In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1)

by Callie Harper

  He nodded. “I’m the annoying one. I keep in touch with the three of them. They’re like brothers to me. Even if they don’t want to be.” He gave me a disarming smile. I could see why Chase called him a real lady-killer. Those muscles, that Irish twinkle in his eyes and dimple, coupled with the whole heroic firefighter thing? Yeah, that worked. But I clearly had it bad for Chase, since my first thought was, “He’d be great for Tori!”

  “Do you guys see each other often?” I asked.

  “I pretty much force them to show up for the Fourth of July party I throw every year. Jax usually does something to draw the cops, but they’re all my buddies anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Ian comes, too?”

  Even Liam’s good humor dampened at the question. “Not last year he didn’t. That was the first time he’s missed. I’m worried about him. I keep waiting for things to get better. Instead they keep getting worse.”

  “I’m sure the answer is yes,” I started, unsure, knowing I was treading on sensitive ground. “But has he worked with a good therapist? Someone trained in both massage and physical therapy? And water exercise, that can be so good for rehab and pain. I know a whole bunch of people I could put him in touch with—”

  “Thank you, Emma.” Liam meant it, but he also stopped me. “That’s good to know. I’m sure it would do him a world of good. But he’s stopped all of that.”

  “But it’s what he needs, if he’s got serious injuries. He needs to move, get stronger. The more he sits, the more the pain will grow.”

  “I know.” He nodded, looking downcast. “I know.”

  OK, I could tell I needed to get down off my soapbox. There was a time to push, and a time to sit back and listen. I’d only just met Liam. It wasn’t time to establish myself as the Crazy Lady his friend Chase had started dating, obsessed with her job and forcing it down people’s throats whether they wanted it or not.

  “Well, we can talk more about that later,” I relented. “Tell me about the island where you live.”

  He warmed right up to that topic, getting me laughing in no time with funny stories about the uber-wealthy people who flocked in droves to Naugatuck. As a firefighter, he got some ridiculous calls. Just last week, a member of a vacationing hiphop star’s entourage had called in distress. Quick, they had an emergency! Liam and a few other guys had responded to the call, arriving at the estate to find the singer in purple silk pajamas, his pet monkey high up in a tree and not coming down.

  “But, don’t monkeys live in trees?” I asked, not understanding the distress.

  “Yes, they do,” he confirmed. No rescue necessary, just a banana to lure him down.

  It was exciting meeting Liam, but nothing prepared me for the visitors who arrived the next day. Chase had it all set up. We were back at the house, sitting around watching TV. The Olympics, of course! The gymnastics competition was on. The swimmers had all sorts of dirt on the other athletes, who was juicing, who was just phoning it in (was anyone in the games really just phoning it in?), who deserved the gold.

  When the doorbell rang, no one moved to get it.

  “Emma, would you mind seeing who that is?” Chase asked. I thought it was a little weird, but, sure, I didn’t mind. I walked over, opened the door and there stood my parents.

  “Hi honey!” My mom came in for a hug. “Surprise! Chase flew us down!”

  “He what?” I stood there in shock.

  Dad hugged me, too, as we all still remained in the doorway. “Well, can we come in and meet Chase? And the team?” He looked around me, the eager fan. Decked out head-to-toe in official Olympic USA Swim Team gear, my parents were posterboard fans.

  “I can’t believe it!” I ushered them in and my dad fell right into talking stats with Chase, congratulating him on his record in butterfly.

  “I got to tell you, I was worried about lane seven. Know what I mean?” I heard him saying. “You never know what that guy’s going to bring. But you had him beat.”

  I stood there watching my parents chat with Chase and the other swimmers, so full of excitement and joy I was literally speechless. Chase looked over at me, a full five inches taller than my dad so it wasn’t hard to catch my eye. He gave me a wink, then returned his attention to my father.

  And just like that, I knew. I was in love. Head over heels, want to spend the rest of my life with him in love. It hadn’t taken long. I’d only met him three and a half weeks ago. But when you knew, you knew.

