Disclaimer: I own nothing. Songs are credited in the fic.
A/N: Repost! It makes more sense if it's read all in one go, so I decided to push both parts together. So, here you guys go, sorry for the long wait. Writer's block sucks.
"Hey, buddy, don't you think you're hitting it a little hard tonight?" the bartender eyed Chase warily as he pushed the glass he'd just emptied off to the side and ordered another one. "You're not driving, are you?" Chase bleakly shook his head, and waved at the bartender, signaling him to pour him another glass of alcohol. Today had been probably the worst day of his life, and it wasn't even closing time yet. The bartender hesitantly plopped another large glass of beer in front of him. Chase picked it up, saluted the bartender in mock-toast, and took a deep swig of the horrible-tasting liquid.
"You have one new message," his answering machine beeped at him as he walked in the door. Chase threw his jacket onto the couch and pressed the "play" button of the machine.
"Hey, man," Michael's deep voice reverberated through Chase's apartment. "Listen, I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I thought you should now. Zoey's getting married today. You should have gotten an invitation in the mail. Umm…that's all, I guess. You know where to find me if you need someone to talk to." The machine beeped off, leaving silence in it's wake, and a ringing sensation in Chase's ears. Married. As in, bonded legally and spiritually to another man. A man that wasn't him. Well, he wanted a reason to never have to bear his heart and soul to her. Her getting married was about as good a reason as anyone could find. Chase kicked over the footstool the sat in front of the couch, grabbed his jacket, and ran out the door, slamming it behind him as he went.
"I'll have another," Chase shoved away his now empty glass and beckoned for another one. The bartender shook his head, but slid another down Chase's way. He took a drink from it before swiveling in his chair and looking towards the other end of the bar, where a crude stage had been set up; a karaoke machine sat on a stool on one end. He heard a horrible rendition of "Independence Day" being belted out by a drunken blonde before turning back to the bar. He stared at the golden liquid in his glass, vaguely wondering if he could subtly drown himself in it without the bartender noticing.
"I thought I'd find you here," a deep voice said behind him.
"Go away," Chase told Michael viciously. "I want to be alone right now." Michael sat down next to him, and looked at the half-empty beer glass and the three that stood next to it.
"Dude, how many of those have you had?" Michael asked, wrinkling his nose as he smelled the strong stench of alcohol that had permeated itself into Chase's clothes and skin. Chase shrugged.
"Lost count 'bout an hour ago," Chase said, slurring his words slightly as the alcohol finally took effect. He shook his head vigorously while ordering up another round for himself. The bartender raised his eyebrows, but complied, placing yet another glass of the pale liquid in front of him. The bartender, Michael could see, was silently pleading with him to take Chase out of the bar before he got too drunk to even walk home. Michael nodded in the bartender's direction, and he could see the relief flood the man's face. Taking Chase by the arm, Michael gave him a mighty hoist.
"Come on, man," he said, throwing Chase's arm over his shoulder and sliding his drunken friend off the barstool and onto his own shaky feet.
"Lemme go," Chase said, trying to shove Michael off. However, as soon as he stood on his own, his wobbled so much that he ended up using his friend as a support base. Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes. Once again taking hold of Chase's arm, he dragged Chase outside, where the pinky-orange dusk Chase had left his apartment in had changed to black night, dotted with clouds, and chilly with the torrential downpour the had apparently started while Chase was inside.
"You didn't drive here, did you?" Michael asked. Chase wearily shook his head. Michael nodded and led the way to his car. Finally finding it parked in near the far end of the parking lot, Michael leaned Chase against the metal surface for a moment to open up the door and shove Chase inside. Michael buckled him in and shut the door, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Come on, big guy, let's get you home," he muttered as he climbed in the drivers seat and turned the key in the ignition. Chase gave no indication that he had heard Michael, instead leaned his cheek against his hand and looked out the window at the wind whipping the trees around. Married. The word seemed so final…like a prison. Chase felt as though he were locked in a tight box, with the walls closing in on all sides. He couldn't believe it. He'd always daydreamt of the day that he'd tell Zoey he loved her. He'd take her somewhere completely romantic and pour his heart out to her. She'd return his feelings, he'd sweep her into a soulful embrace, and they'd live happily ever after. Well, that was what he had hoped. Before, his only concern was that she didn't return his feelings. Now, he knew she didn't, and he could feel his heart break into a million sharp, tiny shards, that pierced his insides and made tears come to his eyes.
