09

I DON'T KNOW what people wear to parties.

Mainly because I've never been to one. I don't think that would be much of a shock though. I've been invited to a couple, but I would decline each one, and after a while, people stopped asking altogether.

I can't say I was disappointed by it, I pretty much asked for it to happen. But the amount fo embarrassment that filled me when Jack didn't believe I would be at his party was outstanding.

I huff out a breath as I throw yet another shirt onto the ground. I'm considering going in Google to find any inspiration. And that is saying something considering it's Google.

I've tried on at least ten shirts, and Chase will be here in less than an hour and a half. Safe to say I'm panicking.

I'm about to go for a skirt when there's a knock on my door and Mom walks in with a smile on her face.

Ever since she found out that Chase is real—and my boyfriend—she has not stopped smiling. I don't know whether to be happy or scared. Maybe both.

"Oh my..." she trails off, seeing the pile of clothing on the floor. "Looks like your closet threw up."

I snort, "Think it's too late to back out of this?"

She raises a brow. "You know the answer to that already," and I do. It's way too late. "Don't worry, honey, I'll help you."

My brows shoot up at that. I'm usually not picky when it comes to clothes. I see something, I like it, I buy it. But tonight it's different, and having my mom help me might be a good thing, so I say, "Please do."

About an hour later, Mom and I have composed an outfit that I think works pretty well. I look in the mirror one last time, taking in my black skirt and silver halter top.

Although I tried my best with my makeup, I'm not very good at it—so I'm hoping I don't look like a raccoon instead of what I think is a smoky eye.

The doorbell suddenly rings and a knot of nerves finds its way to my chest. I can hear mom greeting who I know is Chase downstairs.

I suck in a breath, grab my phone and make my way down the stairs. I'm desperately hoping his attention is fixed somewhere else—otherwise this is going to look like an episode of America's Top Ten Models.

Thankfully, I manage to make it down the stairs without the unwanted attention of Chase and slip into the hall where mom and Chase are chatting politely.

I walk steadily to them and Mom smiles at me as I slip next to Chase. He turns to look at me and for a moment his face is completely slack.

I wonder if I really do look like a raccoon.

But then he says, "You look...wow, Matthews."

I try not to laugh, "Thank you. You look wow yourself."

And to be completely honest, he does. I'm not blind: Chase Rhodes is attractive. I'm pretty sure everyone knows that.

"Well, you kids have fun!" My mom says, promptly shoving us out the door. "Call me if you need something!"

Then she slams the door. I turn to Chase, "She's not usually like this." That's only half the truth.

"I'm starting to get the feeling your mom really wants us to go this party," Chase says, tilting his head.

"No? Really?" I mock gasp. "What gave you that idea?" My boots scuff against the concrete as we walk to his car.

"Must be the wind then," he nods, and I snort at his ridiculousness. We settle into the car and Chase drives off immediately.

Something occurs to me, "Isn't it a bad idea taking the car?" I don't plan on drinking—at least not very much—but I also don't have a license.

"Why do you say that?" He says, eyes trained on the road.

"Who's going to be driving back?" I point out and he chuckles.

"Don't worry, I can't drink. I've got practice tomorrow, so you can get shit faced if you'd like," he says, grinning at me.

"Yeah, no thanks. I'll stick to the snack bar," I say truthfully.

"You're in luck," he makes a turn. "Jack is loaded so he's got a ton of stuff at this party."

He's rich? Maybe I should have given him a chance.

"I can hardly wait," I say flatly. After a while, Chase pulls into a driveway and the sound of music meets my ears before I'm even out of the car.

And once I actually am, I can feel the vibration of it too. I stand still staring up at Jack Hyde's house. Chase was right, the guy's loaded.

Chase steps out of the car and I look to him, seeing him look back at me. "Ready?"

I would say something—anything—but I think the only words that would come out of me are refusals, so I keep it shut and nod.

Chase offers his arm, and with a little hesitation, I take it. My skin burns where he touches it as we step into the house, the music pounding through my ears and straight to my head.

There's bodies everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I crane my neck up over the sea of bodies of buy can't see very far.

People are shouting—most of it incoherent, but I realize soon they're shouting at someone. Or, no. For someone.

I take a peek over Chase's shoulder and see a herd of boys chanting his name over and over again.

My eyes widen. Oh lord please take me now.

I can feel the heat of Chase's body as someone bumps into me and I crash into his back. But I don't think he notices with the way his eyes are trained on his teammates.

He's smiling, his eyes are smiling, his entire body is practically smiling.

I don't think I realized how many people love Chase Rhodes until right this second.

In a blur, people are coming up to us, grinning like they found a pot of gold. Chase eats it up while I stand there probably looking awkward as hell. At one point, I see Chase practically blush at something Kell Daniels, one of the linebackers, says.

I have to hold back a laugh.

I'm gazing at the our surroundings—the bottles of booze on the counters, the bowls of snacks, and the sweaty people—when I feel a squeeze on my hand. Chase is still nodding along to whatever a red-headed girl is saying to him, but I can tell he's desperate for her to leave.

I bite my lip, then I clear my throat. "Hey, Chase, do you think you could get us some drinks?" I suggest, effectively cutting the red-head off.

Chase squeezes my hand once more, a silent thank-you. "Of course, Matthews. Excuse me, Anna."

He walks briskly past her and releases a breath. "I don't know what I would have done if she asked what size cleats I wear one more time."