  The remaining events flew by in a blur. Another silver, a bronze, then three gold medals to finish, in the 200 IM, the 100 fly and the medley relay final. Seeing him on the podium that last time, with his three teammates, all of them raising their interlocked hands. I’d never felt anything so emotional, the roar of the crowd, hugging my mom as we both wiped tears from our eyes. I was so proud, so excited, so in love.

  He found me right after, as we met him out on the swim deck. He swept me into his arms, kissing me soundly, deeply, full of gratitude and promise. We were on top of the world.

  CHAPTER 18

  Chase

  “How about Ibiza?” I trailed my fingers down Emma’s back, pausing at the dip before the swell of her buttocks. She had the best ass I’d ever seen, so pert and round and perfect for playing. Right now with her lying against my chest and my head propped up on a mound of pillows, I had a great view. And with my long arms I could reach it, too, lightly grazing her soft skin with my fingertips.

  She wriggled under my touch, pressing her pussy against my thigh. I could feel she was still slick from my having just fucked her. Yes, we needed to go to Ibiza. Or really any other beach town so I could have her in bikinis half the time. The other half I’d have her completely naked.

  “Where is Ibiza?” she asked, lazily caressing my chest. What she could do to me with an absent-minded stroke of her fingers, good Gawd.

  “It’s an island in the Mediterranean. Off the coast of Spain. It’s basically one, long party in paradise all the time.”

  “That sounds good to me.” I could feel her smile against my chest.

  “Or we could go somewhere quieter. More private.” I cupped her ass cheek in my hand, caressing it, drawing my fingers along the bottom of her swell, dipping between her legs. “We could head straight up from Rio to Antigua, or Saint Kitts.”

  “How do you know about all these places?” she picked up her head and looked at me. “Have you been to them all?”

  “No, but I know people who have. I’ve been all work and no play. But that’s going to change now.” Six gold medals and a world record to my name, I’d say it was a good time to step away from my sport. Especially when I was stepping into the warm and waiting arms of my woman.

  She sighed happily. “That sounds so good. I should probably talk to my boss. If she’s still willing to talk to me.” Apparently Emma had had to do some convincing to get a leave of absence to work with me. I’d have to personally thank her boss, maybe give her a signed photo to hang in her lobby. Her sports wellness practice had contributed to Olympic gold. That ought to put her in a good mood. I should have a PR rep FedEx the photo so she already had it in hand before Emma requested more time away.

  “Is it really almost noon?” Emma sat up, having caught an unfortunate glimpse of the clock. That was another thing, I needed to ban clocks from my life. For a while, at least. I’d been so obsessed with time down to the ticking fraction of a second. I was done with that. I wanted to measure the passage of time in Emma’s moans and sighs of pleasure, much more enjoyable metrics.

  “I have to go get my stuff! Tori and I are supposed to be out of the condo by two!” She sat up and dashed into the bathroom to shower before I could slow her down. See? I was already losing my edge. And it felt so good.

  What seemed like only moments later Emma dashed out again. Wet hair in a ponytail, she slipped on panties, a sundress and flip-flops. I liked a woman who didn’t need to primp. And she still looked deliciously gorgeous.

  “I’ll be back in,
like, an hour? Or two? I have to run and get my stuff and then say good-bye to my parents.”

  I groaned. I was supposed to have lunch with my mom before she took off today, too. My father had already left last night.

  “See you soon.” She gave me a quick kiss and hustled out the door, leaving me with the faint reminder of her freshly showered scent.

  I gave myself another blissed out minute, just lying in bed. Completely satisfied. And then I checked my phone.

  I’d turned it off the night before. What could anyone have to get in touch with me about? I’d swum my events. I’d done my part. Now it was time to chillax.

  I had a lot of missed calls. And a bunch of voicemails. And a shitload of texts and emails. They were probably all offering congratulations, but it looked like a lot even for that. Come to think of it, my roommates had knocked on my bedroom door a couple of times, even though they knew I was in there with Emma. What was up?

