Chapter Twenty-Four

Fuck. That had not gone any way that Chris wanted it to.

When he'd spotted Daphne in the bar, his first instinct had been that he wanted to talk to her. She had a way about her that was easy to talk to—she had kind eyes, an open and honest face. But then when he'd actually sat next to her, he found himself all tongue-tied, barely able to come up with the blandest thing to say, something about what time it was.

He'd thought she was interested in Randy at first, and that's why she was asking him about dating policies. The very idea had sent a jolt through him so strong it had taken him aback. Something like jealousy. Something like mine.

Which was unexpected on so many levels. For one, Chris couldn't remember feeling that way even about women he'd been actively dating. He'd always been laid-back in relationships—he knew his schedule didn't leave a lot of time for someone else in his life, and he'd always been careful not to promise anything he couldn't deliver.

And then there was the matter of Duckie. She lived in his phone, in a text message exchange that was already time-stamped over three weeks ago. For all he knew, she wanted nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, Daphne was right there, standing in front of him, and he'd turned her down. He'd hurt her.

"Another?" the bartender asked, gesturing to Chris' glass, which was now more melted ice than ginger ale.

Chris stood, grabbing a few bills out of his wallet and laying them down without even looking at them. From the bartender's expression, he could tell it was way too much, but he didn't care. He'd once rounded the bases for an in-the-park home run in less than fifteen seconds. He had to hope it was enough to catch Daphne before it was too late.