Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,69
between us. “When a girl ignores your calls, it usually means she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“You want to talk to me.”
“I do not!”
He grins — the good grin, the panty-dropping one — and I feel a few of the butterflies I thought were long-dead flutter back to life in the pit of my stomach.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Chase tracks me down and now there are zombie freaking butterflies swarming inside me.
“Yes you do.” He takes another step closer. “You just don’t know you do, yet.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I snap, but my anger sounds thin, even to my own ears. “Nor does the fact that you’re here.”
His grin gets bigger.
“Gemma,” my mother scolds. “That’s not how I raised you to treat your guests.”
“I didn’t invite him. He’s not my guest.”
She laughs and looks at Chase. “Don’t mind her. She hates surprises. You should’ve seen her at her tenth birthday party. I invited some of my friends from Ringling Brothers over — really nice people I met after one of their shows in Boston, though the acrobats were a bit snooty, if I’m being honest — and when Gemma walked in and saw the clowns, she just about wet her pan—”
“Mother!” I interject.
She continues, as though I haven’t spoken. “Let’s just say, my little Hurricane Gemma can cause quite the stir when she’s caught off guard. Another time, at her high school graduation, I showed up with a bullhorn and a big—”
“MOTHER!”
“Anyway, Gemma hates surprises.” Mom smiles placidly into her tea. “And clowns,” she adds with a wink in Chase’s direction.
He chuckles softly. “I’ll keep that under advisement.”
“Gemma, why don’t you take Chase for a walk around the colony? Show him the galleries, the harbor. The boats aren’t in the water, yet, but it’s still pretty, and the sun’s shining.”
“I…” The words dry on my tongue as I look from my mother to the man I’m 99% sure is stalking me, realizing I’ve been thoroughly outnumbered and outmaneuvered. A resigned sigh slips from my lips before I’ve even consciously accepted defeat.
Chase chuckles again, sensing victory.
“Oh, and put on something nice, Gem. You’re a mess.”
“Mother!”
“Gemma!” she echoes.
I glance down at myself, feeling my eyes widen as I take in the sight of paint-splattered jeans and a wrinkled tank top. A blush steals across my cheeks when I see I’m not even wearing a bra. There’s paint beneath my fingernails, turpentine on my hands. My hair is piled in a messy bun on top of my head, and I can’t remember whether I bothered to brush it this morning.
I sigh again, and turn for the door.
“I’ll go get changed.”
Chase’s laughter follows me into the next room.
***
On a cloudy, crisp spring evening, the rocky beach just steps from my house is unsurprisingly abandoned. We walk by the water’s edge, only the sounds of small waves crashing in rhythmic kisses against the shore and the occasional sea gull crying out overhead breaking the silence between us.
Smooth rocks in a million different shapes and sizes crack together beneath our feet as we walk along the empty stretch of shoreline, not touching or saying much of anything. As if a silent dare has been thrown down, and whoever shatters the wall of space between us loses.
Well, I’m not about to be the loser.
Nope. No way. Not happening.
Another few moments pass in silence, and I can’t take it anymore.
“You’re breaking all my rules, you know.”
The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them.
BREAKING NEWS! Gemma Summers loses, yet again.
Whatever.
It’s been pretty clear since Day 1 of this — my heart fails in my chest at the word relationship so let’s call it a flirtation, that’s much more benign — that there’s only one power player here when it comes to negotiations, and his name is not Gemma. Which is probably why he doesn’t bother following any of my rules.
If you hold all the cards, you can play the game however you want.
Chase glances over at me, skeptical. “Gonna need a translation on that one, sunshine.”
“The rules.” I keep my eyes glued to the beach and force the words out. “You’re not supposed to meet the parents until later. Way later. Like, two weeks before the wedding, over an awkward dinner at a restaurant with giant booths so no one’s elbows accidentally touch or anything.”
He looks at me a little strangely, a grin quirking his lips up at the corners. “And you know this how exactly? From your vast experience bringing men home to meet the