More Than I Could (38)

“Take the fun out of it, but okay.”

I laugh, taking a plate out of the cabinet. “Things are going good. Chase and I have managed to find common ground. We haven’t argued today, so that’s a plus. And Kennedy sort of flew a white flag, so I think we’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t envy you, my friend. Teenage girls can be wicked.”

“Oh, I remember.” I spoon some food on the plate and pop it in the microwave. “But she’s not like that. She’s not mean. Or petty. She’s just …” A lot like me.

Calista rattles on about a story from high school that I’ve heard a thousand times. I nod and comment on the necessary parts, but my mind is elsewhere.

As the microwave goes around and around, my brain swirls with how much I fear Kennedy and I are the same. It’s a feeling I’ve never shared with anyone, mostly because I don’t think anyone will understand. And if anyone tries, I’m afraid they’ll dismiss me as dramatic.

“She died when Kennedy was four.”

My heart squeezes. I’m sorry, Kennedy.

The microwave beeps. I remove my plate and set it in front of the camera.

“I’m going to eat in front of you, okay?” I say, finding a fork.

“Won’t be the first time.”

I take my spot facing the phone and mix the food up to help cool it off.

“What are you wearing?” she asks, squinting at the screen. “Is that new?”

I step back and model my tank top. “No, it’s not new. I found it in the back of my closet while packing my shit up in California before moving to Mom’s. Cute, huh?”

“Adorable.”

“I’m not showing you the shorts, but they’re cute too,” I say, then blow on my food. “They’re red and silky. You know, like that expensive crap you wear to bed.”

She huffs. “You look like a sweet little nanny. I, however, go to bed looking like I’m ready to fuck your brains out in case the opportunity arises.”

“Shh,” I say, laughing.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I scoop up a bite and shove it in my mouth. “Let’s just keep things PG-13 while I’m here.”

She whines. “Fine. So tell me about Chase. He’s not weird? Creepy? He’s not an Odd Bob, is he? Lock your door while you sleep, just in case. You’re too hot for your own good.”

You think I’m hot? I snort.

It occurs to me that I’ve never discussed what Chase looks like with Calista, aside from the grainy picture she saw of him online. Initially, avoiding his looks in conversations was intentional. My head was spinning. But since I’ve known who he was—Diesel Man—I haven’t brought it up. Sure, it helped that she was in New Mexico for the weekend and busy with work, but I’ve managed to avoid the question every time we’ve interacted.

I won’t get away with that for the next month.

“Chase?” I ask, taking another bite. How do I downplay this but get the point across? “He’s cute.”

“Cute?” Her voice is thick with curiosity. “Define cute.”

“You know what cute means. He’s … cute. Good bone structure.” Amazing body. “He has a great smile.” The hottest hands. “Nice … teeth.” Lips that I can imagine ravaging me.

Calista grins. “Nice teeth, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at my food and avoiding her stare. “Nice teeth are important.”

She stifles a laugh. “Megan.”

“What?”

“If you look at that and all you see is nice teeth, we have a problem.”

What?

I stand up straight, my fork falling to the countertop. My heart bursts into production.

Noooooo. This can’t be happening …

Behind me is a shirtless and smirking Chase Marshall.





Chapter Fifteen





Megan




I don’t want to turn around.

Chase stands within arm’s reach of me. A pair of black sleep pants makes his legs look longer. They dip on one hip, hanging in a way that highlights the muscles pointing at his groin.

As if I need a map to remind me of that.

My lips part, and I drag in a lungful of air. Shit.

“Wanna know what I see?” Calista asks, leaning toward the screen. “Because I’m making quite a list.”

“Calista, I gotta go.”

“No. Wait.” She waves. “Hi, Chase! I’m Calista, Megan’s best friend. I hear you have nice teeth.”

My cheeks heat. “Calista …”

“I’m just thrilled to hear she has a best friend.” He bumps my shoulder with his, sending a spark coursing through me. “She’s kind of irritating.”

I bump his shoulder back. “I am not.”

“She can be. I know,” Calista says.

Chase looks down at me, his smirk growing. “Did Megan tell you that you have competition?”

“With whom?” Calista demands.

“Don’t rile her up,” I say, grinning. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“With whom?” she repeats. “You’ve been there not even three days, Megan. You can’t replace me already. I will come to Mayberry.”