My eyes are locked on his mouth as he draws in his bottom lip between his teeth before it slides out slowly. I grin and pop a shoulder.
“Roofies are illegal.”
He laughs, looking around. “Jesus Christ, Evie.”
I grin, satisfied to have been the one who embarrassed him for once. “Just behave, and we’ll work towards cool.”
“Maybe even the coolest?” he fires back. “I mean, you never know. We might be besties by the end of the day.”
“You’re gonna ruin it.”
I chuckle as he pretends to zip his lips and put them in his pocket before he holds up his hands.
If this doesn’t get me into heaven, nothing will. I nudge him over so I can look through the records, too, not looking up at him as he keeps talking.
“You know what, though ...” His voice is full of humor, and I can tell he’s about to say something bullshitty. “If we’re gonna be friends ...”
I cut my eyes at him.
He corrects himself, “Or like friend adjacent—”
I smile as he continues.
“—then we need to start off on the right foot.”
He holds up two Britney Spears records.
“Britney circa 2001, where not only was she a slave for you but also poignantly not a girl and not yet a woman. Or ... the 2003 version of Britney Jean Spears, where we all learned it was not just her against the music and that we all loved her a little bit toxic?”
My jaw is almost on the ground. I want to ask why he knows so much about Britney Spears, but to be honest, this might be one of the hottest conversations a man has ever had with me. He’s so weird.
But that dimple.
He raises his brows. “Come on ... Which era reigns supreme? And there is a correct answer.”
I give him a deadpan look. “Yeah, there is ... and it’s 2000 ‘Oops! ... I Did It Again’ when she had vocal fry, a red jumpsuit, and a headset mic.” I raise my hand, looking away. “Fight with yourself.”
He drops one of the records back into its slot, grabbing my attention again, revealing the album I just named secretly held in his hand, and says, “Correct.”
I laugh.
All right. Maybe friends.
We meander to some trinkets, looking at them quietly, only glancing at each other before he points to the pathway, so I nod and follow him.
This is so strange because it’s not uncomfortable. Chase is kind of easy to be around as long as he’s on his best behavior. Actually, that’s not true ... he was easy at the wedding too. And he was definitely on his worst.
I’m fidgeting with my fingers before looking up at him. “I have a question.”
“Shoot,” he says, reading a sign for some food truck.
“When we were texting . . .”
He cuts in. “When I was texting, and you were just reacting.”
I giggle, stopping at some sunglasses and pulling a pair out to try on. “Semantics. Come clean—were those stories true?”
He grins and puts on a pair of blue glasses with hearts over the lenses before flicking the lever on the side of them, making the hearts flap open and closed quickly.