"The wedding should be starting soon," Michael said, cutting through the thick tension that had enveloped the car. "You met Nathan, didn't you?" Nathan was Zoey's fiancé—or at least, would be until a little while from then. Chase nodded. The seemingly too-perfect, holier-than-thou jerk. Of course, he was only a jerk in Chase's eyes. Everyone else, except Quinn (for reasons unknown even to her) loved him. Zoey's parents had immediately welcomed him into the family fold, dropping hints for marriage almost as soon as they started dating. He came from a rich family, and dressed like he was from one too, though it oddly suited him. He wasn't a womanizer, and hadn't even had that many girlfriends. His hair was always perfectly combed, and he seemed genuine in his sentiments towards his girlfriend. However, just something about him rubbed Chase the wrong way. Chase grimaced.
"He's not a bad guy," Michael said, noticing Chase's disgusted look. "She could do a lot worse than Nathan."
"Like me?" Chase asked bitterly. He slumped down in his seat and stared out the windshield. The rain was coming in sheets now, and the windshield wipers were going full blast to keep up.
"I didn't say that," Michael said. "So don't put words in my mouth." He didn't add At least Nathan had the balls to tell Zoey he loved her, but Chase could tell that the thought was written plainly on his friend's face. Chase scowled and continued to stare out the window. They were getting closer to Chase's apartment; it had taken half an hour to walk over. He knew he was going to get incredibly drunk, and so didn't bother to grab his car keys from their hook by his front door on his way out. As Michael pulled in front of the building, Chase violently yanked the seatbelt off and opened the door.
"Thanks, Mike," he said half-heartedly, before slamming the door shut and turning to go up to his apartment, lifting up the collar of his jacket against the rain.
"Chase!" Michael called from the car. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"
"Whatever," Chase spat, before throwing open the door to the inside building and climbing the stairs.
The stairs were a challenge. The alcohol was still messing up Chase's motor skills, and what would usually be a two-minute jog from the first floor up to the fourth, took almost an hour to accomplish. When at last he reached his apartment, he gratefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Looking dismally at what his friends playfully called his "bachelor pad", he felt an awful churning in his stomach. He could feel everything he'd eaten that day rising from where it should be to his esophagus, and he ran to the toilet. After emptying the contents of his stomach into the white porcelain bowl, he sat down with his back against the tub, looking up at the light on the ceiling. He remembered vaguely that he shouldn't stare right at it, and so he stared at the floor instead.
"The message was I LOVE YOU," Chase nervously typed into his Tech-mate. Hesitantly, he pressed send, and stared bashfully at the floor, waiting for Zoey to receive the message. When the familiar "You've got mail" noise did not come, he looked up, to find that Zoey's Tech-mate was missing. A little while later, he found Zoey near the fountain, frantically trying to get the water out of her Tech-mate. Great. Another plan spoiled.
And then there was that time he'd finally worked up his courage:
"Zoey, I lo—" Chase was cut short by graduation music. Damn. Zoey gave him a smile and took his arm.
"Tell me later," she said. "Right now, I need an escort, and you're it."
……………
"Just tell Zoey you love her," Michael urged for the millionth time. "She feels the same way, I swear."
"Not to mention you're driving us all insane," Logan added, looking at his reflection in the mirror and flexing. At that moment, Zoey walked in.
"Who's driving who insane?" she asked, an amused smile on her face. Chase flipped over onto his stomach (for he'd been lying upside down over the edge of his bed).
"Nothing," he said quickly, and felt the blood rush to his ears. Zoey looked suspicious, but didn't say anything.
"Anyway, I'd like you guys to meet somebody," she pulled that somebody into the room. "Guys, this is Nathan, my boyfriend. Nathan, these are the guys. Chase, Michael and Logan."
"Hey," Nathan said, waving at them all. They all tentatively waved back.
"Hi," they all said in unison. Michael cast nervous eyes over towards Chase, where he was looking rather shocked and murderous all at the same time.
