I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2) (17 page)

It’s kind of hard to come up with witty banter when you’re almost drooling.

Chase gives me another funny look, and all I can envision is him walking over to me and hiking my skirt up, much like I hiked it up myself the day I ran after him to retrieve my hair tie. That day, I hiked just a smidge, but today I want Chase to hike higher, much higher. I want to feel his hands, his gentle fingers, on my legs, all over my body. I loved the way his fingers grazed my neck when he slipped the tie back on my hair. What could those adept fingers do to other places on my body?

God, I want Chase Gartner, more than ever before. My body burns to feel his touch, anywhere and everywhere, and I long to touch him too. I want to run my fingers over the lines of his tattoos, trace them with my tongue. But this isn’t all about lust. I long to touch Chase in these ways because I’ve grown to care for him—as a person, as a man, as my friend. Touching him, letting him touch me, it feels like a natural progression. We share so much emotionally that sharing ourselves physically seems inevitable. How much longer can we deny this attraction?

“You’re not early,” Chase is saying.
Focus, focus.
“I lost track of time.”

I nod absently and work on pulling myself together.

By the time we reach the diner—our diner—we’re thankfully back on track. Or, at least, I am. Chase seems mostly unaffected by my earlier ogling, even though it had to have been obvious to him.

Suddenly, I realize something, something terrible—maybe Chase isn’t all that attracted to me. Sure, he flirts, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Insecurity rears its ugly head, making me doubt. Chase is an incredibly beautiful man. He could have anyone he wants. Why would he want me? I’m probably far below his usual standards. I mean, I know he likes me as a friend. But is there a possibility of something more? Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself.

An all-consuming need to know washes over me. I absolutely have to find out if I’m the only one feeling this attraction, this pull. With renewed purpose, I set my iced tea down on the table. “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

Chase is swallowing a bite of a club sandwich and he coughs. Once he’s recovered, he says, “I don’t know. Nothing much, I guess. Why?”

I have to be brave, keep taking chances. No need to stop now, this could be the deciding factor as to where this relationship is heading.

Although this is harder than I thought.

I inhale, exhale, and say in a hurried jumble of words, “Wanttogotoamovietonight?”

For a long moment, Chase says nothing, and I feel like a fool. “Just forget it,” I mumble.

“No, wait. I’d love to see a movie with you. I was just thinking though. You do know they’re renovating the theater here in town, right?” I nod slowly. Oops, I’d forgotten about that. “Well, that means we’d have to go to the cinemas up north, which is maybe an hour away.” Chase runs his fingers through his hair, like maybe he’s a little nervous now too. “So, uh, why don’t you just come over to my house after work? We can watch something there. I have on-demand, so we’ll have lots of choices.”

Chase waits for my reply, eyebrow raised. Of course, I agree. His idea is even better than my suggestion. This way I’ll get to see Chase at home, in his own environment. That thought gives me an extra little thrill.

I know where Chase lives, but he insists on giving me directions just to be sure. He informs me he’s finishing up early today, so he’ll already be home by the time I make it out to his house. I tell him that’s fine with me.

“It’s a date, then,” Chase says as he offers me a rather stunning smile.

I wonder if he’s serious. Is this really a date? Maybe. I hope so.

I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I hope to find it tonight. Just a sign, something tangible, I suppose would be nice. Something to let me know this thing between me and Chase has potential, and that it’s definitely not one-sided.

I’m nervous, in an excited kind of way, the rest of the afternoon. Whatever the outcome, this is a step forward in our friendship. Our interactions so far have been limited to the church grounds and the few surrounding blocks. Tonight, though, in Chase’s home, I may finally get an answer to the question that’s burning me up inside: Does Chase Gartner like me the way I like him…romantically?

Chapter Five

Chase

Maybe I am deluding myself, but it seems this friendship thing is really working. I’ve successfully kept feelings that confuse me—feelings that have me all twisted up inside—under wraps. Consequently, I can proudly state that Kay Stanton is the first female friend I’ve ever had. In fact, surprisingly, she’s turning out to be the best friend I’ve ever had as well.

