Page 9 of Chasing Forever
I laugh. “The highlight of his Vegas trip—mini quiches.”
“Too bad he wasn’t eating them off a woman.” Ben shakes his head.
The circular doors move, and I eye them, stupid heart hammering, hoping it’s Lottie. It’s not. Just an older couple.
When I let my vision stray back to him, I find Ben staring at me. He shakes his head again. “Listen…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I put up my hand to stop him from giving whatever advice he’s decided to impart on me.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Why would I be hurt?” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my shorts and circle my neck to get rid of the kinks.
“Let’s not play that game. You’ve wanted Lottie for as long as I can remember, but she’s not the same person after your brother. She’s never going to give you an honest shot.”
His truth is an arrow to my heart, but I can’t blame him for trying to warn me.
He’s not wrong. I saw Lottie for all she was before Holden ever even noticed her. But he had the guts to act when I didn’t. He won by default—because I never fought for her.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a grown man now.”
I refrain from telling him that drunk or not, Lottie cracked open a door last night—and I’m not letting her slam it shut without a fight.
I’ve tried the long game—coffees at her store, bad jokes, flirting, praying she’d look at me the way I looked at her. Not anymore. I’m done waiting. I’m done hoping. This time, I’m showing her I’m the man she’s been looking for—whether she knows it yet or not. Whether she likes it or not.
Ben saying she’s never going to be the same? Bullshit. And yeah, it makes me want to punch something. Him actually. But causing a scene won’t win Lottie’s heart either.
The circular doors spin again, and this time—it’s her. Romy’s beside her, but it’s Lottie I see. Only ever her.
Ben pats my shoulder. “You’re a lost cause.”
She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt, hair down but not really styled. No makeup. Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I step forward to approach Lottie, but the hostess picks this moment to tell us all that our private room is ready. And of course everyone funnels into line, and I end up with Bennett at my side, once more asking me what I think was in the quiches that made them so great. I’m about to offer the chef my firstborn for the recipe just to get him to shut the hell up.
We file into the room, everyone too busy talking about last night or this morning to bother finding their chairs. There’s a lot of whispering and sly looks thrown between Lottie and me. Which isn’t surprising—the Noughton family doesn’t allow a lot of secrets to stay secrets.
“Danson, did you tell Jude about those mouthwatering quiches?” I ask, dodging Bennett and leaving Jude in his wake as I weave my way to Lottie’s side.
“I heard, and I don’t care,” Jude says, but I’m already locked on my way to her.
All the girls are huddled together and exhaustion lines Lottie’s face. I’m sure they’re all bombarding her with questions about last night and whether anything happened with us.
“Shit, is that Zander Shaw?” I lie, pointing out the window toward the terrace.
Romy bites instantly, dragging the girls toward the glass.
I’m not stupid. I know Lottie’s probably told Romy to stay close and keep me away.
“Romy!” Lottie says through clenched teeth, but Romy’s already at the window with all the other women, pulling their phones from their pockets as though they’re about to spot the popular country singer.
Watson for the win.
Lottie’s shoulders fall, and she eyes me as if she’d like nothing more than to see me put in a meat grinder—with her hand on the crank. “Cute.”
“We need to talk.” I’m not avoiding the issue. I’ve waited all day, and I’m not going to stay in the back seat any longer.
“Not here.” Her gaze skirts around the room at all the wandering eyes and eavesdropping ears.
