Page 3 of Broken on the Mountain
"I was drunk!"
"And drunk people are usually honest."
He hands me a mug, and I take a tentative sip. Yep. It's strong enough to wake the dead. And it tastes like it was brewed over a campfire.
But somehow, it's perfect.
"You want to know what I remember about last night?" Chase leans against the counter, still gloriously naked, apparently immune to the concept of shame. "You standing outside Timber Tavern, watching Brooke and Jamie through the window, and saying you were tired of being the third wheel. The friend who plays it safe and always does as her parents tell her."
My head throbs at the blurry memory. Brooke, glowing with happiness, wrapped in Jamie's arms while he spun her around the dance floor. Me, standing outside in my perfectly coordinated outfit, completely out of place and feeling like I was watching life through glass.
"I said I wanted to test the waters of spontaneity," I mutter into my coffee. "That's it."
"You said you'd spent twenty-nine years making safe choices, and you wanted to make one terrible decision just to see what it felt like."
"And then you appeared."
"Like a terrible decision with great abs?"
My eyes drift down to his abs, which are admittedly spectacular. All those rope climbs and mountain rescues havecarved him into something that now belongs in my permanent city-girl wank-bank.
But apparently my traitorous gaze doesn't want to stop there, because it keeps traveling south to his impressively big... rotor blade.
Which is currently at half-mast. And twitching with interest.
"Eyes up here, sweetheart."
My face flames as I snap my attention back to his eyes. "Oh. Shut up. I wasn't even looking!"
"You were definitely looking. And now you're blushing like a tomato, which is adorable."
"I don't blush! I'm sophisticated!"
"Sophisticated people don't climb fire escapes in high heels."
"That was a momentary lapse in judgment!"
"It was honestly the best moment of my entire life." His voice goes soft, sincere, and something flutters in my chest that has nothing to do with my hangover. "You were incredible last night, Piper. Not drunk-you or rebellious-you. Just... you."
The coffee mug trembles in my hands. "You don't even know me."
Chase sets down his mug and takes a step closer. "Maybe not. But how'd it feel?"
"Last night? Terrifying," I admit, though the ache between my legs makes me smile. "What if I like who I am when I'm making terrible decisions? What if I like climbing fire escapes and drinking wine straight from the bottle. And sleeping with men who think appropriate breakfast attire is... nothing?"
"Whoa. So judgmental. These are my pajamas, Piper," Chase says with a shrug of his impressively round shoulders. "Plus, would any of that be so bad?"
"Yes!" The word bursts out of me. "You don't understand. My entire life is built on being perfect. Perfect grades, perfect job,perfect penthouse, perfect everything. My parents have a plan, and I've been following it since I was five years old."
"Perfect penthouse, huh? And how's that working out for you?"
I stare at him, this man who's standing naked in his kitchen like it's the most natural thing in the world, asking me questions that cut straight to the heart of everything I've been avoiding.
"Well, let's see," I say, setting down my mug and counting on my fingers. "I have a nursing degree I don't want anymore, a trust fund I can't access because my parents say I'm 'not worthy' of it yet, and absolutely zero idea what I actually want from life. So clearly, it's going brilliantly."
"Mm-hmm." Chase's hazel eyes dance with mischief. "And last night? When you were screaming my name loud enough to wake half of Stone River? How did that feel?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "I was not screaming."
