Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“The problem,” Chase said, no longer sounding amused or happy, “is that I have some of my pictures at the beginning of this roll, so I can’t just hand it to you. I need to develop the film and then I can give you the negatives of your friends.”
That made sense, actually. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of it. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what? My friend Selina works at the copy shop across the street. I’ll leave the negatives there when they’re ready. See ya.”
Before I could think of what to say, he was sauntering off toward his friend at the bar. Damn, but for a little guy, he sure had a nice ass. Firm and round, it filled out those ridiculous pants so well they actually looked good.
His friend looked surprised and maybe a little sad when he walked up. But Tracy was all smiles, scooting over on her barstool and patting the sliver of wood, like they could share it. To my surprise, that was exactly what happened. Chase sat down and flung one leg over Tracy’s, half of his fine ass on the stool and the other half on her thigh.
Before I could stop myself, or even realized I was doing it, I was stomping over to Chase. Whether he heard me approach or whether he noticed the panicked look Tracy threw over his shoulder, I didn’t know, but Chase turned his head back, took one look at me, and let out an annoyed breath.
“What?” he asked.
I had no idea what to say. I had been rude to him earlier. Well, maybe not rude, but I supposed I could have been more polite. So I said, “Sorry.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” he said, squinting in frustration. I wanted to see his eyes sparkle again, like they had when he had been smiling and laughing.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You said it like it was a question. Sorry? Like you were asking me.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why I was still standing there, letting this little flamer scold me.
“Hey, cutie, what can I get you?” the bartender asked Chase.
We weren’t in a gay bar, so it took me off guard. But Chase wasn’t thrown in the least. He turned back around, giving the smile I’d wanted to the Gigantor tending bar and said, “A lemon drop, please.”
“No problem, doll.” One side of the bartender’s lips curled up. “I get off in about twenty minutes.” He picked up a glass with one hand and the rimming sugar with the other, and waggled his eyebrows. “Should I rim you?”
“Cute,” Chase said with a chuckle. “I—”
“There’s a diner down on the corner. They have a three-layer chocolate cake.”
Chase looked at me over his shoulder, seeming surprised by my comment. He wasn’t alone. I was flying totally blind.
“Chocolate cake?” he said.
“Yeah, uh—” I gulped. “You said I owe you for the brownies, so, uh—” I shifted my gaze over to the bartender, who was smirking at us, and then back to those captivating eyes. “They have fruit pies too. If you like lemon.”
He stared at me, as if he was looking for something. After a few beats, I started feeling like he was trying to decide if I was worthy of his time, which pissed me off, but just when I opened my mouth to tell him to forget it, he slid off the barstool.
“I like lemon,” he said. “That hint of sour mixed in with the sweet is great.”
“Catch you next time, Chase,” the bartender said with a wink.
Chase waved to him, said good-bye to his friend, and then slid his bag over his shoulder. “Does the offer come with coffee?” he asked good-naturedly as we made our way out of the bar.
I was fixating on that bartender and the familiar way he spoke to Chase, so I didn’t grasp his question. “Coffee?” I repeated.
“Yeah. Do I get coffee with my pie?”
“Are you fucking that bartender?” I asked instead of answering his question.
He slid to a stop right outside of the bar. “Seriously?” he asked.
“No,” I said, realizing my question was out of line. He dipped his chin and we started walking again. “So, are you?” I asked, apparently unable to stop myself.
Instead of getting pissed, like I’d expected, he scoffed and said, “No. I’m not fucking the bartender.”
“Oh.” I scooted a little closer to him as we kept walking. “You fucking anybody else?”
He glanced at me. “Not right now, no.” I got even closer. “How about you?” he asked.
“Not right now, no,” I said with a grin.
He gave me that smile I’d been wanting, and I nudged his shoulder. “So, do you want to be?” I asked.
“Let’s start with coffee, okay?” The humor was back in his tone.
“Sure, sure.” I bobbed my head. “Coffee, pie, and then….”