"Well, just wanted to drop in," Zoey said, not noticing Chase's death-glare at her new boyfriend. Taking Nathan by the hand, she zipped out the door. "We're off! See you guys later!" The relationship wasn't supposed to last a week. When it made it that far, they all gave it a month. After that, a year. And now, after three years, an engagement ring, and a ceremony that was taking place in about twenty minutes, Chase's world came crashing down. Groaning, he picked himself up off the cold bathroom floor and stumbled to the living room. Casting a gaze over at his stereo, he made his way over to the cabinet it stood on, pulled out a CD, and popped it into the player. The sounds of a lonesome steel guitar filled the room, and Chase flopped down onto his couch and stared up at the ceiling. As he lay back, he recognized the song as "He's Got You" by Brooks and Dunn, and found it oddly appropriate. He began to hum along to it, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Dude, it's not that bad," Michael tried to calm down Chase, who was one hyperventilating moment from having an aneurism.
"You think it's not that bad if Zoey finds out I love her from a text message?!" That was one moment of high school Chase remembered vividly—one moment that he wished the Earth would just open up and swallow him whole. No such luck, and it nearly cost him his friendship with Zoey to boot. The song finished and another started, and Chase had to agree that when you're feeling lousy, nothing makes you feel better than a sad country song. He listened to the lyrics, and soon felt as though the song had been written for him.
Well, this town has closed down way too early, and there's nothing to do
So I'm driving around in circles, and I'm thinking about you
Today I heard you got a new last name
Sure didn't know it was going to hit me this way
And the radio just keeps on playing all these songs about rain
Now there's all kinds of songs about babies and love that goes right
But for some unknown reason nobody wants to play them tonight
Hey, I hope it's sunny wherever you are
That's sure not the picture tonight in my car
And it sure ain't easing my pain, all these songs
Like Raining in Georgia, and Kentucky Rain
Here comes that rainy day feeling again
Blue eyes crying in the early morning rain
They go on and on, and there's no two the same
Oh, it would be easy to blame all these songs about rain
Well, I thought I was over you, but I guess maybe I'm not
Cause when I let you go, looks like lonely is all that I got
Guess I'll never know what could have been
Sure ain't helping this mood that I'm in
If they're going keep on playing all these songs
Like Raining in Georgia, and Kentucky Rain
Here comes that rainy day feeling again
Blue eyes crying in the early morning rain
They go on and on, there's no two the same
Oh, I wish I could blame all these songs about rain The song faded out with the background crooning the chorus over and over, while Chase hugged a throw pillow that lay on his couch. Disgusted with himself and the world, he threw the pillow at the wall, hitting the stereo and shutting it off. Left once more in silence, Chase heard the distant rumble of thunder and the splashing of the rain against the windows. The sky was an ominous black, which suited Chase just fine. It matched his mood. He went into his kitchen and poured himself another glass of alcohol. His high school health class came to mind, and he hated to think of what he was doing to his liver, but it numbed the pain. The pain that was eating its way through Chase's insides, and down through his conscience, which all night had been chanting You're too late, you're too late, you're too late, over and over since he'd left for the bar.
While reaching for a clean glass, Chase caught his reflection in the shiny metal exterior of his toaster. He looked like a ghost of his former self. The usual Chase was clean-cut, pulled together. The normal boy-next-door look, something he'd loathed in high school. Right now he looked like he'd just been run over by a truck. His hair was matted to his head and had dried at strange angles, leaving him looking like a mix between Albert Einstein and a madman. His usually bright eyes were dull and lifeless, the pupils dilated from the alcohol and blood-shot. His skin was pale and gaunt, stretched tight over his cheekbones, making him look sickly with the dark shadow of stubble he'd usually be shaving off right about now. Even with the distortion the metal provided, Chase still looked a wreck, and he knew it. Sighing, he went over to the kitchen sink and splashed some cold water on his face, which did nothing but make his face wet. Shaking like a wet dog, Chase grabbed a kitchen towel, scrubbing his face with it. He angrily threw the towel down onto the counter, as another fresh wave of tears threatened to engulf him.
