I turn slowly, locking eyes with Chase Martin.MyChase Martin.
“That wouldn’t be very kind, Chase. Breaking your teammate’s hands and all. How ever will he pitch without hands?”
Chase ignores my words—he’s too busy devouring my body with his eyes.
That’s right, Chasey boy. I know what you like, and I dressed to impress.
“Fucking hell, Tor,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough. “That dress.”
Reel him in, slowly.
“You like?” I say, trailing my hand from my neck, down my front. My fingertips skim along the hem of my dress, drawing his eyes lower.
Chase’s jaw clenches as his gaze lingers, dark and heated. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he bites the knuckle of his right index finger—a move I know all too well. It’s his tell. He’s hooked.
Caught.
In one stride, he closes the distance between us, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me flush against him. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of my dress, sending a shiver up my spine. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “Tor, baby, I made a mistake.”
My heart skips a beat. Eight weeks of heartbreak, doubt, and determination culminate in this moment. Finally. I knew he’d come back.
“I know,” I murmur, my voice soft but sure as I slide my hand up his chest, letting my fingers trace the familiar line of his jaw.
My fingertips find their way to the back of his neck, tangling in the hair at the nape as I tilt my head to meet his eyes.
“How are you going to fix it?”
His lips quirk into a small smile, but I see the hesitation flicker in his eyes—the insecurity he tries so hard to hide.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear, Tor. Just… give me a chance to prove it to you.”
Nevermind that last week he didn’t want me. Nevermind that my roommate confessed he came onto her earlier in the year.
Nevermind the fact that I saw, with my own eyes, him leaning into another coed and fingering her hair when I left Accounting on Tuesday.
In short: I’ve made an art of ignoring all the red flags. When you’re in love, those red flags look like a weird shade of green.
The familiar scent of his cologne—woodsy, with a hint of spice—fills my senses as I inhale deeply. His hand tightens on my waist, and I know I should press him for answers, demand accountability, but the pull of him is too strong.
“Have you been with anyone else?” I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear him say it.
His mouth twitches, the smallest flicker of guilt crossing his face. There it is.
“Chase. Answer me, and don’t you dare lie to me.”
His hand slides up to cup the side of my neck, his thumb brushing gently over my jaw. I hate how much I’ve missed his touch.
“I didn’t sleep with anyone else, I promise,” he says, his voice low and earnest.
He leans in to kiss me, but I press a hand against his chest, holding him back. If he kisses me, I’m done for, and he knows it.
No matter how many times he fucks up, he knows that if heputs his hands on me and kisses my lips, I’ll cave in an instant and forgive him anything.
Victoria Anne Foster, you do not give in, I tell myself, the words echoing like a mantra in my mind. Yes, you came to get your man. But you will stand your ground and demand answers. You love him, but you do not take shit from anyone.
“I want to know exactly what you’ve done, who you’ve done it with, and then I want you to promise me that you will not speak to any of those girls ever again. I mean it, Chase. I’m not doing this shit again. You are either with me or you’re not. You either want me or you don’t.”
He looks at me, his expression softening as his thumb continues to trace lazy circles against my skin.
