I nudged him under the table again. “Girlfriend?”
“No. Should we play the question game?”
My stomach tightened. “No.”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“Let’s just play this super exciting game of Checkers. I’m literally on pins and needles awaiting your next move.” If he sensed my sarcasm, he didn’t react and went on perusing the board as if he had nothing but time. Well, I guess that was probably pretty accurate. He looked up and I met his eyes across the table, both of us trying not to smile. I shook my head slightly, breaking eye contact and giving my attention to the fascinating wall just past his head.
Suddenly, something small and gray darted around the corner and scurried toward the living room, burying itself behind the rack of coats by the front door. Now, I hate to be that cliché girl, you know, the one who’s terrified of mice and screams and points and jumps on the table. But… surprise… it’s me. I’m most definitelythatgirl.
I screeched, jumping up from my seat to the table, all within an impressive two seconds time. At my screams, Chase shot out of his seat, his chair sliding away behind him as he whirled around, no doubt looking for some sort of intruder or ax murderer. When he saw nothing, he circled back around to me and raised his arms in question.
“What?”
My mouth gaped open, but I kept my eyes fixed on the spot where I had last seen the rodent. I pointed toward the door. “Mouse.”
Chase swore and before I could blink, the checkers game went flying and he hoisted himself up on his knees next to me on the—way too small for two adults to be kneeling on—table. His arm settled around my shoulders as he pulled me in to him, his eagle eyes trained on the spot by the door.
“Are youkiddingme?” I pulled myself out of his grasp. “You’rethe army guy!”
He was laughing when he turned to look at me. “Marine.”
“Whatever. Get over there and get him!”
He held his hands up. “I don’t do mice.”
I gaped at him. “No,Idon’t do mice.Youare the guy.Youdo the mice.”
“And let you miss out on the opportunity to crush a stereotype?”
Feeling frantic at the idea of a disgusting rodent occupying the same space as me, I attempted to push him off the table. He grabbed my hands, and held me at bay, laughing as he warded me off. I glanced across the room toward the door only to see the mouse dart toward the kitchen.
I screamed. Chase turned in time to see the mouse charge toward us and pulled us both up so we were standing on the table, hands clutched together and bent over, laughing hysterically. The kind of laughs where nothing comes out, we are just wheezing and sucking in air. When I had calmed down enough to feel his grasp on my hand, I pulled my hand from his and pushed my hair out of my face—if only to give hands something else to do.
“Where did he go?”
“He took a hard right down the hallway, headed straight for your room,” Chase said.
I gasped and turned back around, only to smack him on the stomach when I saw he was joking.
“I’m kidding. I’m pretty sure he’s behind the back-door curtain.”
I shifted, eyeing the back door carefully, searching for signs of mouse. “Okay, it’s time to be a hero, soldier.” I nudged Chase and motioned for him to step down.
He only smiled and sat down on the table, pulling me down next to him, our feet dangling dangerously close to the ground. The heat from his body radiated from him. I really needed to move. I needed to get away from this proximity to him, but… you know… mouse.
“To be honest, I’m not sure where he is now. I was laughing too hard to take note,” Chase said, squinting as he meticulously scanned the kitchen.
My heart sunk to a new low. He could be anywhere. I hope Chase made a good pillow, because I guess that meant I wasn’t leaving the table for the night. I forced myself to stop thinking about using Chase as a pillow, and instead I pleaded in the most pathetic voice I could muster. “Please just go find it and kill it.”
“Just face it. He’s a part of our family now. What should we name him? Harold?” Chase asked, nudging me with his shoulder. Which, if I had to guess, was exactly three millimeters from mine. So much for space.
I smiled in spite of myself. “Sure. Harold it is.”
“I don’t do mice because they are disgusting, disease carrying rodents of grossness. Why don’tyoudo mice?” I asked him, half-debating over whether or not I should lean my head on his shoulder. It happened to be just the exact height of a shoulder my head needed. Suddenly, I felt very tired. I was nothing if not a walking contradiction.
“I had abadexperience.” He drew out the word ‘bad,’ while his tone of voice sounded as though his memories had drifted to somewhere long ago.