Reluctantly in Love (20 page)

Yes! Of course that’s what this is.

After every hot, sexy moment with him, I had amazing bursts of creativity. Like knocking back an energy shot. And then a couple of days later, those bursts would flicker out. The pages I sent to my agent blew her away. She called me after reading only a few of them, gushing about the change in my writing, the sensuality and chemistry between the characters. She wanted more.

I didn’t know if it was the pressure, or if it was all the distractions in my life, but the pages I’d written over the last two days were flat. They lacked sizzle.

Maybe it’s because there’s been no passion in my life. At all.

With the sudden appearance of Chase in my life, it was so easy to see that now.

For too long, there’d been no steamy, stolen kisses in the dark. No intense, blood blazing make out sessions while pressed up against a door. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Ever. With my ex-boyfriend, there’d been no moments of heat when we lost ourselves in each other’s gazes and then succumbed to our passions in, say, an exam room, or on a porch in the soaking rain.

There hadn’t been anything sexually exciting in my life for a really long time. Too long.

Until Chase.
No wonder I couldn’t get him off of my mind. He represented everything I ached for. As a writer—
as a woman—
I should embrace the passion Chase awoke inside me.
It’s my artistic right. An obligation to my craft.

The idea of it was absurd. I just met the guy. But he was addictive. Every time I took a moment to breathe, paused to think, closed my eyes, or took a bite of anything sweet, Chase’s face popped into my mind—a forbidden dessert. I worked really hard. Didn’t I deserve dessert?

Did it matter if the dessert was my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend? By denying myself Chase’s sexiness, wasn’t I making a bigger deal out of things than I needed to? Wasn’t I the one complicating things?

Damn it, I was an adult! If I wanted dessert, I could have it. I was no good at denying myself anything.

When had a man ever made me feel like this before? Never, that’s when. He was an educated, gorgeous man with a smile that made me stupid-giddy—that was my business, and I should be able to act on it. I mean, a relationship was only as complicated as one made it. I was the queen of simplifying things, and Dr. Walker made me tingly all over and reawakened my hibernating sexy inside.

This girl has needs, damn it.
And the only person I wanted to fill them was Chase. Being around him gave me the
oomph
I hadn’t realized I was missing.

I’d spent the last few years of my life in a safe, friends-with-benefits relationship with a man even more emotionally unattached than me. There’d been no sizzle with my ex-boyfriend
.
In fact, I’d never let myself enjoy the sizzle in any relationship. Maybe I’d convinced myself
sizzle
meant
reckless
. And though I might be spontaneous in other aspects of my life, I’d never allowed myself to be when it came to the men I dated. It was always background checks and searching for flaws before I’d even agree to a first date.

I wanted to give in to the spark. Chase didn’t seem worried about how things might play out, so why should it matter to me? The man set every nerve ending in my body to a warm fizzle, and I wanted to know just how hot that fizzle could burn. If his bedroom eyes and lingering kisses also sparked my creativity, well, that was just a bonus. And, for the sake of my writing, I needed those kisses.

It was time to get back in the saddle. So what if I didn’t want a serious relationship? That didn’t mean I needed to become a nun. I was the only twenty-three-year-old I knew who wasn’t having sexy-time. I wanted
something.
I missed having
something.

I leaned against the counter, my eyes glued to my cell phone. This was unacceptable. If he wouldn’t call me, I’d call him. I snatched up my phone.

The receptionist at the clinic transferred me to Chase’s extension. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—unsure how to start the message.

Finally, I said, “Oh. Hey, Chase. This is Roxanna. I was wondering if . . . Well, I thought you wanted to go to dinner, so I figured I should call and see when. But if you—”

The phone beeped again, cutting me off. I had run out of time.

I stared at the phone in my hand, contemplating whether I should call back and try again. But I didn’t want to sound desperate. I set the phone down.

“Lame, lame, lame.” I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. The only thing that would make me feel better was Mexican food.

My phone rang while I locked the front door. I didn’t recognize the number. I dropped the keys into my purse and answered, “Hello?”