Chase glanced over to his refrigerator, which held numerous take-out menus, various magnets, old and forgotten phone numbers, and several photographs he'd always been meaning to buy frames for but never did. One in particular caught his eye. It was a picture of him and Zoey during their PCA graduation. She hadn't changed much, though had a more mature look about her. He reached out to stroke the picture-Zoey's cheek before pouring the whiskey into the glass and taking the entire thing in one gulp. He grimaced; he should have picked up something a little less harsh when he was grocery shopping. Then again, he didn't usually consume alcohol in the amount he was tonight, and so it hadn't been on the forefront of his mind. He debated on whether or not to pour another glass, and in the end, he reached for the bottle. However, the thought of taking another sip of alcohol was turning his stomach and giving him a headache that pounded in his temples. It wasn't making him feel any better—it was making him feel worse. He took the entire bottle and tipped it over the sink, watching the amber liquid trickle out of the bottle and down the drain. He would regret that later, he knew, especially when Zoey would call him up later, exclaiming about how happy she was, and how she always knew Nathan was the one, and how the honeymoon spot was, and when she'd be back. And no doubt the day she got back, she'd want to have lunch and tell him all about the wedding he was missing at the moment. The last drop lazily slid out of the bottle, and Chase watched as his grip on the bottle became tighter and tighter, imagining it was Nathan's neck. Before long, the cheaply-made glass shattered in his hand, sending shards of glass and droplets of blood to mix with the whiskey in the sink.
Swearing loudly, Chase picked up the towel he'd just thrown down and clamped it over his hand, trying to stem the bleeding. The pain felt oddly good, reminding Chase of a Goo Goo Dolls song he hadn't heard in a very long time, When everything feels like the movies…Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive. It certainly fit at the moment, and he flicked off the light in the kitchen with the hand that wasn't bleeding. Returning to the living room, he found the silence deafening, but was too weary to turn it back on again. He flopped down on his couch and rested his head against one of the arms. Turning on the soft couch-side lamp, he took the towel off of his hand. The cut was deep, and if Chase had not had so much to drink, it might have made him throw up. He wasn't generally one for gore, which disappointed his parents, who were bound and determined for him to become a medical student as he entered his final year of high school. Slowly, Chase picked out the shards of glass that stuck to the skin along with the partially coagulated blood. He was amazed that he could bleed so much—with all the hatred against Nathan lately, Chase hardly felt human. He felt more like a monster, and guilt flooded him at how selfish he'd been. Shouldn't he want Zoey to be happy? But what about you? Don't you deserve to be happy too? his conscience nagged at him. He told it to go to hell and continued to pick the glass out of his wound. When he was done, he managed to turn the towel into a pseudo battle-bandage, wrapping it tightly around his hand and tying it in the back. It wasn't very good, but it would do. The only other thing he had in the house were band-aids, and he was pretty sure that band-aids wouldn't cut it this time.
With the headache still pounding away in his temples, Chase flicked off the lamp and lay down. The darkness was soothing, and Chase glanced up at the seldom-remembered skylight at the sky, which was still pitch-black, though it seemed to Chase that days had passed since Michael picked him up in the bar and drove him home. He glanced at the clouds that still filled the sky. He briefly pondered what it would be like to be a cloud. Carefree and weightless. Clouds never had to worry about their true loves running off and marrying someone else. They never had to worry about getting their hearts broken. They didn't even have hearts. They may not have hearts, but they've got plenty of emotion, Chase thought as he stared at them. Right now, they were the color of the sky, the electricity that was flowing through them making a reddish tint that filled the sky with an angry glow. He saw the lightening streak from one cloud to another, and then back to the first. A split second later, a large clap of thunder sounded. He thought back to the stories his mother used to tell him as a child, of the angels bowling in Heaven, and that's why there were thunderstorms. When he'd found out the real reason why thunderstorms happen, he had thought the story was cute. But now he found a grain of truth. It wasn't bowling, and it wasn't the angels, but it was a game. It seemed to him a game between the clouds, almost like two or three children playing catch, or foursquare. Being a writer, Chase personified quite easily, even in his mind, and the alcohol definitely made his mind a little more slippery. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. Still the same old Chase he was in PCA, yet different. Darker. More mature. The fact that they'd all changed was a hard pill for him to swallow, because Zoey's change had come so rapidly and so quickly that her good judgment about guys went out the window and was now getting married to (or were they married by this time? Chase had no idea) who was all wrong for her. At least, Chase thought he was all wrong for her. He was sure everyone else disagreed. What woman wouldn't want to marry a handsome man who also happened to be rich? A bitter taste filled Chase's mouth, and another tear made it's way down his cheek. Rolling over onto his side, he stared at the wall, counting cracks until he though he'd die of boredom. He felt sick again, and wobbled on jelly legs towards the bathroom, nearly collapsing over the toilet and retching up everything he'd eaten in the past few days.