  I started listening to the first voicemail, congratulations from a former teammate and friend. Then the next, another well-wisher. And as I listened, I started scrolling through texts. Liam had tried to get in touch with me a bunch of times, sending all caps CALL ME, and CALL ME NOW.

  Teammates had called, a coach had called, and a bunch of our team PR reps had tried to get in touch with me. That was how I knew. It had to be some kind of news, some breaking story.

  But I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw once I clicked on the link I finally found in an email. Someone had sent it to me late last night, then a bunch more this morning. Apparently, Emma and I had let the cat out of the bag after the final awards ceremony. After a long eight days of studiously avoiding any PDA, we’d embraced and kissed right in front of the cameras. The world had watched and wanted to know. Who was the woman in Chase Carter’s arms?

  You know who Emma Nelson was? She was a blogger. She wrote for a blog named Scoop’d, a tell-all gossip blog sharing dirt on all the Olympic athletes. And you know who that blog kept bragging they were about to run a big story on? Which athlete they claimed to have an inside scoop on, about to break the secret backstory everyone wanted to know? Me. Chase Carter, sucker of the first order.

  I had lots of practice controlling my emotions and managing stress, and I did it, breathing deeply, steadying my thoughts and hands as I found my laptop and opened it up. I didn’t have to search around. I simply entered my first name and the article popped up, all about me and my girlfriend, the secret blogger.

  The headline? Chase Got Scoop’d! The article took delight in its tongue-in-cheek reporting, cautioning readers, “Shh, don’t tell. Chase doesn’t know.” How rich, the famous athlete who hated the press, falling for a reporter! They’d plastered photos of us all over their website, the same shot but from all different angles. How happy we’d been in that moment. My stomach lurched with a wave of nausea.

  The article claimed that Emma had been anonymously writing for the blog for years now. Then, to get her big break, she’d posed as a physical therapist. That was how she’d secured her chance to get in good with the elusive Chase Carter. It described how I’d become famous for swatting reporters out of my way like an angry bear. But a physical therapist? Apparently I’d let her in and given her access. That was how she’d worked it, using that excuse to get close to me. All to get the story.

  Chase doesn’t know. The words leapt out at me from the article, catching me around the neck in a tight chokehold. I didn’t want to believe it. The website that broke the story was none other than The Rio Rapsheet, the exact same blog had published a fake story on me only a few days ago. What was to stop them from doing the same with Emma?

  But it had the ring of truth to it. A sickening, nagging, persistent ring of truth. Unable to stop myself, needing to see, I clicked on the link to the blog, the one that was apparently Emma’s.

  It popped right up. Scoop’d, all hot pink font and photos of celebrities and athletes. It was swarming with hot pics, plus gossipy dirt. Who was hooking up with who? Who’d gone out hard the night before?

  Some of it looked harmless. There was a whole, active discussion critiquing team uniforms. Our Speedo swimsuits got four out of five stars. Jamaica won runner up, for being most colorful and fun, but the UK got first prize because Stella McCartney!!! It seemed she was a famous clothing designer. There was a section of the blog devoted to the best souvenirs from the games, including lots of photos devoted to commemorative shot glasses with images like the Olympic rings and Christ the Redeemer.

  But the bulk of the content was devoted to gossip. I scrolled through and found so many pictures, some of which were re-published from other sources but many looked candid and shot in person in Rio. In clubs, in bedrooms, in various states of undress.

  Polls ranked the hotness of the male athletes participating in the games, and the top-rated ones had their own pages with countless photos and facts. “Top ten things you didn’t know about—” fill-in-the-blank. I saw a bunch of my teammates. And then, there I was. My own page, with photo upon photo, but no text. Yet.

  Across the top there was a big “COMING SOON” announcement, in all caps. “Stay tuned for the scoop on Chase Carter,” it advertised. “Everything you’ve always wanted to know. What you’ve been waiting for. Want to know the mystery behind this hunk? All his deepest secrets?”

  Then it promised, “We’ve got it covered. We’ve gone undercover, behind the scenes to bring you the story everyone wants. Only on Scoop’d.”

