Lay it on me.”
“I told you about Titan.” His voice is controlled, though I can still sense undercurrents of intense anger. Anger and pain, though he’d never admit to feeling any.
Again, I have to fight the urge to reach out to him.
“That was the first time Brett took something from me. Something that mattered, anyway.” The hand by my head flexes with tension. “Before Titan, there was always competition between us,