“Yeah, August. Kinda. You slept with me, then walked out.”
I can’t help a full-blown fit of laughter. It’s not funny but hearing anyone say this to me, Chance of all people, is kind of funny. I’m as goody-two-shoes as they get, and someone is telling me I walked out after a quick romp.
“Is that what I did?” I ask him.
“Well, I appreciate you helping me paint, at least. There’s that, which gives you some points back, but seriously, come on. You don’t just sleep with a man like that and run off unless he sucks in bed.”
My eyes widen, and my cheeks burn. “You were not—you’re wrong. That was the most incredible—Chance. You know what you’re good at—stop it.”
“What am I good at, August?” he sniffles. He’s faking it now.
I slap his arm. “Knock it off.”
“Fine, but I’m still upset,” he says. “I’m heartbroken, honestly.”
I run my fingertips across his cheek. “I know. Listen to me,” I tell him, wrapping my hand around the back of his head. “This is going to happen for you. It is.”
“You don’t know that, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
“Chance. I’m going to help you. I will do whatever I can.” I lean forward and place a small kiss on his lips, being careful in case he’s through with me after the way I walked away from him last weekend.
When I pull away, he leans back in and kisses me harder. “I just want to spend more time with you right now. You make me happy, Auggie. You do, and I haven’t felt that way in forever.”
I chew on my bottom lip, understanding what he’s saying because I feel the same way. “I haven’t had a drink,” I tell him.
He kisses me again. “I want to be with you. I mean it. I want to be with you through good moments and bad. I need a friend—a girlfriend. I need you. I do.”
The happiness tugging at my cheeks is natural. Chance makes me smile in a way that doesn't feel familiar. “You do?”
“Dammit to hell, I really do, August.”
“I missed you. I couldn’t ignore your face when it popped up today.”
“My face, huh?”
“On my phone,” I clarify.
“When did you take my picture?”
“Oh,” I chuckle. “At Kenny’s Sunday night when you were telling Luke about—”
“Yeah,” he says. “Real smooth.”
“The happiness on your face was something I wanted to keep with me,” I tell him.
Chance runs his fingers through my hair. “Even though you were kind of a jerk, I still think you’re something special.”
“What can I say,” I sigh.
“You’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
“Okay,” I tell him.
“My floors are complete now, and I’ll get some fancy take out and pretend like I cooked for you.”
Just like that, you forgive me for being heartless. Chance is a softy like I am, I guess. I don’t know if I deserve his forgiveness as easily as he’s giving it to me, but I’ve hated this week. “I’ll even tell you that you’re an amazing cook if that helps.”
“You're too good to me.” I wouldn’t go that far.
