I pulled out my Mastercard and handed it to the server. “Well, you did grace me with your sunny personality over a meal, so I guess we’re even.”

“Har-har.” She rolled her eyes.

“Though you do seem marginally more pleasant now that you’ve eaten. Emphasis, marginally.”

“I guess I was kind of hangry. I spent all my money on—” She stopped and cringed. “Never mind.”

She almost let her guard down. Interesting.

“Do tell.” I pressed forward, lowering my voice. “Hookers and blow? Me too.”

Bailey laughed. “Nothing nearly that interesting, sadly.”

“Well, the night is young.”

* * *

The drive back to Bailey’s place was filled with conversation. She was easy to talk to, as long as we avoided any mention of hockey, the Bulldogs, or the Falcons. Signaling, I took a left, pulling into the parking area for her brownstone complex. I eased into the visitor spot and put my truck into park, leaving the ignition running. At least she was sober enough to get upstairs without falling down them this time.

“Here.” I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Bailey pulled away and hugged her phone against her body, eyeing me suspiciously.

“So I can look at porn, James. What do you think? So I can put my number in it.”

“Who said I wanted your number?”

“Who else are you going to text next time shit gets weird?”

She unbuckled her seat belt, still clutching the phone. “Why would you want me to text you?”

“Maybe I need a friend too.”

“You need a friend?”

“Why not?” I shrugged. “Like I said, half the team would throw me into a skate sharpener if they had the chance. Maybe three-quarters. Coach Miller might even get in on that action.”

Bailey chewed her bottom lip as she scanned my face. I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

“Fine.” She unlocked her phone before passing it to me. “But I’m not giving you mine.”

I quickly entered myself as a contact and handed it back to her. “Text me sometime.”

“As a friend.”

“Right,” I said. “As a friend.”

11. don’t make me choose

CHAPTER 11

DON’T MAKE ME CHOOSE

Bailey

Chase’s truck engine roared as he pulled out of the visitor parking lot and turned back onto the street. In a daze, I made my way down the sidewalk and up the three concrete stairs to my front door. My head was spinning, my hands were shaking, and I was questioning everything I thought I knew.

I had dinner with Chase Carter. And I kind of liked it.

Clearly, there was a snag in the space-time continuum, and I had been transported to an alternate universe. Or the apocalypse was nigh. One of the two, anyway.