Page 18 of Rematch
“I figured that out,” Chelsea said, grinning. “Considering you don’t usually call?—”
Ethan was too fired up to listen to her response because he started talking over her. “She said you left the party with some hottie. I’m worried someone roofied her or she’s tripping balls, because I told her there is no way in hell our sweet little cupcake would go home with a man she just met in a strange town.”
“Philly’s not that strange,” Chelsea joked.
“Cupcake.” Ethan had been calling her cupcake since fourth grade and her grandma sent in the sweet treats for the entire class on her birthday.
“No one roofied Ally,” Chelsea reassured him.
“Sweet Jesus. I’ll tell you right now, you hooking up with a stranger was not on my bingo card for this year. Or next year, either.”
Chelsea giggled. “That’s funny, because you hooking up with a stranger is always on my bingo card in multiple squares.”
“So you’re with this guy right now?” He refused to be distracted by her attempt at humor.
“Yep. He’s at the front desk getting us a room in a swanky hotel.”
“Describe swanky,” Ethan demanded.
“Well, it’s no Super Eight, I can tell you that. Google the Rittenhouse Hotel. It’s in the city center and it’s bougie as hell.”
She could tell from the way Ethan’s voice became fainter he’d put her on speakerphone and was doing exactly what she suggested. Especially when he all but gasped. “I am so depressed.”
“Why?” Chelsea asked.
“I should have insisted you stay home to pack for the move to Paris and taken that party ticket for myself because dayum, girl. This boy is treating you right. I wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of that.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes, amused. “Right, Ethan. Because Preston would totally be with you right now if you’d come instead. Hate to break it to you, but he is extremely straight.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He didn’t need to. He gives off alpha—hetero—male with a capital A vibes.”
Ethan scoffed. “You underestimate my powers.”
Chelsea didn’t underestimate Ethan’s charm or his good looks or his ability to pick up guys.
Gay guys.
Well…and bi guys.
Anytime she, Allyson, and Ethan went out, eight times out of ten, it was Ethan leaving the bar with a hot guy. And Allyson was the other two times out of ten.
Chelsea, prior to June, had always used the “I have a boyfriend/fiancé” line whenever someone tried to pick her up. In the six months since, she simply hadn’t met anyone who captured her attention or got her motor revving. Not like Preston.
Looking across the foyer, she saw the front desk clerk hand Preston the key card. “Listen, I need to go. He has the room.”
“Call me first thing in the morning,” Ethan demanded.
“I’m already calling Allyson.”
“And now you’re calling me too,” he insisted, undaunted. “What’s the guy’s name so I know what room to send the cops to if you don’t call me?”
Chelsea hesitated. “Um…”
“Wait, you don’t know the guy’s name?”
“It’s Preston. I didn’t get his last name.”
