by Kelly Favor
The reception at her apartment this time was very different, as they made their way from his car to her apartment front steps. Chase came with her, proud, unbowed, refusing to hide from the massive audience watching them.
There was now a crowd of people cheering and hollering encouragement to Chase and to her, as they tried to get into her building. They moved through the crowd, as reporters snapped pictures and yelled questions.
“Chase, what are you going to do now?”
“What do you have to say to your fans?”
“Chase, is it true that the President of the United States called and wished you well?”
Chase tried to ignore them, but he laughed at the president question. “Not yet!” he called out. “But just tell the President to get in line!”
The whole crowd laughed at that. They were all so anxious to touch him, to thank him, to call him a hero.
Once Chase and Faith had finally gotten into her apartment building, it was mercifully quiet and empty of paparazzi and crowds.
They walked up to her apartment door and went inside.
Chase got himself a cup of water while she began packing her things as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in the apartment with the crowds out front, growing louder and more excitable.
He came into the room. “Strange how the very same people who hated me a few hours ago now love me.”
“The public is fickle,” Faith replied, throwing clothes into a suitcase.
“As long as you’re not fickle,” he said.
She stood up and walked to him, putting her arms around his waist. “Never,” she said. “I’m here. Always.”
He grinned down at her. “Girl, you’re even crazier than me.”
She laughed, as he kissed her, and then she went back to putting her clothes into her suitcase. “When do you think I’ll get a chance to come back?” she said.
“Never,” he told her.
She looked at him. “Chase…”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Pack the shit you really need. Because we won’t be back here. We can hire people to get the rest of it.”
Faith began searching her mind for anything she didn’t want to forget.
And then she remembered.
Faith ran to the bookcase and found the old magazines and newspapers on the top shelf. There was the issue of Vogue, which she pulled down and opened up to the middle. It revealed the envelope with the check inside from Club Alpha.
“Ten thousand dollars,” Faith said.
Chase came over. “What?”
“That’s what I was worth,” she said, and pulled out the check to show him. “This was supposed to buy me off.”
He took it and looked at it, grinning a little, but his expression was pained. “I hope you don’t remember that and hold it against me,” he told her. “I never wanted it to be about that.”
She reached up and touched his cheek, felt his stubble. “I only hold it against you a little bit,” she joked.
Then she turned back to the bookshelf and pulled down one of the newspaper copies with her old article in it. She paged through it until she found the article, reading it.
Faith felt a surge of emotion and wistful regret.
“What’s wrong?” Chase asked from behind her.
“Nothing,” she said, but her voice was choked with emotion.
“Tell me,” he said, his hands holding her hips.
“I used to want to be a writer,” she confessed. “I even wrote this stupid article. I was so proud of this article. It’s like two paragraphs, but it meant everything to me.”
“Let me see that,” he commanded, and she handed him the paper.
Chase read it with a studious expression. When he was done with it, his eyes were wide. “Faith,” he began.
Embarrassed, she waved him off. “It’s just a silly little thing I wrote a long time ago.”
“This is really, really good,” he told her. “I’m serious. Faith, look at me.”
“No, I—“
“Look at me, dammit.”
Faith met his kind, dark eyes. Those eyes that had hunted her heart and finally captured it completely. “Okay, I’m looking.”
“You’re a writer,” he said. “And don’t let anybody ever tell you different.”
And in that moment, she loved him more than ever.
A TALE OF TWO WINTERS: FLORIDA’S QUARTERBACK WEATHERS THE STORM AND PROVES HE CAN THRIVE IN ANY CLIMATE
By Shep Rutherford, Staff Writer
It’s not easy to get an interview with Florida’s golden boy these days.
But I’m the guy who won the lucky ticket, and so today, I’m walking onto the palatial grounds of Chase Winters’s Miami estate, and I’m greeted by his lovely fiancé, Faith Connor.
Here in Florida, Faith is the reigning first lady of football, beloved by fans and adored by those who are aware of her many charitable efforts for battered women and the homeless.
I’m taken aback by how beautiful she is up close—but even more than that, the genuine warmth and kindness she exudes from the second we meet. She brings me through the grounds and into the house, where she explains that Chase is on the lanai having his second cup of coffee and reading the paper to relax.
Curious about their domestic bliss, I ask her if Chase is more at ease with himself since winning the Super Bowl, and finally silencing those few critics who said he couldn’t rise to the challenge when it counted most.
Faith Connor stops and fixes me with the steely gaze that she can produce on command. “Both Chase and I know from hard experience that the pressures of any football game pales in comparison to what people on the fringes of society go through every day of their lives. And so Chase was never really worried about the Super Bowl, if I’m being totally honest.”
This kind of frankness is astonishing in the world of sports.
And that’s what has made Faith and Chase so different from other celebrity couples, and so endearing to the fans that have witnessed their ascent to football royalty.
