I reach the outhouse in under twenty minutes—probably a personal record, though I barely register it over the pounding in my chest. As soon as my bike rolls past the massive metallic gate, an intercom buzzes and the gate slides open with a heavy thud that makes me jump. As if I wasn't already shaky enough.
I rush to the front door—and it opens before I even get there. Chase stands there in sweatpants and a hoodie, a towel looped around his neck. I pause, thrown off by his casual appearance. For a split second, it hits me: I didn't even stop to think if this could be a trap.
Before my thoughts spiral, his expression shifts. Concern creases his face, and he gives me a small nod, his jaw set in a grim line.
"She came back here."
I breathe out a shaky sigh of relief and slump against my bike."Thank God. When? Is she okay? Did someone hurt her?"
I fire off all my questions in a single breath, and he nods gently.
"Uh, she showed up about five minutes after you called. She's pretty wasted, though—out of it. I put her to bed."
The look on my face must say something, because he immediately lifts his hands in mock surrender.
"I swear on my honor, I didn't take advantage of her. Just gave her the guest room so she can sleep it off. She looked okay physically, but... I don't know. She was mumbling something when she came in. And yeah—she's been crying. That much was obvious."
I nod slowly, raking my fingers through my hair.Considering what she's told me about that nasty ex of hers, it couldn't have gone well. She was still hung up on him, though. That was the worst part.
Suddenly, I feel really, really tired—and Chase notices. He opens the door a little wider and gestures me in.
"Why don't you hang out in the living room till she wakes up?"
I shake my head instinctively. But then the thought creeps in—I might see that guy again.
Snapping myself out of it, I insist, "I don't want to intrude."
"Not at all, don't worry about it. Besides, she'll probably need a friendly face when she wakes up."
That convinces me—not that I was super committed to leaving anyway—and I step inside.
When he said outhouse, I was expecting some grimy, rundown shack with a pool table, a couple of barstools, and a lingering stench of cigarettes and cheap liquor. And sure, there's a pool table—but everything else looks straight out of a modern home decor magazine.
The sofas are a rich chocolate brown, circling a sleek mahogany table in the center. A giant plasma screen takes up nearly one entire wall, and the opposite wall is lined with an enormous bookshelf. Two guys are deep in a pool game, cracking balls across the felt with sharp, practiced motions. They turn around when I walk in and nod politely.
"That's Leonard and Greg—you remember them, right? From the party yesterday?" Chase asks as he leads me toward the couches.
I nod, internally fist-bumping myself for getting my mystery man's name right last night. Not that I was looking for him or anything, but... he's not here.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you some coffee."
"Thanks."
"No problem," he says with a wink and an easy smile before heading toward the kitchen.
He's a good guy. I hope Stacey gives him a real chance.
I sink into the luxurious leather couch, the cool breeze from the AC brushing my face. The pool game continues behind me, and I settle into the quiet, letting my head tip back slightly. My eyelids drift closed.
I must've dozed off for a bit, because when I open my eyes again, the pool table is empty.
I stretch my neck, hand reaching back for a nice crack—and come face to face with a pair of electric blue eyes.
I freeze mid-motion, mouth falling open as I stare at him way too obviously. Up close, he's even more unfairly beautiful than I remember.
My mystery man.
I quickly shut my mouth and lower my hand, but it's too late—his eyes are already crinkling with amusement. He smiles, dimples flashing, and tilts his head just slightly.
"Hi."
"H-hi," I stammer, hating how weak my voice sounds. His grin widens. Dammit. Is he doing this on purpose?
"I'm Dominic."
"I know."I pause.Crap.
"I mean—"
"You know my name," he says smoothly. "That's a good thing."
I blink. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm glad you know my name," he says, voice warm, eyes still locked on mine.
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful. And I haven't stopped thinking about you since yesterday."