Take Heart (4 page)

c     h     a     s     e

It’s Saturday night, and Surge is packed. I’ve been busting my ass for hours, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime soon. The energy level is through the roof, and temptation is at its finest. People are lined up all around the bar with drink orders set to come our way. It’s up to Ethan, Tamika, and me to keep up the pace. Lucky for everyone here tonight, we can multitask with the best of them.

As the night progresses, people start to get sloppy. Welcome to the downfall of being a bartender. We have to deal with the obnoxious drunks, and consequently, Tamika finds herself getting hit on relentlessly. The men automatically zone in on her, since she’s the only one behind the bar with a pair of tits. It doesn’t help that she has a very exotic look with her long jet-black hair and sexy mocha skin.

When I finish pouring a group of women their shots, I notice Christa standing near the end of the bar. She’s scowling at me. I cash out their tabs, give the women their change and drinks, and swiftly head her way.

“What are you doing here?” I shout over the music.

“I came to see you. You never ended up calling me like you said you would.”

Christ, is she for real?

“I’m working, Christa. Can’t you see that?”

“I know but I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I didn’t mean to impose, but I wanted to see you.”

“I can’t talk right now. I have a long line of people waiting.”

“Can you come over later tonight after you get off work so we can talk, please?”

“Fine, but I gotta get back to work now,” I say irritably.

“Okay, just text me when you get off. I’m going bar hopping with the girls, but I should be back home by the time you’re done.” And with that, she turns and leaves.

After calling it a night, I end up walking away with a little over two hundred in tips. That’s pretty decent considering I only worked six hours. I grab my keys, clock out, and head out the back door.

Once I step outside, I pull my phone out of my pocket and notice a few missed text messages. It had been so hectic tonight that I didn’t have any time to check my phone, let alone respond to a text. One is from a number I don’t recognize. The time-stamp on it is from a couple hours ago.

Unknown:
Chase, after careful consideration I’ve decided to give you a shot, mainly because I need my sunglasses back, and only slightly because I actually like you. So don’t get your hopes up.

Oh, she totally likes me, she’s just downplaying it. Two can play at that game. I save her number into my phone and waste no time typing out a response, hoping she’s still up.

Me:
Mia, I’m so glad you’ve finally come to your senses. I was worried that you were just going to sit back and watch the soon-to-be best thing that ever happened to you, pass you by. I’m loving the shades by the way...I think they look better on me...

While waiting for her response, I check my other messages. There’s one from my sister, and one from Christa. Quickly, I text Megan and explain that it was a late night at work and I’d call her tomorrow. Then I text Christa to let her know I’m on my way.

Just as the messages finish sending, my phone vibrates with another incoming text.

Mia:
Cocky much? Now come on, Chase. Is insulting me really the best way to win my affection before you even get the pleasure of taking me out on a date? And while we’re on the subject, I’m certain that my shades don’t look that great on you
,
unless they’re helping to conceal how utterly hideous you are.

I laugh out loud at that one. Her sass is refreshing. I may have met my match.

Me:
You’re right. Where are my manners? I should wait to insult you until after our date, not before it. Pick you up at 7 on Monday night then?

Almost instantly, I receive a response.

Mia:
Sounds good. Don’t be late.

Me:
I wouldn’t dream of it.

I slide into my sleek, black 2008 Ford Mustang and start her up. The seats are tight and firm, hugging my body in the best way. Why spoon with a girlfriend when I can do it with my car? When I bought her used a couple years back, she had such low mileage, she was a steal. I wanted something badass, but still within my price range. So when my dad and I went to the dealership and saw her, I just knew she was the one. Needless to say, she’s been good to me ever since.

I peel out of the parking lot and head north to Christa’s place. It’s always nice when I don’t have to deal with the usual, downtown traffic. The drive is quiet, giving me plenty of time to think. I have to figure out how I’m going to break the news that I’m ending our fun. I can’t imagine this will go over well.

Ten long minutes later, I kill the engine and give myself a couple more minutes to sort my shit out before heading up there.

When I reach her door, I knock impatiently, antsy to get this over with. After some odd seconds tick by, I try again. Still no answer. She must be passed out drunk.
Thank God, I’m off the hook.
As I’m turning around to leave, I hear footsteps approaching the other side of the door. A swift click signals the unlocking of a deadbolt.

