And he tried not to wish that it wasn’t a safety thing after watching those tits produce that tiny phone.
A safety date was a good thing, he told himself.
They exchanged numbers and then she beamed at him, trotting off down the hall. “I really need to send this back to its owner,” she said, holding up the lashes. “See you in a few, Safety Date.”
“Call me SD,” he called back after her, grinning, and her laughter floated down the hall. He found himself smiling despite the absurd situation, and headed back for the dinner party. Sure enough, it was turning into couples-fest. He sat down and pulled out his phone.
Sebastian: You called this one. I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones here without a hookup agenda.
Her reply came a moment later.
Safety Date Chelsea: Told you!!
Sebastian: Just so we’re clear, this isn’t a roundabout relationship thing? It’s just a friendship thing?
Safety Date Chelsea: God no, no relationships. I’ve had enough of men.
He thought of the bruise he’d got a flash of on her inner thigh and wondered. But then the dinner party started, he put away his phone, and Chelsea appeared from the restroom with her friend, all smiles and bouncy hair and charming personality.
And he forgot all about the bruises for a while and just enjoyed himself.
That night, when he went home, he pulled out his sketch pad and pencils. He immediately began to draw a rounded face, big, shining eyes, and wavy blonde hair. She was so happy and carefree, how could he not draw her? She reminded him of the pinup girls of old.
Friend or not, he suspected that Chelsea Hall was going to be art inspiration for a long time to come.
Chapter Five
“A safety date is genius, baby girl,” Pisa said as they skated through Central Park the next day. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too,” Chelsea admitted. “I didn’t freak out once at the entire dinner party. Maybe it was because there were so many people around who I knew from my college days that it didn’t bother me. I even spent a few minutes alone with Sebastian and didn’t lose my cool. It’s like my brain has categorized him as safe.”
“That’s great! You’ve totally got this, Chesty,” Pisa gushed. She sped up, then hopped over a particularly bad crack in the pavement. Chelsea did the same, then skated up to her friend’s side again. Pisa grabbed her by the elbow pad and steered her around an old couple, and then they raced past a few particularly slow people.
Derby practice was twice a week for the league, which consisted of drills and scrimmages and training the fresh meat. On Friday nights, she had Rag Queens team practice. But like most women who lived and breathed derby, there were never enough hours on skates, and she and Pisa had taken to skating through Central Park on a daily basis to get exercise. It was Pisa’s lunch hour, which meant the park was full of people walking their dogs and suits taking their lunchtime strolls in addition to the usual park crew.
Pisa started skating backward and eyed Chelsea. “So, can we talk?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
“I got the promotion. Double pay plus incentives.” Pisa wiggled her eyebrows and lifted her forearm for a congratulatory bump.
Chelsea squealed and grabbed Pisa around the waist, knocking them both into the grass. They went tumbling, a tangle of skates, yoga pants, and laughing hugs. Chelsea wiggled against her friend, stoked. “Oh, my god! Congrats! That’s so awesome.”
Pisa giggled and thumped Chelsea on the back. “I know! I’ve been waiting for this opportunity forever!”
“They’d be dummies to pass up a financial analyst as badass as you,” Chelsea said proudly. “So this means . . .”