Just months ago, Chase Winters was the most hated man in sports. Reviled by New England citizens, considered a loser, a liar and a criminal with no redeeming qualities.
But overnight—literally—the man regained his reputation and then some.
Now, he is king of all he surveys, and his queen reigns confidently at his side.
Upon reaching the lanai, I find Chase Winters in a state of repose, wearing a white robe and reading the New York Times, as promised.
When I greet him, he stands up and shakes my hand, smiling and apologizing for reading my competition.
“But this is what I read every day and I had to keep it real,” he admits.
We sit down and get to chatting, and Winters seems only too happy to engage in a wide ranging discussion about everything from minor rule changes in his sport, to the state of the union, and even the question of ending world hunger.
Unlike the image many have of him, the Chase Winters sitting in his beautiful home, sipping coffee and reading his newspaper, seems a man at total peace with his place in the world.
“You don’t seem as tortured as I expected,” I tell him honestly.
Winters smiles at that. “I’ve heard that one before.”
“Were you a tortured soul once upon a time?”
“Yes,” he replies instantly.
He then goes on to tell the remarkable story about how he fell in love with a woman that was supposed to be nothing but a one-night-stand.
And this is where the story gets even stranger. Because not only did Chase Winters battle the powers-that-be in the game of football, but he and his fiancé also had to contend with a virulent strain of organized crime.
Somehow, by luck or design or both, the group—now known to the world as Club Alpha—made enough enemies and mistakes to eventually be pursued by the FBI. As of now, more than ten of the top members of the criminal syndicate are in prison or awaiting trial for racketeering and
related charges.
“You managed to not only reform the game of football, but you brought down the mob,” I say. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Beat Faith in Scrabble,” he said. “But I’m working on it. The Times crossword puzzle is great training.”
By the end of my three-hour interview, I feel like I’ve only just scratched the surface of the lives of these two amazing people.
But I think what amazes me most about Chase Winters isn’t the fact that he fearlessly took on the scariest guys in the world and won.
It’s that none of it seems to phase him, because he attributes most of his courage to the woman he loves.
And by the time I leave, I have to say I think he might just be onto something.
EPILOGUE
“The nights in Florida don’t get cool like they do back in New England,” Faith said, as she walked down to the beach, where a fire waited.
“Do you miss it?” Chase asked her, as he took a quick sip from his bottle of beer.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But now that Krissi’s coming here for college, I think I’ll miss Boston a lot less.”
Chase nodded and took her hand in his.
It still warmed her. Chase never ceased to amaze her, inspire her, and excite her. Even after all these months spent in close proximity, living and loving and being together almost constantly.
They reached the fire, and found Jake Novak trying his best to toast a marshmallow, while Raven made fun of his efforts. “It’s already turning black!” she cried, pointing at the flaming, dripping white glob at the end of his stick. “You killed it, Jake!”
“It tastes better burned,” he told her. “Everyone knows that.”
“I don’t know about that,” Faith said, sitting on the beach chair and feeling the heat on her face from the fire. “That marshmallow looks fried.”
“Told you,” Raven said to her husband, sticking out her tongue.
Jake Novak blew the marshmallow out.
“Beer?” Chase asked, offering Jake one as he sat.
Jake accepted it. “Thanks, bud.”
Now they were all sitting together around the fire, and for a moment the laughter and conversation died.
There was only the sound of the fire, crackling and popping and the hypnotic flames rising and falling.
The smell of smoke in Faith’s nostrils, mixed in with the fresh air and the ocean salt.
A warm breeze caused the palm trees to rustle and sway.
Faith smiled, hearing the sound of the surf. She reached out for Chase and pulled him closer. “I love you,” she told him.
“I love you too, girl.”
She smiled wider.
Across from them, Jake Novak and Raven were similarly enthralled, and Jake even leaned in for a long kiss.
It was shocking how close the four of them had become since that weird day in the Wal-Mart parking lot when Jake had shown up and offered to help them take down Club Alpha.
They’d never be able to repay him for what he’d done, but Jake didn’t seem to care about repayments. Or debts of any sort, at least when it came to friends.
He was one of the good ones. Just like Chase.
Raven was a sweet soul, and to know that she’d been through such similar things as Faith had made them grow close in record time.
I can’t believe that we’re here, she thought, looking around at all of the beauty.
All of the love.
After so much pain and heartache and terror—they’d somehow survived to tell the tale.
Faith thought about how each morning she was able to wake up next to Chase and feel his warm body, and then laugh and talk and share their thoughts and concerns and dreams with one another.
She’d never dreamed a life like this could be hers, and yet somehow—here she was.
And now she even had the first draft of a book on her computer. Only Chase and Raven had read it, but they each assured her that it was great.
“What are you thinking about, girl?” Chase said, tipping the beer bottle to his lips and giving her a grin.
