He blatantly looked at me, then his eyes roamed around my face, just long enough for my heart to start pounding. My breath hitched before he said, “next question. How about you, Blister? Twenty-eight years old. I would have thought you’d be married with four kids and a minivan right about now.”
My heart plummeted. That is why conversations with him were impossible; they left me feeling weird and unsettled, with my emotions all over the place. His question cut me deep, but I refused to show it. There had been a time I had thought so as well.
“I’ve had boyfriends in the past, but nobody ever stuck. Simple as that.” He smiled at me when I threw his words back at him. All of a sudden, I realized how close we sat to each other. The sides of our bodies were practically one. If I moved one tiny finger, our hands would be touching. Why was he still looking at me? His eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly, I needed to get off the table. Mice or no mice. I took a small breath of courage before I leapt from the table and dashed toward the hallway.
“I’ll grab the traps. You set them up.”
“Hey, get back here, I didn’t make that deal!”
“It’s only fair,” I shouted from the laundry room. I found the sack of traps Chase had mentioned and ran back toward him. I flung the bag onto the table next to him.
“What are you so scared of, Penny?” He asked, his hands flung out wide as he looked at me. My breath hitched at the sound of my real name from his lips, and I held his gaze for about three seconds too long.
“Mice.” I said, turning to bolt down the hallway. Even when he called down the hallway after me, I refused to look back. I retreated as quickly as I could to my room, away from Chase, his eyes, and his hotness, and wrote a couple chapters for my new book—about two people snowed in at a cabin.
I was in trouble.
* * *
Somewhere in the middle of the night, a loud snap sounded.
And just like that, Harold was gone.
* * *
The next morning, I sequestered myself in my room once again, trying to write. For some reason, my mind had been unable to settle. I didn’t allow myself to think about sitting on the table with Chase, instead I chose to fixate on our poker game. Something had been bothering me about the game. The win had been too easy. Card games are half luck, but Chase had been acting strangely before my win. Pandering with questions and distractions before he showed his cards. I almost didn’t want to say it, or think it, but… had he somehow thrown the game? Lost on purpose?
The thought humiliated me. Especially since I had done, not one, but two victory dance laps around the table after my win. A small part of me, probably the warm and comfortably dressed in his sweats and sweatshirt part, felt touched by the gesture. Either way, I had to figure this out, because I couldn’t gloat or tease him anymore if my win wasn’t a true win. But, he would never let me win. Would he? Of course, the whole thing was his idea, with the thought to get me some clothes. So maybe he was trying to ease his conscience. Still, Chase Riley letting me win? I wouldn’t stand for it.
How did he do it? What was so off about the game?
After thinking about it a bit longer, to no avail, I peeled off the covers and got out of bed. I re-rolled the bottoms of Chase’s sweats up to keep them from dragging on the floor and rolled the elastic waste band a couple times to make the cinch tighter around my waist. The sweatshirt was also too big, but other than pulling up the sleeves, I couldn’t do much to help it. I wouldn’t win any fashion contests, especially with the boxer briefs I was wearing, but I had never felt better.
That being said, I only ventured out to the kitchen after I had showered, put on my makeup, brushed my teeth and, if I’m being completely honest—shaved my legs.
Chase stood in the living room, putting on a pair of fishing waders over his coveralls. He looked up and scanned my clothing with his eyes. Okay, I guess the only thing visible was his clothing. Though he didn’t look my way for long, I didn’t detect any lingering effect of yesterday in his eyes.
“Looking good, Blister. I like your style,” Chase said. Good, we were back to Blister again. I found it was much easier to keep him and thoughts of him at bay, when ‘Blister’ was between us.
“Ha,” I said, making my way to the kitchen, hitching up the sweatpants as I walked. As comfortable as they were, keeping them upright on my body all week might prove challenging.
“What are you doing?” I asked over my shoulder, while I filled a glass with water.
When he didn’t answer right away, I turned back to look at him. He held his hands outstretched and gestured to his clothing as if I had missed something very obvious. “I’ll give you one wild guess.”
“Off to a wedding?”
He snorted and pulled a beanie on his head. “Wanna come?”
“Thanks, but it would probably start to get embarrassing for you when I out fish you again.”
He stamped his feet in his boots, gathering up his tackle box and fishing gear, before adding, “awww, but I’d sure have fun watching you try.”
“Sorry, I’ve got to get some writing done today.” I opened the fridge for a snack out of habit, only to be disappointed. I eyed the pack of eggs inside, my mouth watering. A quick peek inside and I saw he only had about six eggs left from the pack of 18. I couldn’t do it. I sighed and grabbed another pack of maple sugar oatmeal from the cupboard. I refused to check the expiration date on the box, but the pack was hard and stuck together like glue. Only after adding water and some coaxing with a fork, did it finally mix together and resemble coarse oatmeal. After a quick buzz in the microwave, it resembled thick, tan sludge.
Bon Appétit.
“If I’m not back in two hours, send a search party,” Chase quipped as he opened the door, somewhat awkwardly, gear in hand.