Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Of course, I’d thought that I was going home when I said that.
I hadn’t expected to find Chase sitting on the shiny red Porsche my brothers had been drooling over. Somehow, in the full parking lot, we’d ended up right next to each other. It felt as serendipitous as the rest of the evening. I’d had no choice.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t a little nervous. Even though we’d clicked immediately. There hadn’t been a single moment of nerves when we were together.
This was out of character for me.
I’d dated people in high school. Obviously, I wasn’t a virgin. Since that was a concept that I didn’t even believe in. It was a culture morality norm that had been forced upon us. Nothing changed when we had sex. No way was I going to act like I was losing anything. Fuck that.
But…the guys I’d been interested in were always West’s and Whitt’s friends. Guys who were years older than me.
When I’d been seventeen, it was fine for me to be into the twenty-three-year-old guys who hung out with my brothers of the same age. But none of them had ever acted on it.
And it was impossible for me, after all that time with older guys, to look at the guys my age and not see dumb, drooling Neanderthals. Boys my age were unsupervised toddlers. I couldn’t deal with any of their stupidity.
Chase was nothing like those guys.
He was fun and funny. He had good taste in music. A fucking insane car. He wasn’t afraid to ask for what he wanted. Even when I’d had to reject him, he hadn’t been all butthurt, like guys my age. He’d just asked for more time. Time I wanted to give to him. Time I wanted to use to see where this was going.
But I was glad that I had my car, just in case.
I parked it out front of his house on the north side of town.
And by house, I meant mansion.
I should have expected it when we drove into Rush. It was a neighborhood that had been around since the ’50s, and all the huge houses had been gutted and totally renovated from top to bottom. I’d gone with friends to a party over here, and I still couldn’t believe that they weren’t all worth a million dollars or more. In Seattle, these houses would have gone for eight figures, easy.
His house was absolutely one of them. The place was fucking enormous. It had a three-car garage with exterior lighting, immaculate landscaping, and aged oaks in the front yard. I couldn’t even imagine what it looked like on the inside. I still wasn’t used to everything in Texas being bigger.
Chase pulled his Porsche into one of the garage spaces and waited for me as I grabbed my purse and headed up the driveway. He pocketed his keys and straightened his suit as I approached.
“Nice place,” I said.
He shrugged. “Thanks. That’s what happens when your family is in real estate.”
He pulled open the door through the garage and let me step in first. He flipped the light on, and I barely kept my jaw from hitting the floor. My brother’s houses were pretty impressive, all things considered, but this was something else entirely. This was sleek and sophisticated with dark wood beams, coordinated furniture that fit but wasn’t too matchy-matchy, and an entire wall of records.
“Wow,” I muttered. “This is great.”
“Thanks. I’ve collected most of the pieces from antique stores over the years. My mom kept insisting I needed a design to bring it all together, and I only relented when she worked with a local company that refurbished antique pieces.”
“Juxtaposh?” I guessed.
He nodded. “You’ve been?”
“It’s the coolest place in town. She did a great job.”
“Yeah. I think the pièce de résistance is the record display.” He gestured to the far wall. “Take your pick. I’m going to let Bowie out.”
I strode across the room and examined the records. His favorites were in little slots on the wall with their covers facing outward. I saw The Beatles’ White Album, Bowie’s The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Queen’s , Pink Floyd’s classic The Dark Side of the Moon, and even Nirvana’s Nevermind. As I fingered through the individual records in alphabetized containers for the rest of his immense collection, I found Led Zeppelin, Radiohead, Bruce Springsteen, AC/DC, Jimi Hendrix, and so many more.
I itched to take out each beautiful vinyl, lie on the floor, and listen for the next several days. There were so many classics here. My jealousy was primal and intense. I wanted all of them. Damn my mom for getting rid of her collection.
I was trailing my finger down the edge of The Doors self-titled album when a bark jolted me. I barely turned in time to find a frolicking golden retriever bounding toward me.