“Want me in your kitchen?” She asks, taking a handful of blueberries. “I mean, I’m a shit cook, but I can chop a mean onion.”
“No, that’s not it.” The conversation gets away from me again. I have to get this right, but I blurt out, “I have a therapist!”
“I assumed,” she shrugs, unbothered, as she reaches around me and grabs a spatula. I cock my head to the side, and she cackles. “Chase, you’re a Hollywood actor with a support dog and deep-seated anxiety issues.”
“Deep-seated anxiety? Is it that obvious?” She’s not wrong. I pick her up, putting her on top of the counter and spreading her legs wide. “I’ll fucking show you deep-seated.”
“I’ve seen you cry, tough guy.”
“Once! It wasn’t… it’s not like I—” Her smile turns me to jelly, and I press my forehead to hers. “Yeah, okay. So, I told him about you and about ourfriendship.”
“Situationship,” she sighs.
“Yeah, well, he told me I need to be more upfront with you. To be more open and tell you about my past.” I kiss her forehead gently before turning and hopping onto the counter across from her. “Yes, I have anxiety and a plethora of other diagnoses. Some I’ve always had, some are kind of new and I’m still learning to deal with them. I’ve had some shit relationships, not as bad as yours?—
“Luckily, it’s not a game of who had the worst relationship.”
“Fair. You should know about a few of them before you make your decision about our situationship. Well, one of them—Cassidy Landon.”
Ren leans forward, listening in a way I’m not used to from the women in my life. This conversation should have a lump in my throat and my head spinning, but there’s something in the way she’s looking at me that makes it…easier.
“She came from a tiny town in the Midwest to study art. We met at a gallery and ended up talking at a diner until sunrise. The media dug into her past the moment we went public, but she didn’t have skeletons to expose, so they made things up. They attacked her body, her clothes, her career daily in the magazines. To my face, she ignored them, pretending it didn’t bother her. Spoiler alert, it bothered her.
“After she moved in here, some sick fuck hid up a tree that used to be outside and took a dozen nude photos of her while she showered upstairs. The press ate it up, posted them everywhere. Even her parents saw them. The humiliation ended up being more than she could handle. She stopped going out, stopped talking to friends, stopped eating. We got her a therapist that made house calls, and she made improvements, but it ended up being too much for her.”
“That’s awful.” Ren hops off the counter and puts her hand over mine. “Hollywood has never been easy on people. Remember, I grew up here.”
“I did a bunch of stupid shit in the name of keeping Cassie safe. In the end, none of that mattered. You said you lost part of yourself in your relationship? Well, I kind of did, too. When I lost Cassie, something broke inside me. It made problems I could handle before worse. That’s why I have a therapist. And Pongo, too. But I don’t want to fuck things up like that between you and me. I want to apologize for Dani tricking you to come here. I’m sorry she did that, but I’m also glad she did.”
“I’m glad you found help, Chase. And I’m glad you trust me enough to open up like this. Also, Dani is my sister, so you don’t have to apologize for her. I’m glad she did that, too.”
“You are?”
“You’re cute when you’re confused,” she says with a smile. “Now, how can I help?”
CHAPTER17
TEAR YOU APART
SHE WANTS REVENGE
He pullsa knife from the magnetic holder and grabs an onion from the counter, holding them both out to me. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“Okay, I may have lied about that part.” I grimace. “Kitchens, uhm, scare me.” It’s a weakness I hate admitting and can sometimes hide. But Chase’s kitchen looks like it’s straight out of some five-star restaurant and I don’t know what any of this stuff does. I can’t even find a microwave in here.
“Okay, well, we need to fix that. Come here, I’ll help you.”
He starts off by showing me how to hold the knife, demonstrating the rocking motion I’ll need to make. It looks easy enough, but as soon as I take the knife, I become all thumbs and can’t recreate what he just showed me. I make a mess. He must think I’m an idiot and I don’t like that feeling. My shoulders tense and my jaw ticks as I fight with this stupid vegetable. I’m about to scream when Chase presses against me, taking my hand in his and moving me through the motions with an ease and calm I don’t recognize.
The distracting stiffness poking into my back makes it hard enough to figure this out, but when he leans down, dipping his mouth to my neck, it becomes dangerous. Between his hands wandering all over me and the throbbing between my legs, it’s a wonder I haven’t cut myself.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” I ask, trying to refocus him.
“Nope. Concentrate, or you’ll cut your finger off.”
He sucks on my pulse point and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped cutting, too focused on his lips and his hands. My chest heaves and my heart races.
All this over an onion.
