I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(45)

There’s an angel inked between his shoulder blades, in profile with her head bowed. The angel is beautiful, but in a sad and tragic way. Framing her are large wings, inked above and on either side. The tips trail down the sides of Chase’s back, while a few feathers cascade down around the angel. One or two even reach to just above those sexy indentations.

Still unaware that I’m on the steps, Chase reaches to tighten something on the backboard. His two other tats that, up until now, I’ve seen only bits and pieces of are finally fully visible. The number—72, just as I thought—inked on his right bicep is clear as day, the ink heavy and dark. The mysterious scroll of words trailing around his left bicep is also fully visible, but the words still elude me. I can’t make them out from this distance.

Chase turns and catches sight of me. He smiles. “Hey, you snuck up on me,” he says as he begins climbing down from the ladder.

His T-shirt is draped over one of the bleachers. He picks it up and fluffs it out, unknowingly making his upper body muscles tense and flex. I know Chase’s body is incredible, but I’ve never seen it like this, half of it bare. Nor was I aware my badass boy was this heavily tattooed. Damn. Chase is so lean and ripped, and such a real-life bad boy. There’s something very alluring about all that.

Today I have on an above-the-knee skirt and cotton blouse, but I suddenly wish I’d worn something more revealing. I fumble with the button at the top of my shirt, debating whether I should undo one more. After all, I have a valid excuse—it’s stifling hot in here.

But before I muster up the nerve to pop open a button, I notice Chase eyeing me curiously, gunmetal blues focused on my fingers that are caressing a button. I quickly lower my hand. Chase looks away and pulls his shirt over his head.

“Am I early?” I ask, pretending as if I am not aware that I’m exactly on time.

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.