Page 44 of Chase Lovett Wants Me

“Is that a trick question?”

“No. Should it be?”

I shrug. “Depends on your affinity for tiny cabbages.”

“I like them. Especially when they’re deep fried and served with bacon and tossed in a maple balsamic glaze.”

I grin. “I also like them. Especially when they’re presented as described.”

“Should we start with those?”

“Sure.”

When the server returns with our ginger ales, Chase orders the brussels sprouts, the artichoke and spinach dip, and the sausage chips.

“Sausage chips?” I ask when the server disappears.

“Delicious,” Chase informs me.

I prop my cheek on my fist. “Better than my precious?”

“No. Nothing tastes better than your precious.” His gaze darkens and drops to my mouth. “Except maybe your lips.”

I bite the bottom one.

He groans and stretches his arm across the back of the seat. Leaning in, he captures my bottom lip between his and sucks gently. He backs off with a sigh. “We need to talk about literally anything else. Why are you double majoring?”

I stop torturing us and switch gears. “Because a degree in English is nice, but the job opportunities aren’t as plentiful as they are with a kinesiology degree. I’ll probably go directly into a master’s program when I’m done. What about you? Is your goal to make the pros?”

“Ideally, yes. I’ve been drafted, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever get called up. It just depends on how well I’m able to balance the demands of school, hockey, and everything else.” Chase traces circles on my shoulder while he talks. “And if I can improve my skill set between now and the end of my time here.”

“That seems like a ton of pressure. I don’t even have a part-time job and I find the balance between schoolwork and the social stuff hard enough to handle. I can’t imagine how challenging it is with hockey basically seven days a week,” I muse.

Chase shrugs. “It’s my passion. Kind of like writing is yours. You do it because you love it.”

“And I love the feedback.” Sometimes people leave shitty reviews, but most of the time they have nice things to say. It can be a confidence booster, and it’s addictive.

“It’s not so different from hockey, apart from the physicality. I love the game and there’s a thrill from having all those people cheering you on.”

“I can see that.” I nod thoughtfully. “But it must get a little old when everyone wants a piece of you.”

He fingers the end of my braid. “Not going to lie, it was fun at first, but it got old really fast. I started to feel like a cardboard cutout. Everything felt hollow, if that makes sense.” His blue gaze meets mine. “And then there you were.”

“I was always there.”

“I wasn’t ready for you yet.”

“And you think you are now?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

The server arrives with our appetizers. We place our dinner orders and dig in.

“These are to die for,” I mumble around a mouthful of brussels sprout.

“Right?” Chase pops another one into his mouth.

We chat through dinner—about classes, goals, and our families. It’s wild how we’re connected through all these hockey people. He tells me stories about how his brother’s car got covered in sticky notes last week and how his sister created a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as an oil painting just for fun one year for his dad’s birthday. He also asks me about my favorite comfort foods and what I daydream about. Having his undivided attention makes me giddy.

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