“We’re here.”
“When will we get there?”
Chase wipes his mouth with a woefully undersized napkin in his large hands. “When we’re done here.”
I start to type. “When is that?”
“I’m getting tired of this. Not you, Pippa. This dog and pony show. Yes, I’m the nice guy. A people pleaser, but I want my life back. This isn’t working for me.”
“It’s only eleven more days.”
Taking a sip of his soda, Chase does a spit take. “Eleven more what?”
“Days.”
“I thought you said dates. I was ready to walk.”
“Tory wants us to review the women you’ve met so far,” I say, reading the most recent text.
He sets down his pizza and wipes his hands, then counting off on his fingers, he says, “Let’s see, the first few, I can’t even remember their names. Most recently, Nancy was significantly older. Maybe even older than my Nana. She’s the gold digger type. Seven husbands. Smoker. Rude to service workers. Shall I keep going?”
“She could stand a stint at Blancbourg.”
“I’d like to have kids, and forgive me for saying this, but I think she’s well past her childbearing years.”
“Not to worry. Brielle’s profile says she wants to have babies.” I paste on a perky smile that’s fake, fake, fake. I’ve hardly touched my pizza.
“You going to eat that?” Chase asks.
He takes a bite and then holds it up to me. “It’s delicious.” He waves the slice a little.
“I’ll get something before we head back to the house.”
“I think you should take a bite.” Chase cups his hand under the end so nothing drops on me as he moves it closer to my mouth.
“I insist.” His hand gently caresses my jaw as he feeds me a bite.
The dough has the perfect amount of chewy give and the melty cheese is deliciously fresh. I close my eyes for a moment. “Oh, that’s good,” I say around a mouthful.
His eyes land on my lips and linger as if he too realizes that it’s just the two of us.
My throat bobs with a swallow. This must be what it feels like right before Chase Collins kisses a woman.
His lips are confident. I imagine they’re softer than they look, but demanding too. He looks like he knows the fine balance of being both a smooth and rough kisser, but also generous, aware of what and when to give.
The pizza place could go up in flames, or the ground could shake, and I don’t imagine anything could interrupt this moment.
Not lightning or a meteor.
Not Marlow or our parents. Not even a camera crew.
We’re so close, I could reach out and press my mouth to his.
His gaze drops to mine.
My heart throbs so madly, I’m certain he can hear it, feel it, over the din in the pizza shop.
Then someone squawks, “It’s the Lion! Number four. Chase Collins!”
