Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,128

give him hope if there really is none.

“What are you thinking? That we just head to Vegas and get married again? Give this a go around once more?” I break away from him, walking into my family room. “Do you honestly expect me to say yes? It’s been five years. Where the hell have you been?”

There was a time I would’ve died to hear him say those words to me.

He follows but stays against the wall to keep his distance. “I had to get myself right.”

“Why me? Go find some new girl.” I wrap my arms around myself.

“You’re kidding, right? It’s always been you, Chels. Always. I don’t want anyone else. Never have.”

“I’m a bitch.”

“You are.” There’s not one ounce of humor in his tone.

My head whips around.

He shrugs. “I’m not gonna lie. You can be difficult sometimes, but it’s something I love about you. I don’t want some woman who’s going to have my favorite dinner on the table at five o’clock when I get home. Someone who lets me watch whatever I want on television without a fight. I want someone with their own dreams, their own thoughts and opinions. Because you’re not really a bitch, Chels, you’re a fighter.”

I swallow down the words that wanted to go after him.

“I love our banter, I love the way you don’t let me get away with jack shit.”

“You didn’t like it once upon a time.” I cock my hip and put a hand on my waist.

“Once upon a time I was an asshole.”

“And that’s changed now?”

He chuckles to himself like he’s living his fucking dream life right now. “It hasn’t. I’m not making a promise of lifting the toilet seat, washing my dishes, and doing laundry. Truth is, I might just let a t-shirt miss the hamper just to piss you off, because when you fight with me Chelsea, it means you care, that you love me.”

The room grows quiet, me remembering when I lost the will to fight. When I didn’t care about unmade beds or dirty dishes. When I was so mentally exhausted, I gave up. But he’s wrong, the love was still there. Maybe buried really, really deep, but the part of me that would never admit to it was there.

“I’ll tell you what?” he asks, pushing off the wall. “Hannah’s party next weekend...let me take you.”

Hannah’s hosting a get together for all the people who are involved, even indirectly, in RISE. As a thank you of sorts.

When I don’t say anything, he continues to talk. “Just as an escort. Nothing more.”

“You can meet me there.” I cross my arms again and realize I have no bra on, so I quickly let them hang back down at my sides.

“Not a chance. You’ll have your friends there, but I want to pick you up and bring you home. You gotta see that’s a small start. I’m not asking for dinner or drinks. Just a car ride together in an Uber.”

He approaches me, and I step back, needing space to think this through.

Hannah’s party is at her penthouse in the city and it shouldn’t take long to get there.

“Fine,” I say.

“Not exactly the enthusiasm I was hoping for, but I’ll take it. Pick you up at six.” He steps toward me one more time, but I place my hand out in front of me.

“Not happening.”

He nods. “What about Ann Sathers tomorrow?”

“We already hashed this out.”

“I kind of wanted the cinnamon rolls and you know I hate dining alone.”

“Order it and pick it up.” I walk to my door opening it for him.

“My time is up I see.”

“You got more time than you deserve.” Truth is I don’t want him to go, but I can’t let him think he can walk all over me.

“Kiss?”

“NO!” I screech.

He laughs and his hand slides over my hip as he leans in and places his lips on my cheek. Shivers run along my body.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

He winks and steps out the door. “Oh, Chels?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you enjoy Rambo?” he winks.

Shit. I forgot the movie case was sitting on my table.

I slam the door in his face before he sees how pink mine is.

Sitting back down on the couch, I pull the box of donuts onto my lap and take a big bite of one, then gulp down the chocolate milk, leaving the McDonalds alone.

He’s already under my skin. I cannot let him get under my panties.

Chapter Ten

“I’m sorry, what?” Victoria asks, sitting next to me at Torrio’s Table, the speakeasy Hannah is a member of.

“We talked.”

“In