“Everything. And nothing,” she replied.
“Sounds about right,” Chase said, chuckling.
Before long, they’d all begun talking again and Faith was too busy discussing the finer points of marshmallow toasting to remember exactly what she’d been thinking about moments prior.
But she knew underneath it all that she was happy.
Truly happy.
The End of The Debt
Thanks for reading this series, I do hope you enjoyed it!!
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What He Wants by Hannah Ford
By Hannah Ford
WHAT HE WANTS (What He Wants, Book One)
by Hannah Ford
NOAH
I wanted to fuck her as soon as I saw her. That curvy little body was all tarted up in a tight little black dress, and those nice round tits were practically spilling out the top. Her dark hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and she sipped on a drink, her full pink lips pretty and pouty and just made for sucking my dick.
I sat at the bar and watched her for a while, biding my time. She was at some kind of party – bachelorette from what I could tell, and it was almost enough to put me off the whole idea. Women at bachelorette parties were a particular kind of crazy, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with.
A couple of blond women at the other end of the bar were staring at me, and I tried not to encourage them by making eye contact. Not that it was difficult. I couldn’t stop staring at that shapely little vixen on the other side of the room. Her dress hit just below the knee, and when she turned around, giving me a view of that gorgeous round ass, my cock got hard.
I was so transfixed that I didn’t realize one of the blondes had made her way over to me.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she tried. I almost sighed out of boredom, but that was too rude, even for me.
“I doubt it,” I said, although it was entirely possible that she did know me from somewhere. Thankfully, I knew I probably hadn’t slept with her. She wasn’t my type – too blonde, too skinny, too much like a Barbie.
“No, I know I recognize you.” She motioned to her friend, another bottled blonde, to come over. “Alexa, isn’t this Noah Cutler?”
Apparently she didn’t think it would make more sense to just ask me if I was Noah Cutler. I took a sip of my drink and resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
From across the room, I watched as the curvy bombshell made her way to a table all by herself, peeling herself off from the rest of the party.
“Yes!” the blonde’s friend said. “You gave that speech at my graduation last year. I absolutely loved it.”
“I’m glad,” I lied. I didn’t give a shit if she loved my speech or not. College was bullshit, the kind of thing people thought they needed, when really, I hadn’t learned anything in college that I couldn’t have learned on my own.
I drained the rest of my drink and concentrated on the brunette. She turned toward me, pushing her hair back from her face, and I was struck again by her beauty. She happened to look up just at that moment, and our eyes met.
She turned away quickly, embarrassed.
I had to have her.
And then, just like that, I saw my opening.
Some dickhead guy was making his way over to her. Jealousy and possessiveness flooded me. She was mine. And I was going to make sure I had her tonight.
“Excuse me,” I said to the blondes.
And then I went to go claim my prize.
CHARLOTTE
I saw the sexy stranger before he saw me.
He was standing in the corner of the bar, two beautiful blond women draped on his a
rm. One of the women was bent over, whispering something in his ear, and when she threw her head back and laughed, he glanced up and met my eye.
I quickly looked away, embarrassed that he’d caught me staring. Men like him – tall, dark hair, full lips, sexy stubble on his ruggedly handsome face –weren’t interested in women like me. Besides, I wasn’t here to meet a man. I was here for a bachelorette party.
Not that the party was anything to get too excited about. I hated parties as a rule, and bachelorette parties were a particularly heinous form of torture. Especially one where I didn’t know anyone but the bride, who was a fellow law student at Middleton University.
I thought coming to this party might help me meet some of my classmates – Cora seemed to know everyone in our class -- but all it was doing so far was reminding me how much I hated to socialize. Oh, and making me realize that Cora, even though she was engaged, apparently subscribed to the theory that whatever happened at bachelorette parties stayed at bachelorette parties, because she’d been throwing herself at different men all night. Right now she was out on the dance floor, grinding on a man wearing plaid dress pants.
I took a sip of my drink – ginger ale with cranberry, my usual, because it made me seem like I was drinking alcohol even when I wasn’t– and tried to look busy. The last thing I wanted was one of the party-goers to come over and try to drag me into their dance frenzy.
And then, suddenly, he was by my side.
No, not the sexy stranger I’d been trying to avoid staring at, but another man.
This one was paunchy, slightly balding, and had hairy knuckles.
“Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart,” he slurred. I sighed. Men like him always tried to hit on me. They thought that since I was considered a “bigger girl” they’d have more of a chance with me. What they didn’t understand was that just because I was carrying a few extra pounds didn’t mean I was desperate.
“No, that’s okay,” I said politely. I indicated the drink I was holding. “I already have one.”
He frowned, like he was trying to work out a particularly hard math problem. Then, brightening, he reached out, took the drink from my hand and poured it onto the floor. “There!” he exclaimed, proud of himself. “Now you need another one.”