There’s a pause as we stare at each other before my brain catches up, and I lean over the center console, pulling the bag of wine from the passenger seat into my lap, careful to not let the bottles clink.
“Delivered straight to your door. I expect a large tip. Something in the eighty- to ninety-percent category will suffice.”
He reaches inside and takes the bag right off my lap.
“You’re a lifesaver. Seriously, the guys were about to riot.”
Guys? Oh, duh, yeah, his staff must be here.
I look through the front windows of the restaurant, because it’s designed to be one of those dining experiences where you can see the chefs cooking, so there’s a giant cutout that gives everyone a view.
A bunch of guys are sitting inside, in the kitchen area. Some lifting a glass in cheers, others laughing or speaking animatedly with their hands. All backlit by an amber glow. It’s like a scene out of a movie.
“Sorry it took so long,” I say, looking back at him before biting my bottom lip. “I thought you were using it for cooking, not a party. I really shouldn’t have gone just under the speed limit on every single street.”
He tilts his head, tensing his jaw like he’s trying to hide a smirk, before he props a hand on the top of my door and bends down, bringing his face too close to mine.
“Would you have driven faster if you knew it was for other people?”
I raise my brows. “Duh. Yeah.”
He laughs, and my eyes drop to the steering wheel. Why does this suddenly feel like high school when you’re in the parking lot after school and a boy’s talking to you?
We never would’ve dated in high school ... We’ll never date now.
“Okay,” I announce, wanting to drive away from my thoughts. “Have a good time ...” I try and gently urge my car door closed, but he doesn’t take his hand off the frame, so I press, “I’ll see ya later.” I look up at him, frowning. “Hello? Let go of my door. I’m leaving.”
But Chase doesn’t seem to care about what I’m saying because he motions with his head toward the restaurant. “Nah, come inside. We’re just getting ready to eat. Let me feed you.”
Only he makesLet me feed yousound dirty. Or maybe it’s because his food is fucking orgasmic. Either way, I’m not joining tonight.
I shake my head, trying to pull my door closed again, but he still doesn’t budge.
“Let go,” I draw out.
“Get out,” he says, mimicking my tone.
It makes me involuntarily chuckle before I catch myself.
“No. I look like trash. I’m not going in front of people.”
His eyes do a once-over on me, and I squirm, momentarily looking away.
“You look good.”
Why is he saying it like that? And why is his voice so deep?
I scowl. “I’m literally wearing a pair of hospital scrubs I stole from a guy who made everybody call him doctor when he was a dentist—”
He grins. Damn that stupid dimple.
“—and this sweatshirt is not just a Boston University flex, it’s the home to these oil stains.” I point them out as if he couldn’t already see them. “I murdered a Philly cheesesteak in a very unladylike manner once.”
“You’re always the most impressive girl,” he levels, reaching in and removing my keys from the ignition before pocketing them.
My eyes spring open as my pulse picks up pace. “Chase. I’m wearing mismatched flip-flops on my feet. Pink and orange are not the same.”
The grip I have on the door handle tightens before I try and win a battle of tug-of-war. That is until he covers both my hands with one of his, removing them from the door as if my grip strength is undetectable.