"Funny, I don't remember eating that," he mused, wiping his mouth and reaching for the handle. He watched the contents of his stomach swoop down the drain, and the bowl fill again. Wearily, he picked himself up and brushed his teeth. The mint flavor was soothing on his mouth, and though harsh, much less so than the whiskey and beer he'd been swilling all evening as though they were water. He looked at himself in the mirror, with some fleeting hope that maybe he looked better since he glanced in the toaster over two hours ago. No such luck. He still looked like crap. He sighed, wiped his mouth with a handy towel, and trudged back over to the kitchen.
This time, instead of grabbing a glass of alcohol, he took out a bag of coffee grounds, and made up a pot. While waiting for it to perk, he leaned against the counter and rested his head against the cool wood of the cabinets above it. If he wasn't careful, his life was about to get real bad real fast. Depression and alcoholism ran in his family, and the way he was going tonight, he was about to carry on the tradition. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to erase the image of a smiling Zoey on the beach with Nathan. Not that he knew where they were headed for their honeymoon; it was just that a beach seemed to suit Zoey. The image took a razor blade and ripped his heart to shreds, not caring how much pain it caused. He banged his head against the cabinet, praying for the coffee to be done soon. He needed something to clear his head. Usually in this situation, he'd take a walk, but with the storm outside, he'd decided against it. While emotionally distraught and a bit fanciful, he wasn't stupid. A still slightly drunk Chase out in a storm that was probably knocking down power lines everywhere. Even in his clouded mind, it didn't sound like a good idea.
The deafening silence was doing nothing for his headache, and Chase usually didn't like silence (unless he was working, in which he demanded it). He flicked on the stereo, this time to Joe Diffie's "A Night to Remember". Looking at old photo albums and reminiscing seemed like a wonderful idea to Chase, but he was afraid that if he did, he'd drag himself to another sleazy bar, and have to be driven home—again.
"All right, Matthews," he told himself sternly. "Let's pull it together here. So she's gone off and gotten married. It's your fault for not telling her sooner. You have no one to blame but yourself. Stop wallowing and get over it. You'll still have her as a friend. Take what you can get. Look at the positive." Somehow, this pep talk didn't make Chase feel a bit better, and he was grateful at that point that the coffee was ready. He made up a cup and took a deep swig, nearly scalding his tongue and throat, but giving him a nice tingly feeling as the hot liquid went down his esophagus. He didn't particularly like the taste of coffee, but it was better than nothing, and had a lot fewer side effects than alcohol.
During his second cup of coffee, he heard a knock at his door. He really hoped it wasn't one of his friends. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with them at the moment. With his luck, it would be either Dana (who had returned from France in their junior year of high school) or Lola, both of whom would chew him out for having to be picked up at a bar and to tell him to build a bridge and get over it. He sighed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad—after all, he'd just have to wait it out, and then they'd lose steam and leave. He put down his coffee and walked towards the door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered as the knocking at the door became more insistent. He undid the lock he didn't remember latching and yanked open the door. He went to go greet whoever it was, but stopped short, his breath catching and his headache forgotten in an instant. His jaw dropped for a moment, before shaking his head and pulling himself together.
"Hi, Chase," Zoey said shyly. She was still in her wedding dress, which fit her perfectly, and Chase was sure that if she wasn't soaked from head to toe, the lace and sequins would make her look like an angel. Her hair and make-up were completely gone by this time, and her face was red and puffy from crying.
"Zoey, what are you doing here?" Chase was beyond confused. "Where's Nathan? Isn't today your wedding day?"
"I couldn't do it, Chase," she said, tears streaking down her face. "I couldn't marry him. I don't love him."
"Of course you do," Chase reasoned with her, though a bubble of hope had risen in his chest. He tried to push it down, but it persisted. "You're just getting cold feet, that's all. Marriage is a big step."
