Page 32 of Chase
Maybe that was too blunt of a way to ask.
He blinks, pulling in a breath as he looks over at me. After a moment it seems like he doesn’t want to talk, and I wave it off.
“Nevermind. Come here.”
I beckon him over with my hand and he looks confused for a moment. He takes a small sip of his drink.
“I’m fine, Chase. Was just lost in thought.”
“Cool. Now come here.”
I reach over and tug on his shirtsleeve, pulling it harder and harder with each passing moment.
“What are you doing?”
I set down my glass on the table, and then I take his Scotch out of his hand, placing it down next to mine.
“Put your head in my lap. Quit acting like you haven’t beenintimately familiarwith it already.”
I raise my eyebrow, patting my thigh.
I’m surprised when he doesn’t protest. He shifts over on the sofa and rests the very edge of his head on my leg, then I move underneath him so that way more of him is lying on me.
“I really am fine,” he says. “I’m usually smiling, so when I don’t, people always think I look sad. You don’t have to do anything.”
“I don’t think it’s gay to touch you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Did you think it was gay to jerk me off?”
I snort a laugh. “I don’t regret doing that. If you’re having some guilt-fest about it, you can fuck off with that, too.”
I start to card my fingers through his silky hair like I did earlier, and instantly it’s like some scattered part of me feels settled inside. His chest rises and falls for a bit as he finally fully rests on my lap. I get a chance to gaze down at him. For fuck’s sake, his bone structure is just unfair. It’s like God himself came down and blessed Logan with every good-looking gene the moment he was born.
“I’m bad at talking about myself, Chase,” Logan finally says. “Which is funny, because I’m great at talking about anything else. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Sometimes I feel like I never shut up about myself. You have no idea how much I’m holding back saying at any given moment.”
“Like?”
I shake my head. “I can’t explain my ADHD-ass inner monologue, Logan.”
“Well, try.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Okay. It’s like…Logan’s hairis so soft. Is he comfortable? Did he invite me up to ask for another orgasm and now he’s too afraid to say it? What was I supposed to do tonight, again? Are Logan’s eyes blue, or actually just grey? Do grey eyes exist? They definitely exist. A guy who used to sell me cheap Molly had grey eyes. Fuck that guy. Fuck Molly, too. Sitting on this couch is honestly better than rolling and feeling like shit the next day, anyway. Did I bring my phone up from downstairs? Right, I did. Am I so drunk I’m sober, or just full-on drunk? Fuck, Logan’s hair is soft.”
He hums softly, and I give his hair a little tug, then relax again. “To answer your question, I invited you up here because you don’t know who I am.”
“Oh.”
I run my fingers lower, kneading at his shoulder, pondering the different things he could mean by that.
I’m dying to know what the fuck he does for a living.
But he said he’d tell me tomorrow. For once, I force myself not to push him on it.
He shifts his head on my lap, looking up at me. “Do you like documentaries?” he asks.
“Depends.”
