BREE
Who is this?
ME
It’s Chase. Open your door.
BREE
What do you mean open my door? It’s the middle of the night.
ME
I’m outside. Open your door, Princess.
The lock disengages and my blue-eyed ice queen appears in the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she whisper-shouts.
“There she is.” I smile, dreamily. Apparently, I didn’t sober up as much as I thought I did on the ride over.
“How did you even get my address?” She looks outside to make sure I’m alone.
“Resourceful,” I shrug. “Are you going to let me in?”
She reluctantly moves to the side to let me inside then closes the door and locks it again. When she turns to me, I rock back on my heels with my hands in my pockets.
“Hi.”
She sniffs the air, leaning towards me. “Jesus, are you drunk?”
I hold my hand up, parting my index finger and thumb. “Little bit.”
“Unbelievable.” She walks past me and further into the open concept living area and kitchen. I take a minute to survey theroom. It’s mostly white with wood accents, creating a comfortable, inviting atmosphere. There are stairs to the left leading up to the second floor before the living room starts. A large sectional couch sits in the center of the room facing a mounted television above the fireplace. On the opposite side of the area is the kitchen with a wide stone island and barstool tucked under one side. Beyond that is a dining room overlooking the fenced-in backyard. Following Bree into the kitchen, she takes a glass from the cabinet, fills it with water from the door in the refrigerator, and wordlessly slides it to me across the island. My drunk brain didn’t think about what I’d say when I got here, so I take a drink to buy myself time and stare at her. Her face is free of makeup. Her hair is still in whatever hair style it was in earlier, though it looks messier now, making me wonder if Miller’s hands were the cause.
“Why are you here?” she says at the same time I ask, “Is he here?”
“What? Who?” Her confusion should make me feel better, but in my drunken state I double down.
“Miller.”
“If he were here, do you think I would have been the one to answer the door?” She tilts her head to the side with the question. Is she suggesting she wouldn’t have answered the door at all? Or that he would have?
“Are you together?”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “I’m not doing this right now.”
“Just tell me.” She grabs a bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet and places it beside the glass of water without another word. Then she turns the kitchen light out and starts to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” I grab her arm, stopping her.
“There are blankets in the ottoman and toothbrushes in the cabinet in the bathroom.” She points to both respectively. “I’m going to bed. Alone. You can sleep on the couch.” The sound ofher bedroom door closing upstairs is the last thing I hear as I stand alone in her living room.
I drink the water, take the pills, and brush my teeth to rid myself of the alcohol taste. Back in the kitchen, I remove my suit jacket and fold it along with the button down before placing them on a barstool. Leaving my pants on, I turn the rest of the lights off and settle onto the couch. The blanket smells like her and I can’t help my deep inhale of her scent. It’s the closest I’ve gotten to her since our night together, and a longing for more ignites in my chest.
She may not have answered me about if she and Miller are together, but I still smile to myself as I drift off to sleep.
Because he’s not here.