“Hi.” Chase’s voice caught me off guard, and I missed the last porch step.

“Oh shit!” I cried out. I threw my arms out and stumbled off the cement walk. My bare foot ended up in a Hosta plant and my flip flop landed in the mulch. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I took a gingerly step off the smashed plant and swore again at the damage. I had an intimate relationship with the plants in my yard, as I’d planted most of them myself, including the Hosta I’d just assaulted.

“Damn it,” I mumbled as I bent to retrieve my flip flop.

“Roxanna?” Chase’s voice was distant.

Pressing the phone against my ear again, I slipped my shoe on with the other. “Chase. Hey. How’s it going?”

“Good. Is everything okay?” He sounded concerned.

“I just took out a Hosta plant. No big deal.”

He laughed. “Beating up on plants now.”

“Well, you know me . . .” I sat down on my porch steps.

“I do know you, which is why I feel bad for the plant.”

“
Hhhaaa,
funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was being serious,” he teased. “So, how are you?”

“I’m good.” I slipped my flip-flop back onto my foot. “Well, besides the fact I’m starving. I haven’t eaten a thing in a week. I was waiting for you to take me to dinner.”

He laughed. “You haven’t eaten in a week? I feel awful.”

“You should feel awful.” And then, because it sounded like I’d been stressing over it, I said, “I haven’t been worried or anything, just figured you didn’t like food.”

“I assure you, I love food. And I didn’t change my mind about enjoying it with you.” His words made me press my lips together, but the smile couldn’t be quashed. He said, “I have a good excuse why I haven’t called you.”

“
Mm-hmm
.” I wiggled my toes, my teal blue nail polish flashing at me. “Sure you do.”

“I help at a small clinic in Omaha every year with vaccinations for homeless and children of low income families. It’s part of an outreach initiative.”

I shook my head in wonder. “Wow, that’s amazing. Gen never mentioned it.”

“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “You’ve been asking about me?”

“What? No.” And then I grinned. “Maybe a little.”

“Good.”

“Good? That’s it?”

“No. Let’s talk dinner,” he said. “What are you doing right now?”

“Right now I am on my way to my car.” I stood. “I already have dinner plans.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, which thrilled me.

“Tacos. I’m having a craving. Do you want to join me?”

“I’d love to. But since this is your invitation, this doesn’t count as our dinner date. When I take you to dinner, I’ll choose the restaurant, and I’ll pick you up. That way I can take you home.”

How could I argue with that? With a smile, I said, “Okay, then.”

“Where am I meeting you for tacos?”

“On the corner of 10th, a block from O Street. You won’t miss it. There’s a big ass sombrero in the window.

“Keep an eye out for the big ass sombrero.” He chuckled. “Got it.”

“Wait, you’ve never been to
Tacos del Niño
before?”

“This is the first.”

“It’s
the
Mexican food joint in town. You haven’t lived until you eat this guy’s tacos.”

He laughed. “Are you saying my life will finally have purpose after I eat these tacos?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I smiled, my body warm with the idea of being near him again. “See you there, Dr. Walker.”

Chapter Eighteen

I parked on the less congested street around the corner from
Tacos del Niño,
and when I turned at the end of the block, I spotted Chase right away. He stood near a table on the patio, cordoned off from the sidewalk. There was a moment before he noticed me, and I slowed my pace to take in the sight of him in a pair of tan slacks and a light blue button up. He had his hands in his pockets while he gazed up at the big sombrero above the door of the restaurant.

On the drive over, I’d been talking myself down from the anticipated flutter. Sure, he was hot. Sure, he was charming. But Chase Walker was just a man. Yet when our gazes connected, the familiar sensation of being knocked in the stomach took hold as the corners of his lips tugged up into a smile. My mind said,
This one.

His gaze made a slow sweep from my head to my toes. I didn’t fight the butterflies; they went haywire when he pulled me into his arms in a warm hug. He surrounded me, and even though everything about him was firm, I sank into his embrace, into his warmth and the smell of his cologne. It was my newest favorite scent, I decided.

