I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(58)

Another chip is nudged at my lips, and this time Chase tells me to pretend it’s a piece of this baguette-thing, but covered in brie. I still his hand. “Hey, how can you not know what a baguette is, but you know brie?”

He shrugs. “My mom once bought a cheese called brie and I remember really liking it. She told me it was from France.”

“Hmm…” I mumble before I eat the offered chip, pretending what Chase suggested, that my boyfriend is feeding me brie-covered baguette.

“So, why Paris?” he asks.

“It’s romantic, Chase. We could eat brie on pieces of baguette for real. We could sit at a café up on Montmartre. There are artists there, selling their wares along the sidewalks. You could sell your art there too. You’re certainly good enough.”

Suddenly shy boy blushes. It’s not often I can make Chase blush, so I enjoy it for a few seconds, and then I tell him more about Paris, all the things I’ve read. When I finish he touches my cheek. “I wish I could take you there, Kay.”

I nudge his shoulder with my own. “I’m pretty happy right where I am.”

The next thing on my lips isn’t another chip, it’s Chase. Lunch is forgotten as we kiss and kiss and kiss. When our lips are so swollen we have to take a break—at least for a few minutes—we talk.

“Think they’re missing us at the diner?” Chase asks, sitting back and taking a drink of his lemon-lime soda.

“Nah,” I reply.

He brushes my hair back and covers my neck in a few cool, lemon-lime kisses. “You thought they would the other day,” he murmurs against my skin.

I stiffen and Chase leans back. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing really,” I say slowly. I need to tell Chase what I should have fessed up to the other day.

I take a deep breath, and then do just that. “I just didn’t want to go to Pizza House because there’s someone that works there that I used to kind of date.”

Chase’s expression darkens. “Not that Doug guy, right?”

I’ve told him most of the stuff about my past with Doug Wilson, how the relationship started with our mothers’ influence, and how it degraded over time. It burned Chase to hear Doug didn’t treat me right, particularly as time wore on. If Chase only knew the real truth of how horribly that story ended.

I dispel those thoughts. I’ll tell Chase everything, but not today. Today is too special to ruin it with sadness.

“No, not Doug,” I answer, “He’s in Columbus, remember?”

“Right,” Chase mutters, “lucky for him.”

It thrills me to no end to know Chase longs to defend me, but we’ve gotten off track.

“Anyway,” I say, getting back to the subject at hand. “I went on a couple of dates with the manager at Pizza House last fall, after I quit waitressing there. His name is Nick. He was nice and all, but it just didn’t work out. I guess I was worried it might get awkward if he saw us together.”

Chase looks a little confused, and I’m certain he’s thinking about our conversation yesterday when we were playing putt-putt golf, our discussion about relationships and sex.

I hastily add, “It never got serious, Chase. We never had sex.”

He nods, looking a little relieved. “Well, we can stick with the diner if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”

And that’s that, we discuss it no more.

When we’re finished eating, Chase guides me to him as I drink the last of my diet soda. I giggle and laugh, his hold on my waist is so light it tickles. “Stop tickling,” I mock-complain, scooting away.

Chase takes the can from my hand and pulls me on top of his body in one swift move. He lays us back on the bleacher, me on top of him. “Okay, no more tickling,” he says quietly.

True to his word, there is no more tickling, but there is a lot more kissing, and more touching too, but still all over the clothes. When Chase’s hands curve down over my ass, I push my center into him. Even though I have on pants, they’re just thin linen, and I feel Chase hardened length beneath me. He groans when I circle my hips.

My hands explore his arms, his chest. Damn, his whole body is so hard and strong. “You’re so strong,” I tell him.

He thrusts up into me a couple of times, showing me how he could use his strength on me in some very good ways. We grind and move against each other awhile longer, but when things get too heated, Chase stills and says, “We better slow things down, baby.”

I nod against his mouth.

“Hey, make me a promise,” he says, his lips brushing mine.

I lean back so I can see his face. His blues are hooded, filled with lust, but also somewhat troubled. “Sure. Anything, Chase,” I worriedly reply.

His fingers trail down my cheek. “Don’t let me hurt you, baby. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever did anything bad to you.”

I know he doesn’t mean anything physical, that’s not even a consideration. Chase doesn’t want to hurt me emotionally, but I don’t see that happening either. He’s already so careful with me. It just doesn’t seem possible he could ever hurt me. I think he just thinks I’m more fragile than I am. But I promise him, nonetheless, so he’ll feel more comfortable.

While I’m still lying on top of him, I play with the sleeves of his tee. I kiss the 72 on his bicep. Chase told me the day we talked about prison that he had the number done in memory of his cell block number.