I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(42)

“Did he ever catch one?” I ask. I’m invested in this story now and hoping for a happy conclusion.

“He did,” Chase confirms, flicking the base of his water glass with his finger.

“Yay,” I cheer, making Chase look up at me from under these long, long lashes. He smiles, I smile wider. “See,” I continue, “Will’s persistence paid off. I bet he was ecstatic.”

“Beyond.” Chase nods. “In fact, he was so damn pumped he almost squeezed the poor thing to death.”

My eyes widen, imagining one squished and lifeless lizard. “Oh, no,” I gasp.

“Don’t worry,” Chase says in a hurried voice, probably due to my horrified expression. “I saved the little fellow from Will’s death grip.” He chuckles again. “Kay, you should have seen that lizard run. I mean, they’re all fast, but this one was so relieved to have made it that he looked like he was nothing but air. Like something out of a cartoon or some shit.”

I sigh. It’s official. I love the way Chase tells stories, especially this one, reliving a once happy time with his brother. I settle in the booth, all set to hear more. But when Chase glances up at the big clock on the wall, I know it’s time for us to get back to work.

“Tomorrow?” he asks as we rise to leave.

“Yes,” I say enthusiastically, “absolutely.”

And just like that the diner becomes part of our daily routine. I quit bringing brown bag lunches. Sometimes one of us texts prior, but mostly our lunch dates are a given.

Wednesday, I go over to the school to meet Chase. Thursday and Friday, he comes to get me. We sit at the same booth every day, share more and more stories. We are slowly becoming friends, real friends.

I learn more about Chase, and he learns more about me—little things, big things, lots and lots of stuff. Like, I discover Chase was born in April, he learns my birthday falls in February. His middle name is Michael; I tell him mine is Marie. I love pickles, but Chase hates them with a passion. He gives them to me, with a grimace, whenever they’re on his plate at lunch.

I also discover Chase loves lemon-lime soda, like to a bizarre extent. He even brings a small cooler of the stuff to work. Not the name-brand variety, mind you, just the store brand in the no-frills green metal can, big yellow letters spelling out lemon-lime on the side.

One afternoon in the hallway of the school, I tease him as he finishes off a can. “All that sugar, Chase.” I shake my head in mock disapproval. “You better watch. You could end up fat. It creeps up on you slowly, I hear. You might not even realize it until it’s too late.”

We both know this is so far from reality that it’s laughable, but that’s kind of the point.

Chase pitches the can into a recycle bin and plays along.

“You think?” he asks as he lifts up the hem of his T-shirt and displays probably the finest washboard abs I’ve ever seen.

It’s not easy, but I resist the urge to reach out and touch the cut abs and the trail of fine hair leading down into his low-slung jeans. I swallow, hard.

Chase smirks as I mumble, “Nope, I was wrong. You’re good for now.”

And is he ever. Damn, like I needed a reminder of how hot Chase is. When we get to the diner that day I ask for extra ice in my water.

I think about the other things I’ve learned about the hottest guy in town, a guy who I can now call my friend. One of my many discoveries is that Chase has quite the appetite, he orders huge lunches. I noted this the first day we ate together, but it continues throughout the week. And like our first lunch, I still order salads…or a small sandwich.

It’s not like I’m trying to eat like a bird, not anymore, and it’s not that I’m too nervous to eat around Chase, like day one. It’s just that the smaller stuff is all I can afford.

Needless to say, I’m secretly pleased when I find out Chase likes to share.

Besides the pickles from his plate, he orders extra fries every day and gives me half. He knows I won’t let him pay—apart from that first day—so I suspect it’s his way of surreptitiously buying me food.

Another thing I learn—and this is definitely my favorite—is that Chase likes to tease and play. I think, maybe, he’s just that way with me. And that makes his teasing and playing so, so much better, like it’s our thing, something between only us.

But today, Friday, the teasing and playing are on the back burner for now. We’re just having a regular discussion. Chase has just returned from the restroom, and I’ve packed away my thoughts. He picks up on the story he was telling before he got up from the table, reiterating again how he thought he was really going to die from embarrassment when Father Maridale asked to see his sketchbook the day he was offered the job. He tells me about the artwork inside, says it’s all prison-related stuff. And though he gives me some light details, I have a feeling he’s abbreviating the content.

“Can I see it sometime?” I dare to ask.

Chase seems to ponder my request. His jaw flexes, and he appears somewhat conflicted. At last, he gives me a “Maybe.”

That’s good enough for me. Possibility, that’s what Chase and I are all about.

I take a sip of iced tea. “What was it like?” I softly ask, toying with my straw.

Chase looks up. “What?”

“Prison,” I whisper.