I cock my head. “I feel like I would have remembered that.”
“You were dealing with a lot,” Chase replies and suddenly all that warmth I was feeling is fading. Fast. “My grandfather is… was Ned McDaniels.”
“The politician dude?” I ask. “The one who showed up at my mom and dad’s funeral?”
“Yeah.”
I blink and stare at him even harder now, and I can see the quiet, lankier, younger guy in the navy-blue coat and suit. Both he and his grandfather were wearing polished leather dress shoes. I remember staring at their feet as they stood in front of me, wondering how they’d made their way through the snowy cemetery in those stupid shoes. Ned, an assemblyman or something, had approached us right after our parents were lowered into the ground and the pastor had said the final prayer. He offered me, Woody, and Autumn his sincerest condolences. The words didn’t really sound all that sincere coming out of Ned McDaniels’ mouth, especially when he went on to ask if we would be so kind to shake his hand for the photographer. Chase was the one who sounded sincere when he told his grandfather, “I think we should just go.” And then I looked up and saw his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry.”
I blink and focus on the face in front of me now, not the younger one attached to that memory. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Chase looks far less confident than he has all night. “I didn’t want to mention it at the bar. There really wasn’t time and I thought maybe if you knew, you’d have decided not to play with us.”
“Nah,” I say easily. “And if I can’t join the band more regularly it won’t be because of that either.”
“I’m still embarrassed about how that went down,” Chase admits. “Everyone in my family has trouble doing anything without a political agenda. I hate it.”
“Everyone?” I shift a little, to get one of the jets to hit a spot on my lower back that has been aching a little since I started working at Vino and Veritas and standing on my feet hours at a time. The move brings me a couple inches closer to Chase.
“Ned is my mother’s dad, and he was a Vermont assemblyman. My dad is a senator for Rhode Island. My brother works in the District Attorney’s office in Rhode Island and wants to run for mayor of our hometown there next year,” I explain. “So yeah. Feels like everyone.”
“And you?”
“Never,” Chase says flatly and with certainty. Then he lowers his voice and slides a little closer. “But don’t tell my parents that. At least not yet.”
I don’t know why he added not yet. I would ask him but I’m concentrating on the feel of his knee which is now brushing up against mine. The moonlight and the fairy lights are putting a glow onto his handsome profile that I can’t help but enjoy. Is this guy into me? “Anyway, I’m still ashamed of that moment.”
“Don’t be,” I reply, my voice suddenly heavy and thick. “I barely remembered it. I try not to remember much from that time, which is likely why I didn’t recognize you.”
“I get that.” His hand is lying on top of mine suddenly, on the bench in the small space between our hips. I turn my head a little so I can see more of his face. His mouth relaxes, no smile anymore, and it’s so close to mine. I feel his fingers slip in between mine and curl in so he’s kind of holding my hand. My eyes drop to the water, as if I need to visually confirm he really did that. Of course, I can’t see our hands because the bubbling water makes it impossible, so I look back up. He’s still staring at me with those impossibly blue eyes, without a care in the world. Like he has no idea how straight I thought he was.
Now I have the confidence to make my own move. My eyes still on his, I move my hand — the one he’s resting his hand on top of — lifting it off the bench in between us and dropping it on his thigh.
Chase doesn’t blink, or smile as my palm settles over his leg, just above his knee. If anything, his expression darkens a little, but in a way that makes my cock start to grow. And then he leans closer, the tip of his nose grazes my cheekbone and his exhale brushes my mouth. I know his lips are next and my eyes close with the anticipation. And then… an instrumental version of “Hotel California” fills the air.
“Fuck!” I curse and immediately start to get out of the hot tub to retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. “I have to answer that. It’s one of my siblings.”
Chase nods but doesn’t hide the disappointment creasing his face either. I guess most grown ass men don’t leap out of hot tubs a second before a first kiss to chat with their brother. But my parents died in a car crash and so if one of us is not home at night, when we should be, we call and have promised to always answer. If someone had called my parents, maybe we would have been able to get an ambulance to them sooner. Maybe… I yank my phone out of the pocket of my pants and as I drip water on the rooftop, say hello.
“Where are you? V and V closed hours ago,” Woody asks. He doesn’t sound groggy so he’s likely not at home to notice my bedroom door was open and my bed is empty. “But your car is still parked where you left it before your shift.”
“You’re in town?”
“Yeah. Was at the campaign office strategizing,” Woody replies. “And by strategizing, I mean panicking about how to get more people interested in me. I’m trailing in the latest polls.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say and man it’s freezing when you’re soaking wet on a roof in the middle of the night. I have my back to Chase and the hot tub, but I can hear water sloshing, so I think he’s getting out too.
“So where are you? Can I hitch a ride home? I cycled into town this morning and don’t want to ride home in the dark,” Woody explains. “I was gonna call a cab but then saw your car. And every penny counts.”
I glance over my shoulder and see Chase standing there holding a towel out to me. He’s taken one too but draped it over his shoulders. His very white, very wet, very see-through boxer-briefs are not covered up in the slightest. And shit, yeah. He is definitely half hard. And well endowed. God damnit.
“Bo! Hello?”
“Yeah. I’m at a party but it’s winding down. I’ll meet you there in ten,” I reply and hang up. I take the towel and wrap it around my shoulders. Then I force my eyes to stay on Chase’s face, which is no easy feat. “My brother needs a lift back to our farm.”
“Shit,” he says.
“Yeah. Shit,” I agree as my eyes slide down and I blatantly check him out. At this point, I feel like I have nothing left to lose. I want to make it crystal clear that I’m interested, even if I don’t have time to act on it. If I somehow misread everything on an epic level, and my ogling his junk is offensive, then I’d rather find out now. Before I decide whether I’m going to play in his band. Because I’ll gladly join a band full of straight dudes or even bi-curious ones, but not homophobic ones, so his reaction here is critical.
