Page 50 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“Sure.”

“They’re the superior Oreo.”

“I believe you.”

“And you,” he says before I hear him collapsing back onto a leather couch. “You are so beautiful. And you and I . . .”

When he doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “Are friends?”

“Yeah. You and I are friends.” There’s another pause. “Why are we friends again?”

I smile even though he can’t see me. “Because you asked me to be your fake date for the Christmas party. How much have you had to drink?”

“No. I mean, why are we only friends?”

Time stands still. This being fake was all his idea to begin with. As much as my body buzzes at his words, I have a feeling it’s just the alcohol talking. “Because men are dumb. Remember?”

A humorless laugh leaves him. “Right. I’m working on it.”

“Are you?”

“Well, I thought I was. But getting drunk and calling you is probably sending me ten steps back.”

My lips twist into a smile. “Chase.”

I’m pretty sure he still has the stale Oreos with him because his mouth sounds a little full when he says, “Yes?”

“I called you.”

“Oh.” There’s more shuffling, like he’s sitting upright. “Why did you call me again?”

“No reason, really. You just seemed a little off earlier.”

“Yeah. I guess I was.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“With you?”

My lips lift. “I am the one asking.”

“It’s so nice of you to ask. Did I mention how gorgeous you are?”

“You might have said something along those lines.” My voice is quiet. I know he’s drunk. I know I can’t take anything he says right now for face value, but God, does it feel good to hear him say it.

“And smart, too. As your friend, I feel like I should mention this isn’t just about your looks.”

A torn smile pulls at my lips. This conversation somehow makes me both elated and disappointed. “You’re a good friend.”

“No. No. I’m not. I’m pretty sure good friends aren’t supposed to think about you the way that I have.”

The air gets caught in my throat, and my thoughts betray me. I let myself picture Chase’s mouth on my neck, his hands in my hair while he?—

“You were right. I’m despicable. A despicable, despicable man. The things I would do to you if given the chance. Fuck, I need to get off the phone.”

Afraid he’ll hang up, I quickly blurt “But—” even though I don’t know what to say. This is definitely the alcohol. And for both our sakes, I should let him hang up. I should even encourage it.

“But?” His voice is low, rough,husky, and Chase being turned on might be my new favorite version. Forget weekend Chase with his relaxed clothes. I want bedroom Chase. I want the man whose voice sounds like this just from thinking about me.

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