I let out a laugh. "She asked you that?"

He gives me a look, "More than once, Matthews. More than once."

We pass through another crowd of people until we've finally reached the heart of the kitchen. I raise a brow as Chase scans the drink options.

"I don't actually want a drink, I was just saying that—" Chase puts a finger to my lips and hushes me.

"Shut up. Do you want alcohol in it or not?"

I blink. This motherfucker.

"Hurry up, Matthews, people are waiting to get shit faced, you know," he hums, shooting me a pointed look.

"No alcohol." I grumble and he smiles.

"Lemonade it is," he grabs the jug of lemonade and promptly pours me a cup, ignoring my potent glares. He shoves it into my hand and grabs a cup for himself.

"Do you think Lucas and Blake are here?" I ask, once we've left the kitchen. Chase gives me an odd look.

"It's a party—of course they're here," he takes a sip of his lemonade, reminding me that I haven't touched my own. "Where they are is the real question."

I take a moment to scan the crowd but it's pretty much impossible to spot them. There's hardly any room to breathe. The amount of perfume and sweat I've inhaled since we arrived is a bit scary.

I'm about to take a swig of my drink when someone curses. I look up and suddenly cold liquid is being spilled down the front of my shirt.

I gasp as lemonade makes its way into my bra and down to my skirt.

Time seems to stop as I look down at myself. The music has dimmed, the chatter quieter and breathing steadier. Or maybe the pure horror is causing me to overreact.

"I am so sorry, oh my God," someone slurs but my vision is blurred as someone wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me up the stairs.

Chase shuffles around more people before finding the bathroom and opening the door. He lets go of my waist and locks the door behind him.

I look in the mirror to see my silver top covered in yellow stains, as well as the outline of my bra through the sheerness of the shirt.

I look like shit.

"No," I groan. "Why, why, why," I grab a towel and damp it with water, rubbing vigorously at it. I can practically feel the shirt ripping as I harshly press the towel into my shirt and eventually Chase pulls it away.

"Stop, you're gonna rub your skin away," he sighs, throwing the towel into the sink.

"What the fuck am I going to do? It looks like Yellow Bird came and sat on me," It's not meant to be funny. At all. But Chase laughs and flashes me a grin.

"You kind of scare me with your references, Matthews," he informs me. Then as if a lightbulb goes off in his head he stands straighter. "Wait here."

Right. Like I'd go around with my pee stain looking-covered shirt.

He opens the door and shuts it behind him, leaving me to bang my head against the wall. Out of all the things that could have happened to night—of course this was the main show.

I sigh deeply, I should have stayed home after all.

I'm still banging my head against the wall when someone knocks on the door and I open it with a skeptical gaze before realizing it's Chase and letting him in.

"What is that?" I inquire, looking down to where he holds a black duffel bag. "Did you bring a dead body with you or something?"

"Yes, because I regularly carry dead bodies on me," he says, unzipping the bag and tossing out what looks to be a jersey at me. "Put this on."

I take the material from his hands and gaze at it like it's infected. WEST FLYNNEL HIGH reads on the front and on the back R H O D E S is spelled out with the number eleven below it.

It's Chase's jersey. I blink. One, two, three times. Trying to see if this is a joke, but Chase leaves before I can ask.

I take in a deep breath and quickly slip out of my cold and wet halter top, shoving myself into Chase's too-big shirt.

I don't even look at myself in the mirror as I stuff my lemonade-ridden shirt into the duffel bag and tip-toe out of the bathroom.

Chase is waiting by the stair case, his drink still in hand, gazing at something on his phone. I clear my throat as I hand him the duffel bag, trying not to seem too awkward.

His gaze falls to the jersey and it looks almost like he wants to smile. Instead, he offers his arm again and whispers, "Let's get out of here."

I've never been more glad to here those words.

The party seems to be still going strong as Chase bids his buddies goodbye. They seem to be sad to see him leave but they don't comment on it.

We exit through the front door and I feel a little bad for steering him away from all of his friends. He really seemed to enjoy the party. Even with the whole shoe size talk—and the lemonade incident.

"I know what you're thinking," Chase sings, buckling his seatbelt. "And you need to stop."

I roll my eyes, "If you knew what I was thinking, you would be terrified."

He raises a brow, "Is our Lila Matthews a daredevil now?"

"Smart-ass."

"You know, you said no one likes those. And yet, people seem to like me a lot," he says, grinning.

"That's an awful lot of arrogance, Rhodes," I lean my head back against the chair, watching as he drives past the neighborhood.

"I like to call it confidence, actually," he corrects, turning out to the main road.

"Of course you do. I can't say I'm surprised," I tease.

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

I roll my eyes yet again, though a traitorous smile forms on my lips.

We near my house in no time, talking about the most random of things the entire time. Its funny how we can have a conversation about nothing at all.

Chase stops at my driveway, parking the car.

I grab my damp shirt from the duffel bag, carrying it like a weight, and open my car door. "Thank you," I say finally. I don't specify for what, but Chase grins all the same. That same Chase Rhodes smile.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't here you, what was that?" I roll my eyes, sliding out of the car and slamming the door.

I round to my front yard and cast one last look at Chase. "By the way, you look great in my jersey!" He hollers. "Very girlfriend-y of you!"

I flip him off behind my shoulder, his laugh carrying to my ears as I open my front door and disappear behind it.