Chasing You

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Alexa“How was the party last night?” my cousin, Taryn, ladled black-eyed peas into my bowl and then Melissa’s. We sat on bar stools at Taryn’s kitchen counter.

I made it back to my hotel and changed clothes while my friend dragged herself out of bed and got ready. I refused to answer any of Melissa’s questions so I wouldn’t have to repeat the tale for Taryn. The less I talked about it, the better.

“Fun. What I remember of it. I started doing shots, which was a massive mistake. Slamming booze doesn’t agree with me.”

Melissa reached over and lifted a piece of cornbread out of the pan on the counter. “How many vodka sodas with lime can you drink?”

“It’s the cleanest drink I can have. You get your zero-calorie hydration along with your booze. Ask for extra limes to get some vitamins. Sip slowly.”

Taryn added collard greens to our peas. “You don’t sound like you were sipping slowly last night.”

“Those sugary drinks always do me in. This food will do me good. I need greens, too. Even if it’s all swimming in pork fat.”

“Pork fat is the signature part of the dish.” Taryn topped each bowl with a square of bread and slid them toward her guests. “Other than the drinks, what else? Were there any single guys there?”

“And now we get back to the key point of the evening.” Melissa rubbed her hands together, her ebony, shoulder-length bob swinging as she twisted excitedly in her seat. “You left the party with that guy, and I want details.”

“You left with a guy?” Taryn screeched.

I picked up my fork and launched into the story. “I was dancing with this guy and doing shots. He had nice moves and a sexy smile. He smelled like bergamot. Really clean.”

“Clean?”

“His smell. He was shorter than I am, but that might have been the heels. He had nice forearms.”

Melissa slapped her forehead. “Forearms?”

“This is what I remember. I liked his forearms, and he had strong fingers. Then, it was midnight. Everyone was counting down, and he slipped his hand behind my neck and laid one on me.”

I paused, remembering the kiss—not a simple New Year’s peck. His lips were soft and strong. The kiss was gentle, but intense. And it went on and on. I cleared my throat and continued. “After Auld Lang Syne, another song came on, something kind of slow. And we danced.”

“You were into him.” Taryn jabbed her fork at me.

“He was hot. I’m not gonna lie. We danced, and then, it was getting later. He asked if I wanted to get a room. I said yes.”

I shrugged. A tiny twist of a smile crept onto my face.

“What’s his name? Who is he?”

“Ryan? I don’t remember. And he said something about construction, I think. But he can’t be a construction worker. Possibly Ryan’s hands were well-kept.”

“That’s what you’re calling him, huh?” Taryn laughed.

Melissa shook her head. “This morning, you could have gotten his number. Did you even ask? Maybe he would have taken you to breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask for his number, and he offered breakfast—even mentioned room service.” I winced. “But I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“Why?” Taryn probed.

“I may have woken up and told him that I wished he would disappear in a puff of smoke.”

Melissa’s cackle nearly knocked her off her stool. Taryn stared, mouth agape.

“How could you say that out loud?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Was that before or after the breakfast invite?”

“Before.”

Melissa howled. “Then you still could have gotten his number. Was the s*x bad or something?”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Possibly Ryan had known what he was doing in the bedroom—how to touch me, how to kiss me. And he’d been so sure of himself, confident, but not cocky. If all s*x were like s*x with him, I might never leave the house.

Taryn tapped her index finger on the counter in front of my bowl. “You know, you could still find out who he was. Do you remember the room number? Call the hotel. Leave him a message.”

“No. These moments pass for a reason.”

“That’s what you said about Mr. London. These moments pass because you make no attempt to hold onto them.”

Over Thanksgiving, I ventured to England to visit a friend going through a difficult divorce. While trying to set Carrie up on a dating app, I’d found a match myself—a sexy, but intense, Brit named Adam Gadsby. We had a brief, memorable fling, and now he called me occasionally.

I indulged his flirtations, figuring they would go nowhere with the two of us on different continents. I put him off each time he pledged to visit. Adam kept wanting to jumpstart something serious, which nearly gave me a rash.

Hell, at least Possibly Ryan seemed pretty light-hearted about the whole thing.

“I’m not looking for that right now.”

Taryn groaned. “Then when? Will you ever?”

“I don’t know. If it happens, it happens.”

My cousin was not one to wait around for what she wanted. She locked in. That’s how she’d ended up with her husband, Jeff. They met. She liked him, so she started seeing him exclusively. Soon enough, she knew he was the one. Lock and load.

I assumed one day, I’d meet the guy who’d make me feel like settling down. At some point. In the future. Eventually.

Taryn continued to chastise me. “You have to know that’s what you want because there’s always going to be someone new.”

“If he’s the right guy, then the thought of someone new won’t thrill me.”

Melissa sighed. “But you have to open yourself up to the possibility. You have to give a guy a chance.”

“What was I supposed to do?” I dropped my fork and waited. Taryn stepped in with an answer.

“Give the guy your number. Get his number. Go to breakfast. Make arrangements to see him when you come back up to Dallas. The list goes on for ways to take the next step.”

I screwed my mouth sideways. Next step? Meh. The thought thrashed my stomach as much as lemon drop shots. I had the warm memories of Possibly Ryan and Mr. London, and that was enough.