34. personal shopper

Bailey

I perched at the table in the Callingwood Daily office with Noelle and Zara, trying to finish my part of a group project for Ethical Issues in Journalism and Communications. Knowing I’d see Chase later always made it difficult to focus, but today was especially challenging because he was picking me up later for the volleyball game—followed by sex toy shopping.

What had I gotten myself into?

I hadn’t even told Noelle or Zara, though I knew they’d cheer me on if I did.

“Bailey,” Professor Johnson said, lingering in the doorway. “Can we chat quickly in my office for a moment?”

I glanced up from my laptop. “Sure.” I shut it quickly and slid it into my bag, then followed her out of the room and down the hall to her office.

Professor Johnson was the epitome of laid-back, down to her untameable frizzy gray hair and colorful floor-length skirts. A hippie in her youth, she’d racked up countless journalism awards for her coverage of international affairs. As our faculty advisor for the paper, she tended to give us a long leash. But she did check in with us every now and then when we needed guidance or when something went truly off the rails.

She lowered herself into her desk chair, gesturing for me to have a seat. “I wanted to touch base with you about taking over for Liam. I know it was sudden.”

“I’m excited,” I said, sinking into the red cloth chair across from her. “I’ve always wanted to handle the sports coverage.”

Professor Johnson raised her salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Are you sure you can manage it on top of your other responsibilities? I know you have a heavy course load, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No, it won’t be a problem.”

I just might have to make a few sacrifices. Like sleep. Or possibly my sanity. You know, those minor negotiable things.

“Good.” She nodded, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to me. It was a list of Liam’s assignments until Christmas. “I wasn’t sure what he passed along to you in terms of his current and future assignments. As you can see, he started a feature about how the assistant captain for the Bulldogs is stepping up to guide the team while their captain is injured.”

I took a closer look at the list, and my stomach plummeted to the floor. Much to my dismay, there it was, second bullet from the top: Bulldogs feature with assistant captain.

The Bulldogs’ assistant captain was Paul.

Would it be unprofessional of me to dry heave?

“Liam did an interview with him already?” I asked. “Does he have a recording or transcript I can review?”

“No,” she said, folding her hands over top of the desk. “He hadn’t completed it yet.”

By “starting” the feature, she meant Liam had thought about it. Maybe.

Dread took root in my stomach and blossomed from there. A one-on-one interview with Paul wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, even if it would add to my writing portfolio.

“Since you’re familiar with the team,” Professor Johnson added, “I knew it would be no problem for you to conduct the interview so you can write the article.”

I nodded, but I wanted to scream. “Right. None at all.”

“I can email you the guidelines for a feature article as well, since this is your first time writing one.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that would be great.”

By the time I left her office, it was time to leave to meet Chase at the traffic roundabout. I made my way out of the center for communications and texted Amelia for Paul’s number while I walked across campus. After receiving an exceptionally frosty response—almost like she thought I wanted it to hit on him or something, and um, not a freaking chance—she eventually passed it along.

Then I connected with him via text and arranged a time to meet at a coffee shop on campus Monday. Better to get it over with rather than have it looming over my head.

* * *

A few hours later, Callingwood had pulled off an impressive win, Chase and I had eaten more than our share of junk food at the game, and we were back in town.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of Lush Boutique and killed the ignition. The neon pink sign glowed accusatorially at us. Going in there would be like announcing to the world that I was having sex. Not just sex, freaky sex. Or that I was masturbating, which I wasn’t keen on advertising, either.

“Ready?” He turned to face me, dark brown eyes glinting playfully.

Nerves seized hold of me, fight-or-flight response kicking in. The trepidation was like the first time I’d filled my birth control prescription amplified times a million.

“Nope.” I shook my head, crossing my legs. “I changed my mind. I can’t go in there.”

Could I?

Chase lifted a shoulder, his expression neutral. “Okay. I won’t make you. We can leave if you want.”

Ambivalence simmered within me. In theory, I wanted to leave. But reality was a different story and he knew it. He was eerily good at reading me. But since he literally said what he was thinking all the time, I guess that evened out.

I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be right with you.” He rubbed my thigh and left his warm hand there. “In and out. Easy.”

“But we have to pay before we can go home.” I looked at him, cringing. “Like, I have to stand there and face another person while purchasing…that.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You think a sex shop cashier is going to judge you for buying a little vibrator? Trust me, James. Those people have seen some shit.”

I glanced at the store through the windshield, back to him, then at the store again.

Part of me was curious. Most of me was intimidated.

It was just a store. A simple brick and glass structure, innocuous enough from the outside. But as for what it contained…

Chase squinted, leaning over the steering wheel. “Look,” he nodded at the window, “Carl’s working the register today. He’s super nice.”

“You know the cashiers by name?”

“It was a joke,” he said, laughing. “How much of a perv do you think I am?”

I reached over and poked his arm. “I plead the fifth.”

“If you join me, you have some input.” He winked. “But I can go in without you if you want. We could make it a surprise like I said before.”

“That sounds even scarier.” I drew in a breath and held it for a beat before exhaling. To go, or not to go? The million-dollar question.

Chase held my gaze. “James.” He lowered his voice, intentionally doing that thing that somehow massaged my brain—not to mention other parts of my body—and made it impossible to say no to.

“Yeah?”

“Come on.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, but I was a little thankful for the prodding.

What was the worst that could happen? Other than dying of embarrassment.

* * *