Page 19

Chapter fourteen

You just cursed me

Zoe

S crutinizing myself in the mirror, I nearly jump out of my skin when the loud knock comes. I already know who it is before I even get to the front door of my apartment, because apparently even his damn knuckles are self-assured.

I stare at the door. Exhale. Stare some more.

Then, finally, with the deep, suffering sigh of a woman making a grave personal sacrifice, I open it.

And there he is, holding a bright, obnoxiously cheerful bouquet of carnations.

I squint at them, then at him.

“What the hell are these?”

“Flora,” he deadpans. “Typically grown in soil.”

I scowl. “Are you seriously bringing me flowers for our fake date?”

Chase tilts his head, considering me. “Depends. You like ‘em?”

I narrow my eyes. He’s enjoying this.

“Maybe,” I say, drawing it out. “But that’s not the point.”

He gently holds them out to me. “Then let’s pretend it is.”

I huff but take them, because manners or whatever. “Alright, Romeo. You do know these have meanings, right?”

I walk toward the kitchen to grab a vase from the cabinet, fingertips tracing the delicate petals without thinking.

With his hands in his pockets, Chase follows me almost on instinct. “You like carnations, so I got carnations.”

For a second, I just look at them. Not because they’re flowers, but because they’re carnations .

The first flower I ever got to pick on my own.

My gran’s favorite. The ones she used to tuck into my braids as a kid, telling me that every color meant something different.

That flowers were more than just pretty things and could be little messages if you knew how to read them.

For love, for friendship, sorrow, or luck.

A way to acknowledge how much someone means to you, to show you care, that you appreciate them.

A flicker of something unexpected presses against my ribs, and I realize it’s not that he got me flowers. It’s that he remembered . Chase, of all people, remembered that they’re special to me.

It’s stupid that it sticks. That it tugs, just a little.

I roll my shoulders, shaking off the feeling that this means something. Instead, I pluck a stem from the bouquet and twirl one between my fingers, inspecting the golden yellow, white-and-pink-striped mix. Fun and cheerful, not pure love.

A slow, devious grin spreads across my lips. Time to mess with him.

“Oh,” I say, keeping my voice suitably tragic. “You just cursed me.”

His brows pull together. “What?”

I nod solemnly. “Yeah. This color combo? Eternal bad luck in love. I’ll die alone now. Appreciate it.”

There are three full seconds before he squints. “You’re screwing with me.”

I barely suppress my smirk. “Am I?”

“You definitely are.”

“Fine. They actually mean cheerfulness and good luck.”

Chase drags a hand down his face. “You could’ve just said that instead of your mumbo jumbo.”

“It’s not mumbo jumbo, it’s whimsical and fun.” I breeze past him, setting the flowers into the vase. When I turn back, his eyes are not on the flowers. They’re on me.

Heat flickers behind his eyes like he’s remembering something—there, then gone, hidden beneath the usual smirk.

I smooth a hand down my dress, fighting the way my pulse kicks up. “What? Is the dress too much?”

Chase blinks once, slowly, like he’s filing something away. Then he leans back against the doorframe, exuding obnoxious levels of confidence.

“You always look good, Carlson.” His voice drops just enough to make it worse. “But you could’ve at least warned me you were gonna make it this hard to behave.”

My stomach does something deeply inconvenient, and on instinct, I fold my arms. “If you need a second to collect yourself, just say that.”

He snorts. “Trust me, sweetheart. I could collect myself all night.”

“That better not be a masturbation joke.”

His grin widens. “‘Course not.”

Liar.

I roll my eyes, pushing past him to get my coat. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Chase’s smirk lingers, but there’s too much truth in it now.

“Try not to fall in love with me, Zo.”

I scoff, stepping out first. “Not in this lifetime, Walton.”

***

The flash of cameras blinds me, a thousand tiny needles stabbing through the night. It’s disorienting, like stepping into a war zone where the only weapons are flashing bulbs and the gnawing hunger of the press.

I barely have time to register it before Chase’s fingers slide between mine with an easy and practiced grip. He waves with all of his stupidly perfect white teeth and charm, as if we’re on a damn movie premiere carpet.

“Smile, Zo,” he hisses through his teeth, tugging me closer. “We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

I grit my jaw, lips curling into the fakest smile known to man. “If we’re supposed to be in love, then why do I feel like I’m slowly being poisoned ?”