I like how free and easy it is to talk to her. My girl is incredible like that. Sometimes I feel so comfortable I even find myself telling her way more than I originally intended, I get
that
lost in the sharing of my stories. It’s never been that way before with anyone else, only with Kay. Maybe it’s because sweet girl is such a good listener?

Nah, I think it’s something more.

I have to admit my feelings for Kay are like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Nothing, ever.

I want her, of course. What man wouldn’t? Kay is sexy and beautiful, very desirable, very fuckable. But it’s more than just some physical thing. I want to be around her all the time. And I actually care about what she thinks, about me, about life, about this crazy fucking world we live in. I guess I just want to know what she thinks about everything.

In addition, I like to see Kay happy. In fact, nothing pleases me more. That’s why I tease and play so much when I’m around her, that shit never fails to make my girl smile wide and true. And when Kay smiles at me—in that way only she can do—I know…I just fucking know…she likes me more than just a friend.

Actually, I’m pretty certain Kay is looking for a sign that I feel the same way. I do, obviously, but I can’t tell her. Maybe Kay doesn’t realize she’s too good for the likes of me. She sees only the best parts of me, and if I could be that way all the time, then maybe. But I don’t know if such a thing is possible. I’m sure I’ll fuck things up somewhere along the line. I almost always do with the people I care about.

These are my thoughts as I nervously get ready for our “date” tonight. Shit, I don’t know what this is we’re even doing this evening. I called it a date earlier, but I was just fucking around. I think.

Whatever
.

I glance around my bedroom. There are some clothes strewn on the floor, so I gather those jeans and tees up now. After I set aside a pile of laundry, I turn to check out the clock on the bedside table.

Fuck, it’s after five, Kay will be here soon.

I hurriedly shower and go back to my room. I tug on a clean pair of jeans and one of those nice button-down shirts from my mother. I glance in the mirror above the dresser while I roll dark blue sleeves up to my elbows. I guess I look okay. All I know is that I want to look nice for Kay.
Not that this movie night is a date or anything,
I remind myself.

After I’m ready, I get to work on cleaning and straightening up around the house. It’s not that I’m exceptionally messy, but I am a guy and sometimes it takes me a while to get around to picking things up, especially clothes. Leave it where it falls is my standard motto. But I get things in order now. I throw a load of laundry into the washer, vacuum the area rugs in the dining room and living room, dust the stand the TV is on, and straighten three forest-green throw pillows that reside on a snow-white couch. I shake my head. Gram and her love of light colors. Thank God I’ve never spilled anything when watching TV in here. I wouldn’t want Kay to think I’m a complete slob.

The record albums I brought down from the attic a few weeks ago are still scattered across the coffee table. I was listening to one in particular a day or so ago. It’s still on the turntable of Gram’s old record player, so I go over and retrieve it. When I place the vinyl back into the colorful seventies-era cover with the big spaceship, I have to laugh. There’s one song on this record that perfectly captures my situation with Kay.

Yeah, if only I could find that man, sweet girl
.

With a resigned sigh, I stack the albums together and slide them onto the shelf beneath the coffee table. Then, I take a look around. All in all, the place looks damn fucking good. I run my fingers through my hair. What next? The house is clean and I’m dressed and ready. I look down. My feet are bare, but I don’t think Kay will mind.

Kay…

My feelings for her are so screwed up, but I can’t get her out of my head. If she were any other girl, I’d just bang her and get her out of my system. Then, I’d probably move on. But she’s not any other girl, she’s Kay, she’s my Kay. And though I’d love to bang my Kay—sweet and slow, hard and fast, any way she’d want it—I sure as hell don’t have any desire to move on afterward. Far from it, in fact.

Fuck.
Could it be any more obvious this woman is seeping into my pores?

You’d think I’d be running for the hills, before my girl splits my heart in two. But do I want to get away? Hell, no. I actually want to get closer to Kay, lay my heart out before her, and let her do with it what she will. If only I had the balls to take a chance, I think she’d handle my heart carefully. She’s sweet like that.

