Page 104 of The Baby Bargain
"Yeah." My chest gets heavy. "He's a good guy. He really is. A little awkward and oblivious sometimes. But smart. Caring. Practical. He was so practical about it. Even though… Is it wrong I hope it hurt him?"
"You're asking me?" He chuckles.
Of course I'm asking him. Sure, Chase isn't over his ex, but he doesn't harbor any ill-will toward her. At least, not as far as I can tell.
It's not like he wants her to die in a fire just because his favorite song is about a guy who wants his ex to die in a fire (even though said guy supposedly doesn't care about said ex).
Sure, Chase likes songs that are filled with toxic masculinity and an undercurrent of misogyny.
But I like songs filled with allusions to—
God, eighties songs are full of messed up shit.
My love of eighties music doesn't make me a rave going swinger.
His love of pop-punk doesn't make him a bitter asshole.
"Why does everyone think you're a bitter asshole?" I bite my lip. Not the most tactful wording.
But he doesn't grimace. He just laughs.
"Sorry." My cheeks flush. "I, uh… I should have asked that in a more—"
"I'm glad you asked it like that."
"It's kind of rude."
"It's true." He turns the burner off. Scoops stir fry onto two plates. Then rice. "Everyone thinks I'm a bitter asshole. It's not like saying 'everyone thinks Chase has a tendency to hold grudges' changes the facts."
"Is that why?" I stand. Move to the counter. Next to him.
God, he's so warm and he smells so good. Like sweat and soap and Chase.
I want to touch him, kiss him, lick him.
I actually want to put my tongue on parts of his body. And not just the normal ones. Though I really want that.
And not just because I'm terrified of what happens if we actually do this.
Uh…
Let's talk about him. And not my fear. That's easier. And more interesting.
"You do hold grudges." I grab the silverware. Forks and chopsticks. In case he doesn't like chopsticks. Or uses them exclusively.
"I wouldn't put it that way."
"I thought you didn't like euphemisms?"
"Yeah, I'd stick with bitter asshole." His lips curl into a half-smile.
I move toward the table. Away from the magnetic pull of his blue eyes.
God, those eyes. I want to stare into them forever. "But you're not."
He arches a brow.
I place our silverware. Sit. Sip. Swallow. "Do you really believe that? Or do you just want me to believe it?"