So close….

The door opens. To my surprise, I find a barely dressed Christa in filthy lingerie. Just how I like her. Damn. My eyes about pop out of my fucking head.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she purrs.

There. Are. No. Words. I’m literally speechless. What did I come here to tell her again?

She smiles mischievously. “Are you going to stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to come in and keep me company?”

I’m still standing there ogling her. She reaches up to grab the collar of my shirt and pulls me inside, closing the door behind us. She continues to walk backwards—my collar still in her hand—and pushes me down onto the couch.

She places a sexy leg on either side of my thighs—straddling me. My palms instinctively come up behind and grab two handfuls of her luscious ass. I start to knead her backside when she gets this look like she’s just remembered something important.

“I totally forgot that I bought some massage oil last week. You should use it on me tonight. Let me go grab it real quick. I’ll be right back, baby.”

She crawls off my lap and struts out of the living room.

Once I peel my eyes from her body, I notice that her apartment is filled with mood setting candles. The place is glowing. The weird thing is that we never do this stuff. We’ve never bothered to put on the fake romantic shit for each other because we both know exactly what we are getting out of the deal—and that’s friendship and fucking. No use in trying to dress it up and turn it into something it isn’t.

As my brain slowly begins to start working again, I have an epiphany:
Amelia!

As much as I want to fuck Christa’s brains out in that skimpy little outfit, I can’t. I won’t. I came here for a reason. No distractions. I haul myself off the couch in a hurry and start blowing all the candles out. Screaming babies invade my thoughts—my trusty and reliable method of killing untimely hard-ons. I’m happy to report that it hasn’t failed me yet.

Christa walks back in with the bottle of oil in her hand.

“What are you doing, Chase?”

I grab the cherry-red fleece blanket off the back of the couch. It feels like velvet between my fingertips. I rush over and bring it around her shoulders so fast you would’ve thought her lingerie was on fire. I bring both ends to the front and close it, shielding her body forever from my eyes. She gives me a puzzling look. I ignore it and walk us back out to the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps.

“Just humor me.”

I take a large step back and run my hand through my hair to help formulate my thoughts. “We can’t be sleeping together anymore.”

There, the worst is over.

“What are you talking about? Why not?”

Clarity strikes.

“It’s because of that girl, isn’t it? The one from Eric’s party,” she accuses.

Correction—the worst has yet to come.

“Yes. I’m taking her out Monday night and she’s never going to give me a chance if she knows I’m still sleeping with you. It was hard enough convincing her to go out with me in the first place.”

“Since when do you care what other women think of our arrangement? It’s never been an issue before, so why is it now? Besides, it’s not like you have anything serious going on. You don’t even know her.”

“I know, but I want to make a good impression. I
need
to make a good impression. I have a gut feeling.”

“You have a ‘gut feeling’ about her? Really, Chase? Enlighten me.” She crosses her arms over her chest defensively and glares at me.

“I can’t explain it. And even if I could, I know how far-fetched it would sound, believe me. I just feel connected to her in some strange way. I can’t help it; I’m into her. I have no idea if it will ever become something more or not, but I haven’t felt this excited about a girl in a really long time.”

“Gee, thanks a lot,” she says with a twinge of pain.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, it still hurts.”

She looks down at the ground. When she brings her head back up, I catch the tears welling in her eyes. Letting out a sharp breath, I pull her into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurt. I’m not trying to be a dick, but you’re making me feel like one.”

She lets out a shaky breath against my chest. “It’s my fault. You told me from the start that you weren’t looking for a relationship, but a part of me hoped that eventually you’d want more. Now that there’s a small possibility that you may want more with her, and not me—it stings.” 

I grimace. Although Christa isn’t my girlfriend, she’s still my friend and I don’t like to hurt those that I’m close to. It’s amazing how I went from feeling hot and aroused less than a minute ago, to feeling like a monumental piece of shit.

I release her from our embrace, and cup her face in my hands. “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. That was one of my concerns early on, but you assured me that you knew what you wanted, and that didn’t include a relationship with me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her shoulders sag in defeat.

“I know you never meant to hurt me, Chase. But having said that, I need some space. With the way I feel, I can’t be your friend right now.”

She chews her bottom lip in contemplation, but not even that distraction can mask the hurt in her eyes. “I think you should go,” she says definitively.

