Chase has been like a kid in a candy store, buying us drinks at every bar, bouncing around from show to show, until we have to stop for our dinner reservations. He’s treated me like a princess from the moment I sat in his car, and something tells me this isn’t an act. This is the real Chase Cooper.
I’ve got a pang of regret growing in my stomach over not kissing him when I had him against the wall. I would have had to pull him down to my level, but it would have been worth it.
Sometimes I’m a little shy about food because I’m not a skinny girl and I can pack a steak away like nobody’s business. Some people find that off-putting, and I find those people to be boring and prudish. But Chase has me laughing and talking so much that I never cared about keeping up some bullshit appearances that a magazine told me about as a teenager. Half way through the meal, he even offered me a bite of his food and we ended up swapping plates. He ordered us dessert and more drinks, and I thought we’d never leave the table.
For a movie star, Chase is so down to earth and just…sweet. I expected him to have a high and mighty attitude given his place in this town. Instead, he only made me feel comfortable, as if I belonged right there beside him, rubbing elbows with elites.
“Here you go,” Chase hands me a martini glass as he sits beside me on a fancy bench. Since dinner, we’ve watched two more incredible magic shows, but we both need a break and I want to experience as much of this place as I can. “Before you ask, no, I have no fucking idea where he pulled that bowling ball from.”
“Oh my god, that was so crazy!” Everything about this place is breathtaking, the staircases, decor, and the number of famous people milling about should have all of my attention. But they can’t hold a magic candle to him. I’m not alone, either, because he keeps staring at me, too. Every time our eyes meet, we both smile and giggle until we can’t take anymore and we break eye contact, blushing. My eyes drop to my drink as I swirl it around a little and watch the glitter create a galaxy in my glass.
“What is it?”
“Uhm, passion fruit martini. I told the guy you said something fruity, he said they’re all the rage. I had him add the glittery stuff, because it’s mind blowing, like you.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, and I can feel his hands shake. He downs a huge gulp of his drink to fortify his nerves, and as he goes to set the glass down, I take it from him and steal a sip. The burn feels amazing, and his throat bobs as he watches me lick my lips. “I—I can get you one of those if you want one.”
“Nope, just wanted to see what expensive whiskey tastes like.” He’s watching me, staring at my lips as I sip my fruity glitter. “Do you want to try mine?”
He nods, but when I hand him the glass, he sets it behind him. His large hand slides up my cheek, caressing it gently as he moves his lips to mine. He tastes like fear and danger wrapped up in one delicious package. I’m left wanting more when he pulls away.
“W-why’d you do that?”
“I just wanted to know whatyoutaste like.”
The room feels twenty degrees hotter, and I don’t remember my dress being so tight around my chest earlier.
His hands take mine even though our eyes remain locked on each other. “Will you dance with me?”
“Dance?” I glance around and I don’t see anyone else dancing. He nods. “Fuck it, why not? Let’s dance.”
Leaving our drinks behind, he takes me to a small side room with a roped off piano and a handful of people—none of which are dancing. He walks over to the empty chair at the piano, whispers something, and turns back to me, taking my hands.
“Irma is one hell of a piano player. Watch.”
I glance over as the music starts and see the keys being pressed by no one. I’m a science nerd, so I’m sure there’s a simple, logic-based explanation behind the trick. But for tonight, I don’t want to figure it out. I want to keep this magic alive as we sway, not caring about anything beyond the two of us and the ghost of Irma playing piano.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asks, reaching up and wiping away a tear I didn’t mean to shed.
“Uhm, I…I don’t know.” I try to laugh it off, but he isn’t buying it, so I try to change the subject. “I recognize this song from somewhere.”
“Yeah, it’s uhm, The Night We Met. I figured it would be, you know, appropriate or whatever. Too lame?”
“No. No, it’s…perfect.”
People might watch, they might break the rules and take pictures of us, but I don’t notice them because this man stares at me like I’m the only person in the room. Hell, in the whole damn world. No one has ever looked at me like that. It’s making me a tiny bit uncomfortable. But that feeling can’t compete with the soft glow of a crush I might have on him and the relentless beating of wings in my stomach.
“Chase, I… uhm…I’m a dominatrix. Sort of.” I spit it out so fast that I slap my hand over my mouth, wishing I could shove every word back into my stupid face. Now he’ll run, and I’ll be stuck crying in a cab on the way home.Shit.
His eyebrow shoots up, and he grins. “Okay.”
“No, I mean, like, I’m really a domme. Like, I go to clubs and tie people up and spank them and shit. Not like hardcore or anything, sometimes a lite bondage, and some kink exploration, but?—”
“Okay.”
“No, it’s not okay!”
“It’s not? Then why do it?” He’s not being cruel or joking around. He’s dead serious right now. How can he not see that this could end up an enormous problem?
“No,” I take a step away from him and instantly I regret it. “I mean, it’s not okay that I do that. I mean, it is for me, but not for you. You can’t be seen with someone who does that, Chase. The press would eat you alive. Shit, I ruined the moment with this, didn’t I?”
