Chasing Love (Dark Love 1)

“Um, yes, how did you know?”

“Eric already had me fitted for a suit. I was just waiting to see how long I’d have to wait before you asked.” He chuckles.

I grab my napkin, swatting him across the arm. “I can’t believe you! So, all this time I was nervous for nothing?” I laugh at my own stupidity.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you looked so cute all nervous and jittery. I thought it was because of the ring.” He takes my hand, slowly kissing my knuckles. “Don’t worry, I got my punishment. Do you know Eric made me try on twenty suits yesterday? I’m not exaggerating. And he made me walk up and down the store, posing in what can only be described as Zoolander’s Blue Steel pose.”

I burst out laughing again. That’s so Eric. I have seen him do this to Rocky a thousand times. He channels his inner Tim Gunn. It’s hands-down, the funniest thing ever.

“Oh, Julian, I know… oh… this is hilarious. I’m so sorry,” I stumble out, unable to contain my laughter.

“Then he kept saying, ‘Make it work, people!’ By that point, I was like, ‘What people? It’s only me.’”

I’m on the verge of peeing my pants, and the funniest part is I remember how serious Eric is when he says it, standing there with his arms folded.

My head falls backs, the ripple of laughter contagious between us. Julian is good at not taking himself too seriously, it’s another thing I love about him.

“You’re so beautiful when you laugh, Charlie. Make it five.”

“Five what?”

“Kids.”

This time, I relax. It doesn’t terrify me. This man is perfect and I want his babies, all five of them. Who cares what other people think about us moving too fast? When it is right, it’s right. Nothing will stand in our way, and I’m going to make damn sure it stays that way.

“Okay. Five,” I agree, raising my glass to take a sip of wine. “But you realize our sex life will be spurts of random quickies in silence? At least that’s what Nikki keeps telling me.”

His smile widens. He pulls me in and kisses me as much as you can kiss a person in a crowded restaurant without being asked to leave.

“I love you, Charlie Mason, mother of my future five children.”

A cold chill runs down my back—an odd feeling like when you know you’re being watched, or when you are watching ghost hunters and you’re trying not to shit your pants because you can feel a presence in the room. Calming myself down, I scan my surroundings. On my right is a couple arguing. I can tell it’s about another woman, the words ‘wandering cock’ are said loud enough the people behind me turn and look. I divert my eyes straight past Julian where some Japanese tourists are holding up sushi in chopsticks against the light, examining the rolls. It’s funny until an older lady looks at me, shaking her head in disappointment. Bored with them, I then gaze to my left.

With an incredulous stare, my posture suddenly stiffens, every muscle in my body turning rigid. My head begins to spin, cold sweats breaking out beneath my loose blouse. I blink my eyes, begging this hallucination to run its course.

But it doesn’t, and staring directly at me are those eyes, those emerald eyes.

This can’t be happening, not here, not now.

Suddenly, I begin to panic, my chest tightening as my breaths become quicker, suffocating my ability to come up for air. My stomach twists in knots, the urge to vomit lingering with everything else. This is a figment of my imagination. It has to be.

“Would you excuse me? I need to use the restroom.”

I get up from my chair so fast it almost topples over and walk straight to the restroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone by keeping my head bowed. I hear him call my name, and trying to ignore him, the adrenalin runs through me with every step I take.

Hands grasp around my arm, and that surge shocks me causing me to whimper slightly. Only his touch has ever made me feel this way, and against my better judgment I turn around to face my demon.

“I looked for you after you left,” he says, his voice haunting me as he speaks.

Is this him? His accent is virtually British, there’s only a slight hint of American. This doesn’t sound like him. Why would he have a British accent? I’m at a loss as to what to say. He looked for me? It’s not impossible to find me.

The fury is bubbling up inside of me like a raging storm ready to strike lightning into the sky. My cheeks burn, no doubt flushed as I struggle to hold back my emotions. I had imagined what this moment would be like a thousand times over, each time the spee

ch became longer and longer. I want him to feel pain, to scar him like he did to me. I want to break him, but my tongue is tied. The words won’t form, and I blurt out the first thing which comes to mind. “Obviously, not hard enough!”

Alex narrows his eyes, confused, and almost speechless. I never thought in a million years our paths would cross again. Yet, here I am, angry and hurt, but most of all, trying to ignore how beautiful he still is.

He’s towering over me in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark blue tie. His hair is just as I remember it, a bronze-tinted color though cut slightly shorter and slicked to the side. My gaze wanders to his perfectly sculpted face with a strong jawline, cleanly shaven, showing off his tanned skin. The emerald in his eyes sparkles as he continues to stare at me like he’s searching for something.