22

"I THINK I might just pass this class," Chase says triumphantly.

I raise a brow at him, "As long as you get a B or above on your test, you'll pass with flying colors, actually."

And I mean it.

We're currently sitting on his couch, where we have been studying for the last hour.

Chase has a test tomorrow, and if he does good, he won't even need me to tutor him anymore.

He's got all the basics down, and although his comprehension isn't the best, he makes up for it in his attentiveness, which over our tutoring sessions has increased.

But still, there's a small part of me that's...sad he won't need me anymore.

I mean, sure we'd still be friends after this, but what would happen with our whole arrangement?

We'd agreed to break up when the time came, but I don't know what will happen now.

I don't know what I want to happen.

I tug on my necklace, twisting it around, and admiring the dainty piece of jewelry.

I've had it for two days now and I still can't get over the fact that it even exists.

He made me a necklace.

Who just casually does something like that?

I look over at him, admiring the way his eyes are completely focused on the paragraph he's writing and I smile softly.

Chase Rhodes, that's who.

"Done!" He sings, handing me his practice sheet, and I take it from him gracefully, my eyes narrowed as I go through his list of answers.

I can feel my smile grow as I reach the end of his paper, and when I finally place it down, I give him a triumphant high-five.

Only, I don't pull my hand away from his, he holds onto it, threading our fingers together and gently brushing his thumb over my knuckles as he usually does.

I try my best not to heat at the contact, but I think I've failed. "Cant believe I'm going to say this, but you did it," I grin.

Chase smirks at me, "I knew I could," he says cockily.

"Alright, Mr. 'I need you to tutor me'," I say with a knowing brow raised high.

"Shut up," he says, but he's smiling at me. "You know, this was easier than my French homework for once."

My brows draw in, "You take French?"

He nods, smirking.

I grin, "Say something in French."

He think for a moment, tapping his chin exaggeratedly, "Je vous aime beaucoup."

(i like you very much)

"What does that mean?"

"You smell like shit," he grins, and I slap his hand away.

"Seriously," I plead.

He shakes his head, "You mean to tell me I know something you don't?"

"Don't get used to it," I snark.

"Wasn't planning to."

I laugh lightly, feeling his fingers move from my knuckles to the palm of my hand, lightly tracing the indents.

"Hm," he says looking down at my hand. "I think this means you're going to have twenty kids."

I roll my eyes, "Stick to football, Rhodes."

"Are you saying I'm good at football, Matthews?" He says, feigning shock.

I hum, "I wouldn't know. I've never actually seen you play—and the only experience I've had is you murdering my forehead with a ball."

He chuckles lightly, "You've seriously never seen me play?"

"Nope."

"Ever?"

I roll my eyes exasperatedly, "Ever."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then, "Why don't you watch my game next Saturday?" He offers, sounding oddly...shy.

My brows shoot up, "Really?"

"Really," he coughs. "It's just..."

"What?" my brows scrunch together.

"I've never actually had someone on the bleachers...watching me. I mean, obviously people are, but they're not people I know, you know?"

I frown, "Your mom never..." I trail off.

He shakes his head quickly. "No."

"Well then," I murmur. "I guess I'll have to be the first."

He actually grins at that, lighting up like Christmas tree, and my heart breaks all over again. "Alright, Matthews. But don't be shocked when my skills knock you off your feet."

I laugh, throwing my head back. "Let's hope I don't hit my head."

After a little more studying, Chase closes his notebook and looks up at me, "My brain is brained out. Lets do something else."

I check the time on my phone, then narrow my eyes, "Like what?"

He lets my hand fall out of his and he reaches for the remote, "You up for a movie?"

"Only if it's The Notebook," I inform him.

"Why's that?"

"I enjoy seeing people in pain?" I offer, like it's obvious, and he laughs.

"Why am I not surprised," he muses. "You're in luck. I've never watched it."

"What?" I exclaim. "It's a classic!"

"I don't like classics," he shrugs.

"So none of your ex-girlfriends made you watch it with them? Ever?" I ask bewildered.

"I've never had an ex-girlfriend for that to happen," he turns the TV on and for a moment I'm shocked into silence.

"Never?" I frown. "But you're...you."

He sends me a lazy grin, "Thank you for noticing."

I smack his arm, "You know what I mean. Everyone knows you, and no one has tried to...get with you?"

He laughs, "Oh, they've tried. Just never let them get too far."

I have a suspicious idea i'm fueling his already too-big ego, but I'm too curious to care.

"Why not?"

His mouth bunches to the side, "I don't know. I've thought about it, but there hasn't been someone special enough, I guess."

He turns his attention back to the TV screen but I'm clearly invested in this now.

If he didn't have any girlfriends then what had his mom meant by saying I was 'better than the last ones'?

Who were the last ones?

I huffed out breath and tried to make myself focus on the screen, but it was hard with so many questions running through my head.

I bit my tongue, questions I didn't have the right to ask about. Questions I promised I would never push for.

And I intend to keep that promise.

Chase finally finds The Notebook, and I burry my thoughts away, deciding to deal with them later.

He pressed play and in no-time we were sucked into the movie, making a few comments here and there.

"This is awful," Chase says.

"You just watched thirty minutes of it straight," I counter.

He flushes, turning to me. It's still awful."

I roll my eyes, about to retort something, but his attention is already back on the screen.

I hide a satisfactory smirk.

The next time I wake up, it isn't in the morning.

And it isn't in my bed.

Someone's whispering my name in my ear, and I groggily open my eyes to see Chase standing there with his disheveled hair.

And everything comes back to me all at once.

