“I’m fine, Amelia. Calm down.”
My eyes widen. “I’m so sorry.”
“Baby, it’s fine. It happens.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he says, tipping his head back as he slides his hands up the backs of my thighs to my ass. “It was an accident.”
I swallow hard as his eyes burn into mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you having fun?”
My eyes widen more, and I swear my heart is going to come out of my chest. “I was until this.”
He shakes his head. “This is nothing,” he says, removing the towel so I can see his nose has already stopped bleeding. I was hoping it would be just a bloody nose, but unfortunately, he has a cut too.
“Oh no, I cut you.”
He waves me off. “Makes me look like a badass.”
I can hardly breathe. All I can think about is the time I was throwing shoes behind me, trying to find the pair I was looking for. I accidentally hit Drew in the groin. I don’t like to remember what happened next, but it’s hard not to when I see blood dripping from Chandler’s face.
“Want to know how to make it up to me?” he asks playfully, but I can’t look at him. “Come to a game. I, hopefully, won’t get hurt.”
There is a lump in my throat, and all I can do is nod. I know my fear is irrational, but I can’t shake it. His hand comes under my chin, pulling it up, and his eyes fill with worry as he meets my gaze. I know my eyes are swimming in welling tears, but I won’t let them fall. Not for Drew. He doesn’t deserve them.
Chandler wraps his arms around the back of my neck, pulling me in close. “Really, baby, it’s okay.”
I bite my lip. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he says then wraps his arms around me. I cling to him like he’s a life preserver, needing his hug more than ever. I dig my nose into his chest as he kisses the top of my head. “It’s all right. Don’t get yourself worked up over it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut so hard they hurt, and as he holds me, I chant. It’s something I shouldn’t be chanting, but I find myself doing so anyway.
He’s not Drew. He’s not Drew. He’s not Drew.
Chapter Seventeen
Chandler
“It sucks you’re gonna be gone for, like, ever.”
“It’s only ten days.”
“Forever.”
I squeeze Amelia’s hand before bringing it to my lips and kissing her wrist. Against it, I say, “Yeah, but the invitation to have Thanksgiving with my family is still open.”
She leans her head on the headrest and shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” I say, kissing her wrist once more before I turn onto a back road. We went to dinner on the north side of town at a little spot I like called Jenny Lee’s. It’s a great sushi place, and we both enjoyed it. Between the food and the beautiful company, it’s shaping up to be a great night.
It’s crazy how our worlds have entangled. When I’m home, we’re together. When she’s at the coffee shop, I go visit. I’ve drunk more coffee in the last three weeks than I have in my whole life. She wonders why I keep her up all night making love to her. I’m not only high on caffeine but on her. I need her. She’s everything I ever could have dreamed of, and man, we’re having a blast. I really want her to come to Florida for Thanksgiving. My mom wants to meet her, but I also just want to be with Amelia. The thought of her being home alone seriously kills me. But my mom would murder me if I didn’t stay in Florida with them for Thanksgiving. I sort of hope Amelia goes home so I know she won’t be alone.
“Have you talked to your mom lately?”
“Yeah, we spoke yesterday. She really wants me to come home, but she understands if I don’t want to yet. She’s being very patient with me.”
Well, crap. “That’s good.”
“Yeah, and surprising.”
“Hey, she’s trying.”
“Yeah,” she says sweetly, and I feel her staring at me.
“When’s Shelli coming back?”
“First week of December. Even though she’s still not speaking to me.”
I squish my brows together. “Still?”
“Yeah, that girl can hold a grudge like no other. She’s still pissed I left her at the party with only a text.”
I roll my eyes. “From what I heard, she was just fine.”
I feel her looking at me. “What does that mean?”
Shit. She doesn’t know? “Um. Don’t know.”
“Chandler!”
I bite my lip. “I think you need to ask her.”
“What?”
“What she did.”
“What!” She reaches for her phone from my center console and then violently texts someone I assume is Shelli. “She said nothing happened.”
“Then maybe Merry is lying.”
She gasps loudly before typing once more. “Oh my God! She said, ‘Oh yeah, I may have slept with him.’ Seriously?”