  My phone rang. It was Liam. This time I picked up.

  “Hey, man, how you doing?”

  “Not great.” My eyes traveled over the page in front of me, seeing but still not fully able to believe.

  “Did you know she was a blogger?”

  His words that hit me like a lead pipe over the head. Liam had decided it was true. Emma was a blogger. “No.” My word sounded wooden.

  “I’m sorry, Chase. She really seemed cool.” You knew the topic of conversation was serious when Liam actually used my real name. No Chevy or man or dude, just Chase.

  “Listen, I’m supposed to catch a plane in a couple hours. I was trying to reach you this morning, but you didn’t pick up.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t offer any explanation. I felt too sick.

  “But I can change my flight. We can hang out, hit some clubs in Rio. Plenty of distractions are waiting for you, big man. You could even wear one of your many gold medals. It would be like a golden magnet.”

  Liam almost always knew what to say to lift my spirits, but not this time. This time I felt a heavy, oppressive blanket over my chest and no amount of joking around was going to take it away. Nor would a night out on the town with hot Brazilian women, so you knew I was feeling bad.

  Plus, I knew he was just being nice. He had to get back to the firehouse. Getting this many days off in the middle of their busiest season of the year had been hard enough.

  “No, you head out. I’m fine,” I assured him as we said our good-byes.

  I was not fine, but I was fine enough for Liam to get on a plane. I might feel like I was drowning, but I wasn’t. I was on dry land, legs underneath me. I might feel like I was choking and suffocating, but I’d manage to carry on, put one foot in front of the other. Even if I felt like I couldn’t.

  What I most wanted was to bail and get on the next plane I possibly could to head out of there. Where I ended up, I didn’t particularly care. I knew some of the guys on my team were headed on vacation. I couldn’t remember where at the moment, but it didn’t matter. It would be somewhere I could sit in a chair, drink, and not have to talk much to anyone about anything important. They’d already invited me along. All I had to do was tell them I was in.

  But before I did that, before I ducked out, I had to talk with Emma. I dreaded it. I’d rather head into dental surgery for the next 15 hours, or have lunch with my mom which, shit, I realized I was supposed to be doing. Which meant leaving the rental house, where there were sure to be reporters with cameras. Fuck.
>
  My phone rang again. It was Emma. I clicked over to talk, but words didn’t come out of my mouth. Words tumbled and streamed out of hers, though.

  “Chase! Chase, are you there? I have to talk to you.”

  “I’m here.” But even as I said it, I felt disembodied, like all of this was happening to someone else. How had I not seen any of it? She’d seemed too good to be true, like a gift coming into my life at exactly the right moment. I guess I’d fooled myself into believing it. Maybe there’d been a bunch of signs along the way and I’d been too busy lusting after her, even falling in love with her to see them.

  “Don’t go online!” she pleaded, a guilty request if ever I’d heard one.

  “I’ve already seen it.”

  I could hear her crying on the other end of the phone, swearing. She sounded nearly hysterical.

  “Is it true?” My words hung out there and I could almost picture them, drifting overhead in a cartoon speech bubble. I did not like feeling like I was a character in a melodramatic book.

  She paused. It was a deadly, incriminating silence. And then she offered, lamely, “I can explain. Let me come over and talk to you. I can be there in 20 minutes.”

  Let me explain. So there was something she needed to explain. And she hadn’t denied that she was a blogger. There it was, the truth.

  My voice sounded flat and dull. “See you soon.”

  I’d have to ask my mom if we could meet up later. I had to take care of something first. Because it turned out that the woman I’d fallen for was actually a blogger after my story. I felt cold and sick with shock. I’d kept quiet about the accident for 12 years. Then who did I tell the whole story to? Someone intending to publish every word.

  Emma and I would have it out. We had to. I’d listen to whatever she had to say. I’d hear out to her excuses, because I’d always wonder if I didn’t. But there was no going back from this. I could never trust her again.

  CHAPTER 19

  Emma