Chase tearing up over The Notebook, Chase denying tearing up over The Notebook, Chase leaving briefly to make sure his sisters were situated (and so he could wipe his tears), and finally, Chase and I passing out on his couch.

Jesus. That was a lot of Chase.

"Chase?" I murmur.

"Hi," he whispers to me.

I laugh at his soft voice for no reason, "Hi."

"We fell asleep," he frowns.

"I can see that," I reply, reaching for my phone under the thick blanket.

I quickly text my mom, letting her know that I haven't been kidnapped, and my eyes big out the time: 3 AM.

"Shit," I mutter. "We slept for six hours? How is that even possible?"

Chase's eyes go wide too, "Jesus," he mutters harshly.

I rub at my eyes, "What do we do now?"

He's quiet for a moment, and then says, "I could drop you off?"

I shake my head immediately, "My parents would probably kill me if I interrupted their sleep."

He nods silently, thinking for a moment, then he says, "You could...stay here?"

I look up at him.

"I mean, you've already slept through half the night here, and you could take my bed, while I sleep on the couch, if you want," he shrugs.

I blink at him, "I'm not sleeping on your bed while you sleep on a couch, Chase."

"It's not that bad," he whispers.

"I'm pretty sure there's a crick in my neck from this arm rest," I challenge.

He blows out a breath, "We could—uh, share the bed?"

My cheeks flame at that, and before I know it I'm saying, "Okay."

I try to keep my face stoic but my heart is beating three times to fast and I think it might burst out of my chest at any moment.

Chase nods, but swallows thickly, scratching the back of his neck. "Follow me."

I do as he says, trailing behind him as he leads me up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom.

It only hits me now that I've never actually seen it, and my excitement rises—as well as my heartbeat—as he opens the door, his face cringing at the squeaking sound.

My eyes bounce around the dark room, taking in the lone bed, and nightstand beside it. Its pretty empty, but where lacks in decoration he makes up for it in the organization.

My mouth actually opens in shock when I see how clean it is, not a single thing out of place.

I thought my room was pretty clean, but compared to this it probably looks like a landfill.

"Hang on," Chase says, suddenly turning around, leaving me in his room alone.

I take a moment to look explore with my eyes a picture of him years ago—his face much more boyish and soft—and a dog framed on his nightstand.

It looks to be a Golden Retriever, and Chase's smile as he pets the dogs head cannot be mistaken for anything.

Its pure joy.

I smile at his smile.

I don't think I've seen one of those smiles on his face. I wonder—and hope—if I'll ever be able to.

I gently run a finger along the ridges of the frame but jump when Chase clears his throat from behind me.

He hands me something, and I look down at it to realize it's a large shirt.

"I didn't have anything else," he winces.

I shake my head, "No, it's okay. Thank you," I add.

He nods, then his eyes dart to the picture and he says, "That was my grandma's dog, Sadie. She was the best," he smiles.

Was. "What happened to her?" my voice is a mere whisper.

"Cancer," he says. "For both of them, actually," he laughs but it lacks any humor. "My mom used to say that they were at peace together, but I don't know."

"Were you two close?"

He nods, "The closest."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't imagine what it was like. Losing two people you were so close with.

And not in a way that you could technically see them again, in a way that their souls were completely wiped from the universe.

He clears his throat suddenly.

"You can change in there, I'll set the bed up," he points toward a door on across the room and I nod making my way over.

I slip into the bathroom and quickly pull his shirt on, dropping my blouse to the ground.

The shirt comes to my knees, and I look down at my jeans, debating whether or not they should come off too.

I decide against it and tell myself this will be the only time I ever sleep in jeans. Its feels so incredibly wrong.

But I walk back into Chase's room to find him climbing onto his bed, a scenario I thought I would never see, so much that it makes me laugh.

Chase's attention darts to me, "Why are you laughing?" he whispers.

"Because," I whisper back.

He narrows his eyes at me through the dark, but doesn't press for more.

"Oh," I say, suddenly remembering something as I'm pulling the covers over myself, once I've climbed in. His bed is warm, and for a moment I shut my eyes close. "Remind me to give your jacket back."

"My jacket?" I can practically see his confusion in the dark.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I grabbed it at the party and was going to give it back at my house when you came over, but it slipped my mind between the dinner."

Chase hums, "Thanks, Matthews."

I yawn, "You would do the same for me."

He doesn't say anything, and I imagine it's because he knows he would.

A few minutes pass by and I turn over on my side, facing Chase. I outline his features for the second time and sigh.

"Chase?" I whisper.

"Lila," he murmurs back.

"Tell me a secret."

He looks over at me, exhaustion in his eyes, "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," everything.

He's quiet for a moment, then he says, "When I was younger, I was terrified of penguins."

A surprised laugh bursts out of me, "Penguins?"

"You can't tell me birds that can't fly aren't something to be suspicious about," he informs me, like he's given this topic much thought.

"I like penguins," I tell him. "They're cute. Their little waddles and everything."

"Lots of things that are cute are horrible," he mumbles.

"Like what?"

"Well tigers for one."

I didn't argue with that.

More silence ensued and then Chase spoke, "Lila?"

"Chase," I replied back, though drowsiness seeped more into my tone.

"It's your turn to tell me a secret," he says, turning on his side fully so we're face to face.

I hum, then look at him, and simply because I can, I say, "I think you're my favorite person, Chase Rhodes."

His face loses all expression, he just stares at me blankly. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The corner of his lips pull up, "Well, I think you're my favorite person too, Lila Matthews," he yawns.

I laugh lightly, "That isn't a secret."

"No?"

"No," I reply, then I drift into the dark and I don't mind it one bit.