This is how we are. We’re blunt and honest and we aren’t the types to hold grudges. When I argue with her, it’s like having an argument with Eric; we say what we need to say, and then it’s done. In my experience, most women aren’t like that. They argue everything to death, throw it back in your face, and then hold it over your head for the next ten years of your life.

Christa spins and sulks, walking into the apartment. Then she turns back around to face me. “I really hope you know what you’re doing. Goodnight, Chase.”

“Goodnight, Christa.”

The door starts to close, but I stick my hand against it and lean in. “For the record, the lingerie is smoking hot on you.”

The tiniest of smiles appears. “Eat your heart out, Chase Williams.”

Knowing all too well that I deserve that comment, I simply smile and push myself off the doorframe. My mood is slightly lifted. I hope Christa and I can work things out down the road. She really is a cool chick to hang with, but now that I’ve cut ties with her sexually, my conscious is clear when it comes to a certain girl whose text messages I keep repeating over and over in my head. Monday night can’t come soon enough.

a     m     e     l     i     a

Procrastination is one vicious bitch. It’s officially Monday morning and I still haven’t unpacked. I haven’t responded to any of my mom’s messages from Saturday morning, either. If I ignore her, then I can pretend the problem will go away on its own. Duck and dodge: that’s my motto. If a tornado is heading your way, you wouldn’t eagerly prance into it with arms wide open, would you? No. You duck and take cover. Or, if you're feeling especially zealous and a tad suicidal, you run like hell.

Since I spent the majority of my weekend watching old movies with Raven and shamelessly stuffing my face with ice cream and beer, I decide it’s time to start being productive. Raven already left for class over an hour ago, so she’s definitely one step ahead of me in that department. I grab my phone off the nightstand, and leisurely stroll across the hall into her room to use her stereo system. If I’m going to do mind-numbing, back-breaking labor (i.e. unpacking), then I’m going to at least listen to some good music to make it a little more bearable.

I’m thoroughly convinced that a good song can make anything seem less painful. Music has always been a huge part of my life, and I have my dad to thank for that. Music has the power to speak to the soul, to express how you’re feeling at any given moment. It speaks for you even when you can’t speak for yourself. It’s a language all it’s own. I’d go as far to say that it’s essential to extending the human lifespan. Can you honestly imagine a world without music? I think our souls would slowly wither away and die. I know mine would.

Growing up, Dad used to have a record player in our living room. It sat next to an old bookcase that housed his large collection of records. He played a lot of The Beatles, Queen, and The Clash—some of his favorites. Subsequently, they became some of my favorites. He used to come home from work, put a record on, and dance with me around the living room before bedtime. I remember being spun around in circles as he belted out the lyrics to whatever song was playing. It was during those moments that I experienced pure undulated joy. I was safe and loved.     

Eventually, that record player stopped working, and my mom bought a stereo. My dad was against that. He always believed that vinyl sounded better, but he couldn’t say no to Mom. The record player sat in the basement collecting dust until my dad left. Mom eventually threw it out because it reminded her too much of him. She also got rid of his collection, but not before I could snag one very important album off that shelf—Pink Floyd’s,
The Dark Side of the Moon.
That record is so valuable to me that instead of hiding it in my house and running the risk of my mom finding it, I asked Hadley to keep it safe at her place. Now, that beloved record sits in one of those unopened boxes across the hall.

I choose some Maroon 5 to kick start this dreadfully mundane task. I steal some hangers out of Raven’s closet, accidentally ruining her precious “one-inch rule.” Shhh, please don’t tell her! The one-inch rule is one of Raven’s weird OCD things. She is insistent that each hanger must be exactly one inch apart from the next. I should also mention that her entire closet is color coordinated, too. It’s like a big, magical rainbow that can transform you into whoever you want to be. No matter what you’re looking for, I can guarantee she has the perfect outfit for the occasion in there.

Feeling overwhelmed with all this perfectionism, I seek out refuge in the comfort of my own room. Sighing, I drop to my knees and begin peeling the boxes open, one by one. I focus on hanging up all of my clothes and organizing the few pairs of shoes I was able to bring. Since I drive a small car, selections had to be made carefully.

