Page 12 of Chasing Wild Heart

Apparently, our conversations during my frequent visits have done nothing to enhance our telepathic communications.

“Thanks,” I mumble, praying the small flutters in my stomach have nothing to do with my meal. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I also didn’t have to crash into your booth like an asshole,” Dash replies with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

I lift a shoulder. “Eh, I think it all worked out in the end.”

What the hell?My mind shrieks in horror before frantically pulling the mental red alarms.It worked out in the end? What does even mean? Time to go, you weirdo.

I’m good at harmless teasing. I’m fabulous with sarcasm. I exceed expectations during confrontations. But my small talk skills definitely need improvement. Especially when I’m used to giving a certain someone my best stink eye and calling him a “fuckwit”.

As soon as Dash signs the check, I scramble out of the booth, shrug into my coat, and grab my sketchbook. He remains silent when he pulls on his coat and holds the diner’s door open for me to walk through first. Like a freakin’ gentleman.

Just remain calm,my mind continues to yell before launching into a step-by-step plan.Just say good night, walk to the corner, and run like hell once you’reout ofsight.

“Well, uh, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” I stammer, leaning toward the corner. “Thanks again for dinner.”

Dash frowns, his eyes catching me shove my hands in the pockets of my coat. “Did you drive?”

I shake my head and jerk it toward the end of the block. “I don’t live that far from here.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he states in a tone that leaves no room for argument, standing taller and puffing out his chest a bit.

I snicker, rolling my eyes. “Seriously, Dash, you don’t need to. I literally live right around the corner. Plus, this isn’t the 1940s or whatever era did that sort of thing.”

He mimics my sarcastic eye roll. “I know, but remember, I was raised by a hopeless romantic of a mother. Not only would she freak out and fear for your safety, but she would disown her only son if she knew I allowed a young single woman to walk home alone. At night. In Chicago.”

The mock scandalous tone emphasizing the last four words makes me laugh out loud. “She thinks you live in Chicago?”

“No, but in her mind, she thinks the ninety-minute drive takes ten minutes.” He shrugs, his gaze falling to the sidewalk. “Mom math.”

“Well, come on,” I sigh, shivering slightly against the light chill. “I’m getting cold.”

He quietly falls in step next to me, walking toward the corner as a few cars drive by. In my peripheral, I watch his teeth scrape over his lower lip as his eyes sweep over the quiet neighborhood.

Halfway through my freshman year of living on campus with a rising adult film star and sneaky kleptomaniac, I decided roommates weren’t for me and I would live off campus the following year.

Even though I live too far away from the university to walk, I love the mostly residential area with a few local businesses scattered around. Including my favorite diner of all time,Clara & June. During my first visit, I secretly hoped the service would be terrible and the food even worse, giving me reasons to never return. But the friendly staff, all-day breakfast menu, and prime location easily trumps my laziness to cook anything decent.

“Um, so, this is me,” I announce, stopping on the other side of the aged brick building that houses the diner and a local hair salon.

I follow his gaze to the darkened windows of the second and third floors aboveStyle & Grace, a modest and cozy business with a solid reputation.

“So, you literally live right around the corner,” Dash teases, sounding slightly embarrassed that I didn’t need an escort.

“Yeah. The rent is cheap because no one wants to climb three sets of stairs for a basic studio apartment.”

“No elevator?” He stares at the brick walls as if he could see through it.

I shake my head. “I don’t mind the stairs when I basically have the whole third floor to myself.”

“That’s cool.” The slight awkwardness in his reply reminds me of a nervous teen on a first date.

My mind can’t imagine a younger Dash ever going on a first date. My guess is he’s the guy who bangs first before the late-night booty calls morph into a full-fledge relationship.

“Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” I repeat from a few minutes earlier. “Thanks for dinner and for walking me home. Your mom will be so proud of you.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess she’s stuck with me for a little longer,” he cracks lamely with an awkward chuckle that makes me inwardly cringe.

---