Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(120)

“The first day we hung out in Sundance, you bought me the world’s best chili dog.” She rubbed glittery gunk on her cheeks. “So I wanna take you out for the best burger in New York.” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “I imagine you’re hungry.”

“Starving. But you sure the place will be open? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“It’s Friday night in New York City. The place closes at midnight and we have reservations at eleven.”

Chase frowned. How had she known he’d agree? Did she assume he’d just go along with everything she planned?
Ava misread his scowl. “I had Jason make the reservation while you were in the shower.”

“This ain’t just a place you can walk in?”

“Most of the good restaurants aren’t.”

Good restaurant. Hah. Probably wouldn’t be the type of burger joint he preferred. He envisioned their time in New York entirely different than she did. Was she anxious to be in the spotlight again? Because she sure as hell dressed for a photo op.
Ava Dumond’s comings and goings wouldn’t necessarily attract attention in a city of ten million, but Ava Cooper’s might. Didn’t she see that? Or didn’t she care?
“Chase? You’re quiet.”

“I’m quiet more often than you realize.”

She lifted a brow.
“Anyway, you sure us going out is a good idea?”

“It’ll be fun.”

“I’m assuming it’s kosher to wear jeans to this burger place? Because I’m low on Armani suits.”

“It’s fine for tonight. But we can look at adding to your wardrobe tomorrow when we’re—”

“Don’t say it, Ava. I am not goin’ shopping with you.”

“Why not? We’re in the fashion capital of the world. It’ll be fun.”

“No f*cking way in hell.”

Ava walked over to sit on the edge of the rumpled bed. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

Chase crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanna hit the pricey stores on Fifth Avenue tomorrow? Fine. That’s your thing. Not mine. I’m sure you have girlfriends who’d love to shop with you for a few hours while you’re in town. You’ve probably already lined up a car service. You don’t need me. And you shouldn’t expect me to trail behind you, carrying your bags and standing around like a f*cking idiot while you’re pawing though purses.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re too manly for that?”

He rolled to his feet on the opposite side of the bed. “Yes. And you’d be wise to remember I ain’t a lap dog like Jake neither.” He slammed the bedroom door behind him and grabbed another beer—his third of the night.
Christ. He should’ve known. Ava Dumond was fine being with a dirty rodeo cowboy in his world, but when it came to Ava Cooper’s world, he didn’t measure up. She intended to turn him into a slick-haired, suit-and-tie-wearing, shopping-for-f*cking-shoes *.
Screw that. Just to be ornery, Chase dug out his big Man of Steel championship belt buckle and threaded it through the belt loops of his Wranglers. He’d considered leaving his cowboy hat in the room, but that too, was part of who he was, so on it went.
He’d finished half his beer when Ava emerged from the bedroom. The woman embodied hot sin in tight white pants, a gauzy shirt draped over a cleavage-enhancing silver-sequined tank top. She hadn’t worn ankle-breaking stilettos to spite him, which was a plus. His eyes roved over her. “Goddamn you look fantastic.”