After emptying every last box, I decide to shower and run to the mall to buy a new outfit for my date tonight. I didn’t bother to bring any of my fancy clothes to Austin. It didn’t make any sense to when I hardly ever wear them. Instead, I planned on doing some shopping after I settled in and lined up some job interviews. Looking back, I should’ve packed them, but the possibility of going out on a date with someone had never crossed my mind, not this soon, anyway.

By the time I get back to the apartment, Raven’s all done with her classes for the day. I can’t wait to show her my new outfit. I ended up deciding on a pair of dark jeans and a black, off-the-shoulder shirt. To finish off the ensemble, I bought some knee-high faux leather boots embellished with silver buckles on the sides. It was exactly what I was aiming for—dressy casual. I figure it’s a safe bet since I have no idea where he’s taking me. 

I set my shopping bags down on the dining room table and swiftly remove my shoes. Raven would have a cow if I tracked mud in here. Snatching the bags off the table, I sashay down the hallway towards her room. Her door is partially open; she’s sitting crossed-legged on her bed doing homework. I can feel the intensity of the study zone.

Sensing my presence, she immediately looks up from her textbook and pulls her reading glasses onto her head. “Ooooh, what’d you get!?” she exclaims. She notices the shopping bags in my hand and gasps. “Wait a minute, you went shopping without me?”

“Sorry, but you were in class and I didn’t want to wait until the last minute,” I shrug.

“It’s not last minute,” she glances down at her phone. “Your date is still three hours away. You couldn’t wait for me to get home?”

“No, I couldn’t. I was too excited. There, are you happy now?”

“Happy that you copped to the truth? Yes. Happy that you still went shopping without me? Uh...no, bitch. Now show me what you bought,” she huffs.

I plaster on the biggest smile I can muster. This is my way of calling a truce. She flips her hair over her shoulder, as if to reject me, and looks away, feigning disgust. It only makes me smile harder and I have to fight back the urge to laugh. My mom used to say that if you have a favorite girlfriend that makes people question your sexuality on a daily basis, that one’s a keeper. Turns out, she was right. I’m sure handfuls of people out there assume that we’re lesbians—Eric being one of them.
He wishes.
Can’t say he doesn’t dream big.

Knowing exactly what my scorned lover needs in order to feel better, I reach down, and pull the box of shoes out of the bag. I remove the lid and crawl seductively onto her bed. Situating myself up on my knees, I straddle her and present the box.

She instantly lights up, eagerly snatching it out of my hands. She pushes me backwards. I flop against the bed, laughing. She examines the boots carefully, lovingly. “Oh, my God!” she gasps. “I’m totally borrowing these. You are going to look so freaking hot tonight, Mia!”

“You think so?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.

She gives me a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “I know so, baby girl. Chase is a lucky man. He better not screw this up.”

God bless girlfriends who lift you up and champion you.

“If you want, I have some cute, silver chandelier earrings that would go really well these. You should wear them.”

“I’d love to, thank you. Also, I have a favor to ask.”

She puts the boots down, and gives me her full attention. “What’s up?”

“Can you please do my hair and give me those sexy loose curls that you do so well? You know, the one’s that will make him visualize fisting my hair in his hand and giving it a nice pull,” I say with a wink.

“Absolutely,” she says deviously.

Three hours later, I’m dressed and ready. I feel confident and sexy, but my nerves have spiked with anticipation.
When was the last time I went out on a date?
My palms are clammy and my heart is in my throat. I made sure to load up good on the deodorant, figuring that my palms wouldn’t be the only thing sweating.

My hair is curled to perfection and pinned back on one side. The chandelier earrings look great with the outfit, and after applying and reapplying my makeup fifteen trillion times, I finally settled on a dark charcoal eye shadow. It gives my eyes a smokey, heated look. Now if I could only stop sweating.
Ugh, I hate dating. Why the hell did I agree to this?

“You look gorgeous, Mia. Stop fidgeting so much,” Raven scolds, running her fingers through my curls. She’s putting the finishing touches on me.

“I can’t help it. I’m nervous.”

“He’s going to be here any minute. Pull it together. The last thing you want is to look like Ben Stiller when he went on that dinner date with Jennifer Aniston in
Along Came Polly.
That was just gross.”

Great.
That’s a visual I didn’t need in my head. A very sweaty Ben Stiller with irritable bowel syndrome who later practically shits himself to death at her place afterwards.
Awesome.

