Page 42 of Chase Lovett Wants Me

@therealophelia

I need details when you get back! Or tomorrow!

@legagornsandwich

@therealophelia

Oh and your last chapter was

@legagornsandwich

Thank you!

Amessage pops up from my sister with a one-minute warning.

@legagornsandwich

My sister’scalling! Gotta go!

@therealophelia

Have the best time!

@legagornsandwich

I will!

My phone rings a few seconds later.

“Hey! Hi! Hey!” I practically yell at my sister’s two-dimensional form.

She arches a brow. “Take a breath.”

I suck in air and motion to my face and what’s under my neck. “I need your help. I have a date in an hour and I want to look good.”

Essie shrieks. Loudly. “This is so exciting! What’s his name? How did you meet him? What’s his major?”

“His name is Chase. He’s a kin major and we have some classes together.” I avoid disclosing the whole hotel room situation, or the fact that we live in the same building, on the same floor. I already know the cons to this if it doesn’t work out. For once I’m channeling my inner positive Petunia and hoping this date is the first of many.

“Is he cute?” Essie asks.

“He’s really cute. He’s also friends with Brody.” I figure that’s a safe tidbit.

Essie’s eyes light up. “Brody is so sweet! Does that mean Chase plays hockey?”

“He’s a forward.”

“Oh my God! Oh wow! Look at you go, hooking yourself a hot hockey player. Those guys have endless stamina. At least that’s what Rix has said, and I believe it with the way she’s always taking Epsom salt baths after Tristan’s been on an away series.”

“That’s probably more information than Rix wants me to have about her sex life.” She and Essie were always the queens of the overshare. I used to eavesdrop on their conversationswhen they were in high school. I learned a lot from their excessively detailed chats.

Essie waves a dismissive hand. “She won’t care. I wish I could high-five you! This is awesome!” She flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “Okay, time’s ticking. Let’s get you dressed for maximum hotness. Where are you going and what are you doing?”

“We’re going for dinner and a movie. And we’re university students, so I assume it will be more pub style than fine dining,” I say.

“You’re probably right. Okay, so black wide-leg pants or jeans are a good start, and a fitted shirt with a hint of cleavage, or tights and that short velvet dress I gave you last Christmas,” Essie instructs.

I rummage through my closet and toss clothes on my bed. I change three times—including my bra because Essie claims feeling sexy starts with what you’re wearing under your clothes—and we finally settle on an outfit. I want to bring a hoodie but Essie axes that idea. I’m allowed to wear a bomber jacket though, so I don’t freeze my ass off.

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