Sweet Kay.
I can’t help but smile. But she’s more than just sweet. She is so, so many things, and every single one of them I find cute as hell.

My girl is attentive when I talk, sitting and listening to all my stupid stories with rapt attention. Who else would do that? Only her. But she’s also more, so much more. Kay is shy-girl blushes and smiles, pretty in pink, and sexy as fuck in summer dresses. Sweet girl is vulnerable at times, but brave at others. Such a girly-girl most of the time, but sometimes she’s a wannabe-tough girl who delivers weak-ass punches with enthusiasm, like she did the day I stole the tie-thing from her hair.

I sit down on the couch, laugh as I recall. I was such an ass to take her hair tie, but the payoff was well worth it—I got to touch beautiful girl’s hair. And fuck, was it ever soft and silky, wavy at the ends. I couldn’t stop myself that day from imagining her chestnut mane fanned out on a pillow, me above her, moving in her, feeling her, inside and out. My voice was a little husky when I whispered in her ear. I knew that was why she was blushing when she turned around. But that was okay. I like that my words have the power to pink her cheeks. She’s easy like that, and at times I can’t resist. But apart from all this fun we have, there’s something more.

It touches me somewhere in my hardened heart that attentive girl gets so into my stories, especially the ones that include my brother. Maybe my heart’s not so hardened after all. ’Cause the day I saw Kay getting so emotionally invested in the outcome of my story about Will and the lizards, I wanted nothing more than to reach across the booth and kiss her. She’s never even met my brother, but there she was, rooting for him to catch a lizard. Her heart is pure and good like that, just another thing I like about my girl.

Except Kay’s not really my girl, now is she? Not in the way I wish she could be; that’s for sure. And I need to remember why this is so. How could I miss the curious look Father Maridale gave us the other day when we were leaving the church office to go to lunch? Trust me, I didn’t. Father was coming in as we were going out, and when he caught my eye he shot me a look of warning. I gave him a little bit of an eye-roll back, one I hope said: y
eah, yeah, I’m following your rules, just being her friend, even though it’s fucking killing me
.

Father Maridale nodded like he’d heard my thoughts and patted me on the shoulder, then continued on his way. Thankfully, Kay was talking about something and seemed completely oblivious to the whole exchange.

Speaking of Kay, the doorbell rings. She’s here.
Shit.
I am so fucking nervous about tonight. I hope this is a good idea.

When I open the front door, Kay smiles and the feeling that everything is right when we’re together helps to calm my nervous ass. And, wow, now that I look—like, really look—I’m kind of floored. Kay looks amazing. She’s wearing the same lacy dress she had on earlier at work, but she’s lost the cardigan, so I can clearly see how her body fills out the dress in all the right places.

This lacy number is similar to the dress she was wearing the day I stole her hair tie, except this version is blue instead of white. And it’s a whole lot shorter. So much so it takes me an extra few seconds to pull my gaze away from her smooth-looking legs. But I do, I look up. And that’s when I notice Kay’s hair appears extra soft and shiny. More so than usual, like maybe she just brushed it out before she got here. I think she has on a little makeup too. Her lips are dewy, and her eyes, kind of smoky. Whatever she’s done, she is stunning.

And I think to myself that, true, Kay may not be my girl in all the ways I’d prefer, but she’s most definitely my girl when it comes to this friendship we’ve developed. In that, we belong to each other.

“Hi,” Kay says all shy-like, as if she’s suddenly not sure if she should be here. To me, she looks like she’s belonged here all along.

I say hi and invite her in, but she doesn’t move.

“Kay, are you coming in?” I ask when she shifts slightly, looking a little nervous.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Aw, sweet girl makes me smile. Guess she just had to get her bearings.

Kay steps into the hall and, trying to be subtle, she glances up the stairs, and then leans forward slightly so she can see into the rooms off to the left and the right. She’s obviously curious about this house I live in, so I offer to show her around. I don’t know why, but she gets pretty excited about a tour.