He tilts his head toward me and laughs like I’ve just whispered something delightful and sexy in his ear, and the cameras eat it up.

“You’ve got such a way with words. It’s why I love you so much.”

I resist the very real urge to elbow him in the ribs as his warm hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the restaurant entrance.

“Keep it up, Walton,” I mutter. “I’m sure Pulse will love the headline: Chase Walton’s Fake Girlfriend Murders Him with a Butter Knife Before the Appetizers Arrive. ”

I mean it, every word, of course I do. But this man just laughs again. The fucking audacity.

Then, with one last obnoxious pageant wave, he steers me through the restaurant doors. The weight of flashing lights gives way to the warm hum of hushed conversations, candlelight flickering over polished wood, and pressed linen. The cameras stay outside, the stares inside don’t.

Chase, ever the poster boy, is still smiling like this is the best night of his life. I, on the other hand, am two seconds away from launching him into the nearest bread basket.

We’re led to a table near the back, secluded in a way that finally lets me exhale. After pulling my chair out for me, he settles in across from me in that casual, lazy way that only an infuriatingly confident man can be.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief, the kind that lets me know he’s enjoying getting under my skin.

I shoot him a glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“What’s not to enjoy? Great food, great company,” he says, winking. “And the media already thinks Chaz is the next power couple.”

“Power couple?” I snort, flipping through the menu. “Please, if you think Chaz sounds like anything more than a name for a labradoodle, you’re delusional.”

He smirks as he leans back in his chair. “Come on, Zo. You’ve gotta admit, we make a good team. You, with your charm and wit—”

“And you with your complete lack of self-awareness.”

His grin widens. “Exactly.”

I roll my eyes, scanning the menu as the waiter approaches to take our order. Once the waiter leaves, I can’t help but glance at him again. He’s watching me, but not like before. Not like the smug bastard who walked through my door earlier, carnations in hand.

This is different.

There’s something behind his eyes, now. He's waiting, reading something I haven’t even written yet.

“So,” I say, refusing to let him get under my skin. “How long do you think you can keep up this perfect boyfriend act before you mess it all up? A week? A month?”

Chase raises an eyebrow, but the smile never leaves his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it.”

We fall into silence, the first real break of the night. He plays his part perfectly—smiling, easygoing, saying all the right things. But I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s still waiting for something.

I ignore it until, halfway through the meal, he sighs and sets down his fork.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with you tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures vaguely at me. “I mean, you’re laying it on a little thick. I get that this isn’t exactly your dream situation, but can we at least try to enjoy the night? Just have dinner with your friend?”

The sudden sincerity in his voice throws me. Chase is never serious, never genuine when we’re like this. It’s always banter and teasing, but right now he looks frustrated.

I drop my gaze to my plate, guilt brewing inside of me.

He leans forward, voice lowering. “Even if this whole thing is fake, I’d still like to have a real conversation with you. Maybe even make you laugh, if I’m lucky.”

I glance up, catching his eye. For a moment, the familiar playfulness is gone, replaced by something that feels real. Something tangles in my chest at the sight, and I don’t know what to say, so I go for thinly-veiled humor.

“You think you’re that funny?”

His smirk returns, but it’s softer now. “Want me to tell you about the time Jake got his jersey stuck in the shower curtain at the arena? Took five of us to untangle him.”

I snort before I can stop myself. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, grinning now. “He was like a trapped animal. We thought he was gonna gnaw his way out.”

Laughter bubbles up before I can stop it, and Chase watches me, his smile widening.

“There it is,” he murmurs. “My favorite sound.”

I stop laughing, caught off guard again by the way he’s looking at me. My heart stutters in my chest, and for a moment, I forget where we are. I forget about the cameras, the media, the whole fake relationship thing. It’s just me and Chase.

But before I can think too much about it, the waiter comes back with the check, and the moment passes. Chase signs the bill, standing up as I do. We head for the door, and I can already see the flashes from outside waiting for us.

“Ready to face the vultures?” Chase asks, offering me his arm with a grin.

I sigh, sliding my arm through his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The second we step outside, the cameras go wild again, and the shouts from the paparazzi are deafening. Chase keeps his cool, waving and smiling like a pro, while I try to keep up, doing my best to look like a woman in love.

“Chase! Zoe! Over here!”