Page 4

Chapter four

I will ruin your entire existence

Zoe

F uck.

I need vodka. Or tequila. Or a lobotomy.

Dodging through the throng of people on the dance floor, I head straight back to the bar and drop onto a barstool, waving at the bartender for emergency assistance. Because after what just happened twice in that photo booth, that’s exactly what this is.

A goddamn emergency.

Chase slides in beside me a moment later, too close and too smug for someone that just rearranged my entire nervous system with his mouth. His body heat presses against my side, and I swear to God, I can still feel his lips on mine.

He signals for a beer, then drums his fingers against the polished wood. “So...”

I level him with a look. “No.”

His mouth twitches. “Didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He looks at me, letting his eyes dance over my face while he waits me out. And that’s one of the many problems with Chase fucking Walton. He knows how to stretch silence, how to settle into it and wait for me to crack. But I’m not going to crack. I don’t ever crack.

The bartender sets my drink down, and I snatch it up, staring straight ahead as I take a large, aggressive gulp.

Maybe if I don’t acknowledge Chase and the way he’s just slipped his tux jacket onto the back of the barstool, steadily rolling up his shirt sleeves to expose his fucking forearms, he’ll simply cease to exist.

But instead he shifts closer, and I feel the tickle of his forearm hair, the heat of his skin brushing against mine, his voice low near my ear.

“What’s wrong, Zo? Regretting our little photo booth encounter? Didn’t enjoy it?”

I let out an exasperated laugh. “Oh my god. Please tell me you’re not fishing for compliments right now.”

“I’m just saying.” He lifts his beer to his lips, eyes coasting over my face. “Didn’t seem like you hated it.”

My fingers tighten around my glass, but I tilt my head, making a show of considering it. “Honestly? Top five worst kisses of my life.”

“Damn. What’d the other guys do?”

Before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “Used too much tongue. You used too little.”

The second it leaves my mouth, I realize my mistake.

Chase goes still and his eyes darken, his smirk fading into something feral.

“That so?”

I clear my throat, pretending to remain unaffected by his gravelly timbre. “Yep.”

His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I see the exact moment he files this information away. My eyes defy me for all of three seconds as they dart to his mouth too, and I imagine it on me again, on my body, on my—

Nope. We are not doing this.

I sip my drink, ignoring the way my face feels like it’s on fire. Everything is fine. Or it would be, if Chase wasn’t still looking at me like we’re unfinished and there’s more he wants to say, more he wants to prove.

So, when Logan fucking Miller appears out of nowhere, clearly summoned by the sheer force of my own panic, I don’t know whether to be relieved or more irritated.

He plops down next to me with a drink in hand, head pinging between me and Chase like he’s watching a live-action tennis match.

“Holy shit, can you two just bang already?”

I choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”

“Jesus Christ,” Chase mutters under his breath.

Logan throws a hand up with a grin. “I’m just saying, the sexual tension is unbearable. You guys should just get it over with.”

My brain short-circuits, and Chase sits up straighter, clearly ready to throw hands or reach for an invisible weapon.

“Not happening.”

“Hmm, you denied that way too fast.”

I throw a cocktail napkin at his face.

Logan bats it away with ease, ignoring me as he swirls his drink thoughtfully.

“I mean, it makes sense. You’re always at her PR meetings, and she’s always making sure you don’t say dumb shit in front of cameras.

She’s been yelling at you for years, and you’ve been following her around like a lost puppy—”

“I don’t follow her around,” Chase says with a glare.

“Bro, you just followed her across the dance floor from the photo booth like a stalker.”

I cut in before Chase throws a chair at him. “Miller, please, I beg . Go be a menace to literally anyone else.”

Logan grins wider. “The solution is so obvious . You guys should just fuck it out. Get it out of your system.”

For one long second, no one says anything.

And then I cackle, too loud and sharp, at the exact same time Chase shouts, “Fuck off Miller!”

Logan’s face turns devilish as he sips his drink and settles in. “You’re really selling this denial to me.”

I close my eyes, breathing through my nose. “Pookie, I love you. But if you don’t leave right now, I will ruin your entire existence.”

He’s still grinning defiantly, about to make another ridiculous comment, when his gaze shifts past me, and I watch in real-time as his focus sharpens with sniper precision.

I follow his line of sight to Lulu, laughing at something Viktor, one of the Storm defensemen, is saying.