I jog out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to try and kill my anxiety, but it’s no use. I’m a nervous wreck. If I weren’t so concerned about sweating, I’d break out into a full-on workout to help calm me down. I open the freezer and lift my arms up to air out my pits, representing the epitome of class and sexiness in the name of every woman out there. Just when I feel like I’m getting my nerves under control, there’s a knock at the door.

Oh, God, he’s here.
How did he get past the gate? Do I look sexy? I’m not sure I feel sexy anymore. Will he think I’m sexy? Maybe his version of sexy and mine are totally different. What if he tries to kiss me tonight? Do I want to be kissed? I don’t want to come off too easy. What if the only reason he’s interested in me is because he thinks I’m easy? Oh, fuck off, Mia!

I briskly close the freezer door and block out the incessant rambling. Raven emerges from the hallway and gives me an excited, two thumbs up.

“Ready?” she mouths.

I take a deep, calming breath and nod.

She peeks through the peephole and opens the door.

“Hey, Raven,” I hear him say.

“Hey, yourself,” she greets.

She gives him a swift hug and then moves aside to let him in the apartment. He steps inside and a gorgeous bouquet of deep red calla lilies capture my attention.
He bought me flowers?
The thought warms my heart, (and sadly) makes me giddy, too.

Chase is dressed in black dress pants, black dress shoes, and a royal blue button-down that’s rolled up to his elbows. The color in his tattoos pop against the shirt, as I’m sure his eyes would if he weren’t wearing my Aviators. I suddenly feel underdressed.
Shit, so much for playing it safe.
He looks ruggedly handsome with some scruff on his face and his tats on display.

“Here, I can take those,” Raven offers, motioning to the flowers. Chase doesn’t catch her offer, or if he does, he isn’t acknowledging it. He’s too busy staring straight at me. He tilts my sunglasses just below his eyes and his gaze sweeps my body from head to toe. His attention makes me nervous. My hands are getting clammy again.

Impatient, Raven takes the flowers and makes her way past me. I hear her grab a vase from the cupboard and turn on the faucet.

Chase saunters towards me until there’s less than a foot between his body and mine. He lifts my sunglasses onto his head and holds me with his gaze. The intensity in his eyes makes me feel uneasy, yet I can’t look away from him. I wouldn’t dare. I don’t know if I’ll get beyond the first date, so I’m going to bask in this feeling and make it last.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he praises, only amplifying that feeling.

“I feel underdressed,” I blurt out.

I internally face-palm myself.
Way to ruin the moment, Mia.

His lips curve up into a slow smile, making my heart skip a beat or two. “You aren’t,” he assures me. “I overdid it on purpose because I want you to feel special tonight—but only tonight. This shit wears off tomorrow,” he jokes.

Thank God.
That comment completely puts me at ease.

“Shall we?” he offers his hand. I spontaneously feel heat simmering between my thighs when I take it. I really hope he doesn’t notice my sweaty palms. If he does, he graciously chooses not to say anything about it. That would be a little too much embarrassment for me to handle. We say our goodbyes to Raven and head out the door.

“Have her back by eleven!” she yells after us.

Laughing, we make our down to his car. When he leads me to a black Mustang, I abruptly stop walking, forcing him to stop right along with me.

“
That’s
your car?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, why?”

“You drive a Mustang?”

“Yes,” he says cautiously.

I turn to look at him. “I’m impressed.”

He looks pleased. “Thank you. That’s a true compliment coming from you.”

He walks me the rest of the way, stopping on the passenger’s side to open my door. I slide in and meet the warm leather; my body immediately sticks to the seat. He walks around to his side and climbs in. The engine roars to life, and before I’ve even managed to get my seatbelt on, we’re off.

“So where are we headed?” I ask curiously.

“To one of my favorite restaurants. They serve really good Mediterranean food and they have a nice patio and bar area. I hope you’re okay with that.”

“Sounds delicious.”

He looks young and edgy as he shifts the car into gear, taking the on-ramp. He has one hand placed on the steering wheel and he’s wearing my sunglasses again. There’s a little bit of sunlight left, but it’s quickly fading. The sky is filled with vivid shades of fuchsia, red, and light purple. All of the colors look like they’re melting together. It looks like something you’d see in a Monet.