Page 37 of Roots of the Wicked

When Chase was satisfied with nosing around my living room, kitchen, and dining area, he met me at the door.

“What’s that smile about?” I asked, addressing the cheesy grin on his face.

“I can’t be happy to see you?”

“You can, but I see more. Like you know a secret that I don’t.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.” There was a knowing edge to his words that I hadn’t missed.

Maybe he did know things that I didn’t. I sometimes had trouble understanding the intricacies of my own mind. I certainly didn’t understand me and Chase.

“What about the paparazzi?” I had almost forgotten that he always had eyes on him, a testament to how down to earth he could be with me.

“Don’t worry. We have it covered.”

Although reluctant, I locked my door and followed him.

We didn’t exit my building through the front door. Instead, we entered the third level of the garage where his driver, Paul was waiting at the back door. He was talking into his wrist, communicating with someone. “All clear.” Paul made the report to Chase while opening the door for us.

We climbed and got comfortable. Chase reached out and dropped his hand over mine, testing my responsiveness. Neither of us made eye contact as he swiped my hand, closing it in the warm of his.

The silent connection it spurred was the catalyst for my lack of speech during the drive. He’d shattered my comfort zone, but I didn’t have a desire to pull away. Hyperaware of him and of our connection, I squeezed his hand as he brushed light strokes over the back of mine with his thumb.

I was afraid of this, but found comfort in the simplistic beauty of the gesture. When a warm tingle started to tickle the hair on my arms and climbed its way into my heart, I had to say something to distract myself.

“I didn’t peg you for a country fan. So, you like country music?” I asked as Kane Brown’s “Heaven” spilled softly from some hidden speaker inside the car.

“Yes,” he answered. “Country is my favorite, but I often listen to a variety. What about you?”

“I’m into variety also, but my favorite is Classic Rock.”

I knew my answer would get his attention. His smile widened, and his brow lifted. “You. Classic Rock. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“No one ever does, unless they listen to one of my favorite playlist.” He stared at me with what I believed was surprise, his smile wide and bright.

“I have to admit, I do enjoy learning about you Jax. You are an interesting woman.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I am.”

He still hadn’t let go of my hand that had started ache inside his.

“I’m enjoying dating you Jax.” He said out of the blue.

“I haven’t decided if I want to date you yet, Chase.”

“Yet.” He repeated. “Call it what you want, but there is a reason you’re here with me now Jax.”

He was right. “I noticed early on that you weren’t a pushover, and I respect that trait in you. I like that you’re are down to earth and not all proper and high sadiddy with me. I believe I get to see the real you. I think you knew early on that I was bad, that I like to play outside the box, but you don’t care. Like me, you’ll play with fire, knowing you can get burned. I’m starting to believe you like the burn.”

He shrugged and smug grin sat on his lips.

“What about you Chase? What type of dating life did you have before you were cast into the limelight?”

He stared ahead for a moment before he answered.

“My dating life wasn’t any better than it is now. I looked, I liked, I asked, but it was never lasting. The only difference between now, and then, was that I was the one looking for longevity versus now. Unless they have been living under a rock and don’t know a thing about me, women can’t see past my popularity and net worth.”

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