Her hand playfully pats his arm, and Logan immediately stiffens.

“Fucking hell, where is Eli right now?” His voice squeaks as he gestures wildly toward Lulu and Vik. “He’s just standing there hitting on Eli’s sister like he has a death wish!”

Chase watches him storm off, shaking his head. “We should probably warn Eli before a murder’s committed at this wedding.”

I don’t respond with more than a snort. Because Logan’s words are still lingering in my head, and the longer I sit here, the more they fester.

Get it out of your system.

Like it’s easy. Like Chase Walton is something I could have once, then walk away from without a second thought.

I’ve seen him in action, I know who he is. The grinning, reckless playboy who parties too hard, fights too often, and laughs off every bad headline with a careless shrug.

And if I let myself want him, he could be careless with me, too.

Except… he never has been.

For all his chaos, for all the ways he plays too fast and too loose with everything else in his life, I’ve never once felt like a game to him.

He might drive me insane, might flirt and tease and push every single one of my buttons, but he’s always been steady with me.

And maybe that’s what terrifies me more than anything else.

Because what if this isn’t just another impulse for him? What if he sees us as more?

I can’t do it. And even if I could, it wouldn’t just be my heart on the line, it’d be my career.

I’m contracted to work for the Storm through Pulse Marketing Agency, so fraternizing with players is the fastest way to torpedo my credibility.

It’d be messy, it’d be stupid. And it’d be over before I could blink.

I sip my drink and risk a glance at Chase, who looks unfairly good under the dim glow of the bar lights.

Tie loosened, top button open, his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his tattooed forearms. He’s sitting too comfortably, watching me with a cocky smirk that makes me think he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

It’s just an attraction, that’s all. Beer goggles. I haven’t had sex in a while, and Chase is conveniently sitting right here, having recently kissed me senseless. It could be anyone, and I’d feel the same way, be considering the same thought.

Before I can overthink it, I knock back the rest of my drink and push away from the bar. “I’m going to bed.”

Chase raises a brow. “Tired of me already?”

“Believe it or not, my nights don’t revolve around your existence, Walton.”

He grins. “Maybe they should.”

Maybe it’s all the gin. Maybe it’s Logan and his dumb fucking words. Maybe it’s the stupid romantic lighting in this goddamn wedding venue. Or maybe it’s the way Chase is looking at me like he already knows I’m full of shit. Whatever it is, I throw caution to the wind.

“If they did , you wouldn’t be able to keep up anyway.”

I should start walking, but I catch a slight flicker in his expression. The almost imperceptible shift from banter to something heavier as he very fucking brazenly allows his eyes to wander up my body.

“Try me.”

His voice is smooth and warm like whiskey, making something uncoil deep in my stomach. I swallow, squaring my shoulders to try and look unaffected.

“Goodnight, Walton.”

I turn on my heel, storming out toward the hotel elevator and repeatedly tapping the button to get the damn doors to open faster.

Inside, I smash my floor number and inhale deeply, tilting my head toward the mirrored ceiling.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, hoping it might help to push away the feeling of him still tingling on my lips.

The doors start to slide closed, and I let out a slow, measured breath as the view of the foyer narrows. Almost there. Almost—

Thunk.

A hand slaps against the metal, and the door stutters open again.

My breath catches as Chase steps inside with a slow, casual ease. He moves as if he’s giving me a chance to stop him, to say something, anything to halt what happens next.

But all I can do is stare as his eyes trail over me again, taking me in and memorizing every curve. Behind him, the doors slide closed and he steps closer, following some instinct deeper than thought.

I shift on my heels, chin lifting stubbornly, forcing my expression into something impassive and unimpressed, ignoring the way my heart is trying to beat its way out of my throat.

His hands brace the elevator wall, trapping me in a way that doesn’t feel like a cage, but a challenge. A dare I already know I’m going to lose.

He leans in, voice barely a breath.

“Wanna try me?”

The smart response would be to walk away. To tell him no and stop this insanity before it starts.

But right now, after our kiss in that damn photo booth, and with just the right amount of gin in my system, I’ve never wanted to be less smart in my entire life.

I reach out to toy with the edge of his tie, dragging my gaze up to meet his, feeling an exhale of breath skitter across my cheek.

“Hope you’ve got stamina, Walton.”