The house is of moderate size, not overly big, but not exactly small. It’s a typical farmhouse, I guess. The rooms are a bit old-fashioned, and there’s definitely a country-living vibe, thanks to Gram’s decorating. But I’m changing things bit by bit, slowly making this place my own, starting with fixing things that were broken and moving into the twenty-first century.

I’ve fixed up a lot in the past few weeks—polished the hardwood floors, got all the ceiling fans working, cleaned out the upstairs bedrooms no longer in use, and even ordered Wi-Fi for the computer Gram bought the year I got arrested. It was still sitting on the open rolltop desk in the living room, dusty and unused just like the record player.

Kay and I start down the hall. I point out the living room to the right and the dining room on the left. There’s a powder room and an empty room farther down the hall, but there’s not much to see in either so I lead the way through the dining room, past the hutch, and into the kitchen.

As we step in, Kay gushes, “Oh, I love these old farmhouse sinks.”

She walks over and runs her hand along the porcelain surface of the sink that’s been there for years. She glances up at the copper pots hanging above the center island, takes in the small table and chairs over by the oven, and allows her gaze to travel to the window above the sink.

The view is of the land behind the house, and since there’s a lot of it I’m hardly surprised when Kay’s eyes widen. “Wow, Chase, all this property is yours?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s all mine, all the way down to the creek.” It feels weird saying that, like it’s not yet set in these many acres now belong to me.

“Did your family used to farm?” she asks as she continues to gaze out the window. “That’s lot of land for just a big yard.”

I chuckle. A big yard is exactly what it is nowadays. But that wasn’t always the case. “Yeah, my grandparents farmed, a long time ago, back when my grandfather was still alive. That was before I was born.” I gesture to the window, to the gentle slope of land on the other side of the glass. “My grandmother gave up farming after my grandfather died. I think she hoped my dad would someday take over, but he never had any interest. His heart was always in building houses.”

“Well, it’s really pretty back here,” Kay muses, still seemingly enthralled by the sea of green.

I decide we’ve seen enough of the downstairs and lead Kay upstairs. I start to show her the bedrooms along the long hall, opening doors along the way.

The room that was my grandmother’s is just about cleared out. I went through and boxed up most of her things after I first moved back. I put away her keepsakes, and gave a bunch of her stuff to the church for the next rummage sale. That’s what she always said she wanted whoever was left to do with her stuff when she passed, so that’s what I did. But there are still a few pieces of furniture in her room.

Kay glances around and gives me a couple of “oh, very nice” responses, but otherwise doesn’t say much.

Things are the same—mostly cleared out—in the next bedroom we come to, the one that belonged to my father when he was growing up. It’s also the bedroom my parents used when we lived back here when I was a little kid. Cleaning out that room was tough. There were things in there from when my parents were first married. One of the keepsakes I found was a small wedding album, the cover all lacy and white. In the photos, Mom is showing. She must have been about five months along, pregnant with me. I always knew I was unplanned. But, damn, my parents still looked happy. Guess I was a surprise, but never unwanted.

I also found ticket stubs from a bunch of movies my parents went to, and mushy cards they’d given to one another. I just boxed that stuff up and put it up in the attic next to my Gram’s keepsakes.

I give Kay a peek into my father’s room of fucking memories, then close that door real fast.

“Which one is your bedroom?” Kay asks when we’re left standing in the hall.

“Oh, it’s down there.” I gesture to the other end of the hall.

I lead the way past the bathroom and my grandmother’s old sewing room. My bedroom is simple and basic, not much to see. I got used to living spartanly in prison. There’s nothing on the light-colored walls, no paintings or art, not even my own, though my sketchbooks, filled with my art, rest over on the dresser. There’s a double bed with a pine headboard up against one wall, a bedside table with a clock, and a closet.

That’s about it.

The only bright colors in the room are the blues and greens on the quilt, made for me years ago by Gram, and now folded at the foot of my bed. There’s color in my sketches, lots and lots, but those books are closed.