❝I think you're my favorite person.❞
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Since childhood, Lila's had her mind set on what she wants. And now in her senior year, that's getting into West Michigan State University. But her overbearing...
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I PACE THE porch for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes.
Every time I work up the courage to finally knock on Chase's door, I immediately retract myself from it, doubt creeping into my head.
He hates me.
And I really, really care that he does. Months ago, I wouldn't have given a flying fuck what Chase Rhodes—or anyone—thought about me. How they perceived me.
They were just obstacles to a goal I was trying to reach, anyway. I didn't need to stop and cradle the obstacles in my hands.
But the more time I spend with Chase, the more time I spend with someone that genuinely cares—about everything, the more I care too.
Which is why I'm here. At his house. Completely unannounced.
I biked all the way here, and my legs hurt painfully due to how much I never exercise.
But after I had seen the way Chase's face dropped at him he dinner table last night, nothing will compare to how much hurt I felt just by watching him.
He's my friend, my only friend. And I hurt him.
I had planned to tell him what it was all about—that I didn't want to stress him out. That I didn't want to drag him into my house where my mother would prod him with questions. He was tired. More than usual. And I wanted to respect that.
If only it didn't go and blow up in my face afterward.
Before I could get a word out, Chase shoveled his slice of cake into his mouth and politely bid my parents goodbye, not sparing any time for me to try and make the situation better.
It's what I deserve, I know that.
But that doesn't mean I can't rectify it now.
My hands curl in my jean pockets and I shake my head stubbornly before approaching the light wooden door and knocking. Twice.
It opens on the third.
Chase stands with his hand running through his light brown hair, the sun shining down across his eyes.
He doesn't realize it's me until he steps forward a little and squints his eyes. And that's when I realize Chase Rhodes is shirtless.
His golden skin from the football field is what I catch sight of first, and I nearly yelp. He has a motherfucking six-pack.
How is that fair?
"Lila?" He says, his voice is tougher than usual, as if he just woke up, and my eyes draw away from his six-pack and to his face.
