around the wheel. In a careful voice, I asked, "So, whatever he did, you wanna talk about it?"
"Nope. Definitely not." She gave me a quick, sideways glance. "But thanks for asking."
The next time I glanced in her direction, she was chewing on her bottom lip again. This time, I wasn't distracted by her sexiness, but overcome by curiosity.
"But something's on your mind," I said. "You wanna tell me what?"
Chapter 39
Mina
As his question hung there between us, I reached up to rub the back of my neck. It felt hot and stiff, like I'd slept on it funny, which I had, thanks to the guy in the driver's seat.
Today's excursion had been a last-minute thing, something he'd mentioned only yesterday.
This little outing should've been no big deal.
But for some reason, the thought of being alone with Chase Blastoviak had unsettled me a lot more than it should've.
It's not that I thought he'd try anything.
Mostly and embarrassingly, it was that I was almost wishing he would. And then, I'd be hating myself for wishing something so incredibly stupid.
For the last seven years, I'd been playing it safe – dating only nice, safe guys and sticking with nice, safe timelines.
I didn't have sex on the first date. Or the second. Or the third. Instead, I waited until I felt something resembling love before doing the actual deed.
This was smart.
I knew this.
But if I were being totally honest, safe wasn't cutting it. Not anymore.
If I were the type of person to shirk responsibility, I'd blame my sudden dissatisfaction on the guy sitting in the driver's seat.
Over the past month, I'd gotten to know Chase a little better. Sure, he could be a total jackass, but he also made me laugh. And he was incredibly smart, especially when it came to marketing.
My degree had been in a similar field – public relations – which meant that advertising, marketing, and all of those related activities were near and dear to my heart.
During the last month or so, I'd gotten a firsthand look at the way Chase operated, the way his mind worked, and the way he thought so far out of the box, the box might as well not exist.
Watching him weave his magic had been too intoxicating for my own good. His ideas were great – half insane sometimes – but so creative, I couldn’t help but admire him.
All of this would've been terrific if not for the other thing – the proverbial fly in the ointment of my life. Chase Blastoviak was quite simply the sexiest guy I'd ever met.
And now, thanks to him, I'd been questioning that whole play-it-safe plan, the one I'd been following for seven long years.
Suddenly, I was feeling like I needed a change.
Or maybe I just needed a quick dash of spice before returning to a nice, safe existence.
As far as Chase's question, I didn't know where to begin, or if I even wanted to. Something was definitely on my mind, alright.
When I didn't answer right away, he asked, "Is it the chicken thing?"
"Sorry, what?"
"The thing on your mind. You're thinking of getting some chickens. Am I right?"
I couldn’t help but laugh. "No."
"So hogs, then?"
I was still laughing. "No." He was obviously teasing me. And for once, it actually came across as sweet, which made no sense whatsoever.
Chase Blastoviak, sweet?
Not in a million years.
In that same teasing tone, he said, "You're thinking something."
Boy, was I ever. And one particular thought was so dangerous, I kept my lips stubbornly shut to make sure I didn't accidentally say it out loud.
Chase persisted. "If you want, I'll tell you what I'm thinking."
At this, I turned to face him. He looked surprisingly sincere, and I couldn’t help but smile. "Okay."
"But if I tell you," he warned, "you'll have to return the favor."
"Oh," I laughed. "So there are conditions, huh?"
He flashed me a shameless grin. "You know it."
His grin made my stomach flutter in ways that felt all too familiar. He'd been making my stomach flutter for weeks now, and it wasn't getting better. It was getting worse.
At first, the fluttering had been a tiny little thing, something hardly worth noticing. But now, my stomach was fluttering so hard, it felt like a flock of butterflies were trying to escape.
This wasn't good.
Bryce had made my stomach flutter, too – maybe not quite so intensely. Still, the sensation was a distressing blast from the past.
Until Chase, my stomach hadn't fluttered in years.
He said, "So, we have a deal, right?"
I considered his so-called deal. He would