"No!" she said so forcefully that Chase actually took a step back. "I don't love him. I've never loved him. I never should have let it get this far. I don't love him."
"Zoey—" he began, trying to reassure her of her love for Nathan despite his mind yelling at him to shut up and roll with her momentary lack of sanity.
"Stop," she sobbed. "Don't try to convince me that I'm in love with him." Chase put a consoling hand on her shoulder, and then yanked it away, suddenly aware of their closeness. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"What do you mean?" he asked at last. He was trying to figure out where she was coming from, without much success. "Why did you agree to marry him if you don't love him?"
"I don't know!" she said a little hysterically. "I wouldn't have even agreed to date him if it hadn't been for you."
"Wait, what?" Chase was so far beyond confused he was bordering on bewildered. The bubble of hope rose a bit more, despite Chase's rationale that it was her cold feet getting to her.
"God, Chase, didn't you pay attention during high school at all?" she asked. "I had such a crush on you in high school. When you dated other girls, I got so jealous. Granted, for the first half of them, I didn't realize it was jealousy. And then Nathan came along. And I thought that by dating him, I could get your attention. When you didn't do anything, I thought maybe Nathan could be your replacement in my life. He was nice enough, and was cute. But I was wrong. My parents loved him, all our friends loved him. When he asked me to marry him, I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't tell him I'd been stringing him along for our entire relationship. So I said yes. But standing up there at the altar, I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't be bound for the rest of my life to someone I didn't love." She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his throat "I love you, Chase." Wait, what?! Chase's thoughts raced a mile a minute. She loves me? Since when? He felt Zoey pull out of their embrace, and felt a little lonely as she stood in front of him.
"Say something," she pleaded. "Anything." Chase stumbled for words…he could see them so clearly in his mind, and yet his vocal chords seemed to have gone AWOL. She sniffed a little and shivered in the rain.
"Chase?" she waved a hand in front of his face. Chase suddenly came to life once more, and grabbed her hand in both of his. He brought it to his chest and wrapped his other arm around her waist, bringing her against him. He could smell the unique smell of her perfume, and he closed his eyes.
"You have no idea," he said softly, "How long I've been waiting to hear that." He brought the hand that he held up to his face and kissed her palm. This time, it was his eyes that were threatening to spill over with tears. He'd spent over seven long years trying to loosen the hold this girl had over him, only to find that the leash she held him on simply by being in the same room as him was incredibly short. He gently kissed her forehead, her nose, both eyelids, before she let out a groan of frustration and captured his lips with hers. And no matter how cliché it sounded, Chase saw fireworks. Lots and lots of fireworks. Their color filled the back of his now closed eyelids and their fizzling energy flowed like molten lava through his veins. He vaguely felt her arms snaking behind his neck, holding him there as sure as chains, not that he had any intention of moving. Who needed oxygen anyway? Miraculously, he found the strength to pull away, and he did so rather reluctantly, a little short of breath and resting his forehead against hers.
"I love you," he breathed, a lone tear making its way down his cheek. "Ever since that first day they let girls at PCA. Remember that pole I bashed in to?" She nodded, her eyes twinkling with happiness and glistening with tears. "Since then."
"So much time," she whispered, looking down at their feet. "We've lost so much time."
"I know, I know," he said, brushing away a strand of hair away from her face and placing a kiss on her forehead. Now that she was here, he never wanted to let her go. She took hold of his hand and kissed his knuckles on the hand that wasn't injured.
"You look like hell," she said after a moment. Chase ran his injured hand through is hair, just making it more bushy and wild-man looking. She lightly ran her fingertips over his face, taking in his bloodshot eyes, pallid skin and sunken appearance.
"I feel like hell," he replied. "I'm going to have a raging hangover in the morning."
"Yeah, Michael told me he had to pick you up from a slimy bar," she said, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
"When did you talk to Michael?"
"Right before I went down the aisle. I had asked him why you weren't there, and he told me you were probably drinking your way off the deep end at your apartment," she gave a wry smile, fiddling with the curl of hair at the nape of his neck. He gently kissed her on the forehead before taking her hand.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes," he said with a wicked smile, pulling her up the stairs. The night was far from over, and if Chase had anything to say about it, it was going to end a hell of a lot better than the way it started.