Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,70
parents?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t like you.”
He chuckles.
“And yeah, so you’re the first guy that’s ever met my mother — clearly, I’m not the queen of relationships. But even I know there are rules about how this stuff is supposed to happen.”
“How do you know the rules if you’ve never done this before?” He grins. “Is there a book I should be reading, with a list of these rules? A manual, maybe? Some kind of guide I could reference?”
“No, smartass.” My eyes narrow further. “It’s an unspoken rule.”
“If it’s unspoken, how is it a rule?”
I toss my hands up, exasperated. “It’s just not allowed, okay? It’s frowned upon.”
“By who?”
“Me!”
He shakes his head, grinning.
I sigh. “It’s like… writing shouty emails in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS, or feeling every single apple in the pile while forty other people are waiting to approach the freaking produce, or not picking up the massive pile of doo-doo your Doberman has left steaming on the sidewalk. You just don’t do it.”
“Did you just compare me, meeting your mother, to literal dog shit?”
I ignore his bemused question entirely.
“Oh! And I firmly believe there should be laws against people who talk on speakerphone in public. Like, hello random dude with the old-school flip phone, I so do not need to hear about your plans to ‘get turnt’ this weekend and ‘work the ladies’ at the club with your ‘boys’ — I’m just trying to ride the subway in peace.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a lot of rules?”
“Don’t even get me started on people who don’t recycle.” I huff in outrage. “Just throw your old car batteries in the ocean while you’re at it, earth-haters!”
“Gemma.”
Nostrils flaring, hands planted on my hips, I begin to pace in small circles.
“There’s no book, no guide, but there are rules. Basic, life rules that all humans should follow. And I’m pretty sure, right at the top of the freaking list, next to no socks with sandals and brush your teeth before the dentist is the rule about not meeting the parents until absolutely necessary. Definitely until you’ve known the person longer than a week.”
“Gemma.”
“In fact, I’m not entirely sure it’s ever necessary. In-laws are one of the main causes of marital discord and divorce. I read that online somewhere! Though, come to think of it, it might’ve been on Wikipedia, and I’m not sure how factual or scientific their statistics are, but—”
“Gemma!”
“What?” I snap, freezing in place as my gaze flies back to him.
When our eyes meet and I realize I’ve been shouting nonsense for the past several minutes, I instantly feel my cheeks blaze with heat.
God, I’m a dork.
Chase doesn’t look like he minds, though. In fact, he’s grinning wider than I’ve ever seen.
“Your mom was right.”
“Huh?” I ask, brilliant as ever.
“You really do hate surprises.”
He’s not at all apologetic, when he says this. In fact, he sounds downright pleased with himself as he closes the distance between us, so he’s fully invading my space, his front plastered against mine.
“Because they never end well,” I whisper, craning my neck to keep eye contact and trying not to melt at his proximity.
His eyes flicker down to my lips. “This one could.”
Danger!
I force myself to step away and keep walking down the beach in resolute silence, determined to hold out until I’ve gotten some answers from him. Specifically about the smoking hot blonde who may or may not be his fiancée.
And this time, I’m absolutely not going to be the one who caves first.
(Seriously, this time.)
We walk for a few more minutes, long enough for my blood to cool and my embarrassment to fade away. We’re nearly at the end of the beach, when he finally speaks.
“It’s beautiful, here.”
Chase stops, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, and looks out over the inlet.
“Yeah,” I agree, bending to pick up a small, flat stone. I test its weight in my hand before flinging it toward the water, and watch with satisfaction as it skips across the surface, one-two-three-four-five-six, before plunking through the waves and plunging to the bottom of the harbor.
“You look like you’ve done that before.”
“More times than I can count.” I shrug. “There’s not a heck of a lot to do in Rocky Neck, especially for a kid.”
“Did you like growing up, here?”
I don’t look at him when I answer. “It was quiet. Beautiful. The kind of place where no one ever really leaves. Kids grow up, get married, buy a house down the street from the