The Stand-In Boyfriend (Grove Valley High #1)(40)

The waiter hands us a couple of menus, bound in thick leather and twice the size of the ones at the Italian restaurant near my mom’s bakery that we occasionally eat at. Then the waiter reads us a bunch of specials that I don’t take in and disappears, saying he’ll bring our drinks—drinks I’m pretty sure we haven’t ordered.

“Liv?” I startle. I’ve been staring at the menu, not really processing anything I’m seeing. “You okay?”

I nod at Chase and force a smile onto my face.

“The pasta is really good here, and last time I had the rib-eye steak—it was unreal. You should get that.”

I nod absentmindedly, my eyes flicking over the menu, and I nearly balk when my eyes hit the steaks. They’re all over a hundred dollars.

The waiter returns with a beer for Chase and glass of wine for me. My eyes widen and I glance quickly at Chase. I didn’t order alcohol, and I’m pretty sure I can’t pass for twenty-one. Chase notices my apprehension. “It’s fine,” he tells me. “They’re cool.”

I hesitate. “Do you come here a lot?”

He nods. “All the time. Whenever my parents are in town, we come at least twice a week.” His lips curl. “My mom doesn’t cook.”

He’s not close to his parents; that much is clear. He never talks about them, but I don’t ask him about it or push him on it. He’d tell me if he wanted to.

I reach for my water glass, avoiding the wine, and glance around the restaurant. It’s pretty full. There are a couple of families in attendance, all dressed up to the nines, as well as a few couples. All the other couples are considerably older than us. I see someone glance toward us and I quickly look away, feeling foolish. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but they must be thinking, What the hell are they doing here? I glance at Chase, and he’s flipping through the menu. Obviously this is totally normal for him, but it’s not for me, and I feel really uncomfortable. I would rather be eating a pizza downtown, or even go to Ferguson’s.

Another couple of minutes later, the waiter returns to ask for our order.

Chase immediately orders a whole bunch of food without hesitation. Then the waiter turns to me expectantly.

“Um…” I hesitate, my eyes quickly scanning the items, trying to pick out the cheapest. “Maybe I could have…um, sorry.”

Chase frowns at me, glances at the waiter. “Give us a minute?” He nods and disappears. “You still don’t know? Want me to tell you what I’d recommend?”

“Uh, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it? I promise it’s all really good.”

“Well…” I glance around the restaurant again. Champagne is being popped in one corner, and in another, a man old enough to be my grandfather is stroking the arm of a girl who looks only a couple of years older than us. “It’s really expensive,” I manage to choke out.

Chase looks surprised, like that thought hadn’t even entered his mind. “It’s on me, Liv. That’s a given. I brought you here.”

I shake my head. “No, Chase, I couldn’t let you do that. You don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

He’s loaded, I get that—his house is enormous, his car is brand new, and he’s clearly a regular diner here at this really nice place—but that’s not me. While my family is semi-comfortable, I know we’ve been through tough times, and the thought of blowing $100 on a meal when that would be double my earnings from a day in my mom’s bakery does not appeal to me.

“Do you not like this place?” he presses, glancing around, his tone concerned.

“Sure, it’s nice,” I tell him. “It’s really nice.”

He looks bewildered. “Then what’s the problem? Abigail used to love it wh—” He stops abruptly. He looks at me for a second then shakes his head sheepishly with a bemused smile appearing on his lips. “You’re not Abigail.”

I shake my head. I am definitely not Abigail Baker.

“And this is a place my middle-aged parents come to so they can be seen and prove they’re loaded.”

I bite my lip. It does seem very pretentious in here.

“And where they bring me like it makes up for all the times they’re away.”

There it is again—a mention of his absent parents.

“And I’m the idiot who brought you here like this is normal.”

He looks at me for another minute and then cocks his head toward the door. “Come on,” he tells me, standing up, throwing some money down on the table, and reaching for my hand. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I take his hand and follow him to the door without another word.



By the time we reach Jackson’s house, we’ve played a couple rounds of miniature golf and bought slices of pizza from a street vendor. Chase lost the first game and is so competitive that he made me play again…and he lost again. I laughed so hard at the look on his face that I spilled soda down my dress and then spent ages trying to get rid of the stain before Chase convinced me it didn’t matter and was barely noticeable. We both got a third slice of pizza and dripped grease down our chins, and above all, we had fun—a lot of fun. I didn’t feel self-conscious or nervous, and I’m actually looking forward to the party because it means we get a chance to hang out some more. Chase is easy. He’s easy to be around, easy to laugh with, easy to be myself with.