Before he let me go, he dropped a soft kiss to my lips, as if this kind of greeting was normal between us.
Something to get used to.
The idea of it thrilled me.

“What was that for?” I whispered against his lips.

“Because it’s a Thursday.”

I smiled. “I love Thursday.”

“And you look beautiful.” He eased away to gaze into my eyes—I wasn’t ready to let him go though.

I had to stop myself from clinging to him.

“You’re so eager to please.” After I said it, my eyes widened.

Chase’s lips curled up into a knowing smile. “I am.”

How the hell was I supposed to get through dinner when all I’d be thinking about now was Chase
pleasing
me?

“You better be on your best behavior inside,” I told him, not meaning it. I liked him just like this.

His lips quirked. “Sounds like a challenge. I like those.”

He held the door open and I stepped inside. Returning his smile, I said, “Me too.”

Inside, festive Spanish music played on low. Potted plants were set against burnt orange walls. The dark brown booths and tables were draped in cloths that resembled hand woven blankets.

“This place is great,” Chase said as the hostess led us to an empty table beside a window.

“You’re going to love it. Best tacos in the state, I swear.” We sat down at an empty booth against a window looking out on the busy street.

“That’s a big statement. Can’t wait to try the food out.”

“Every time I visit my mom in San Diego, I eat amazing Mexican food and it ruins me for months when I come back here. Now that this place is open, I can get by between visits.”

“How often do you go?”

“Once a year or so. I can only take San Diego in small doses.” I slipped my phone out of my purse, turned the ringer to mute then returned it to the side pocket. “It’s too fast for me. I get the sweats every time I get on that freeway. It’s worse when my mom or aunt drives. They’re so short, they barely see over the steering wheel.” I mimicked grasping a steering wheel and peeked up over my fists. “I’m not exaggerating. It causes me all kinds of stress.”

He laughed. “That’s pretty short.”

“Super short.” I grinned. I passed him a menu from the ceramic cactus holder against the wall. “This place makes the best
carne asada
tacos.”

“That sounds good.” His eyes skimmed the menu.

“But they also make really good tamales . . . and enchiladas. Everything sounds good. I’m starving.”

He set the menu down. “How about we order a few entrees and share.”

“That’s perfect.” I set my menu down. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s too bad we didn’t do it sooner.”

“I agree. And for some odd reason you’re growing on me.”

“Odd?” His eyes twinkled back at me. “Is this a compliment?

“Yes.” I grinned.

He laughed. “Then thank you.”

“Then you’re welcome.” I grinned.

The waitress showed up just in time. I really might have jumped the table.

I leaned back so she could set the basket of chips and bowl of salsa in the center of the table between us. Nudging the bowl toward him, I said, “You’ll love the salsa.”

“So what kind of books do you write?” He dipped a chip and took a bite.

“Paranormal fiction.” I grabbed a chip from the basket.

“The sparkly vampire kind with the love triangle?”

I laughed. “Do you know a lot about sparkly vampires and love triangles?”

He swallowed his chip. “I have sisters. They’re into sparkly vampires.”

“Nothing wrong with romance novels, I just don’t write them.”

“Is that a note of distaste I hear?” He cocked his head as he peered at me

I dipped a chip and scooped up salsa. “I’m not into that gushy stuff.”

“Gushy stuff?” He chuckled. “You’re probably the first woman I’ve ever met who’s
not into gushy stuff
.”

“I’m a book nerd, so I went through my romance stage.” I had a box full of historical romance paperbacks. I’d been way too young to read those books and kept them hidden under my bed. “But it’s fiction. Not real life.”

“
Ah
,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “A love cynic?”

“I wouldn’t call myself a cynic. But really, it’s a bit unrealistic.”

“How so?” He seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Relationships have a better chance of failing than not. It’s statistically proven.”

“You’re an interesting woman, Roxanna.” He popped the chip into his mouth and chewed.

“Thank you.” I studied him from across the table and decided I should just get to the point. Because that’s who I was—the kind of girl who took charge.