Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3)

by Breezie Bennett

  “Yeah, Six. I learned something.”

  Fourteen

  Whitney

  “I’ve barely seen you lately, and I freaking miss you,” Melody whines from outside my bedroom door.

  “I know, Mel.” I wiggle into a clean set of scrubs and dig around for some socks. As much as this tiny room has started to feel like home, it sure does get cluttered fast. “I’ll be right out,” I shout, hopping on one foot to shove a sneaker on.

  “You don’t have to leave for the hospital for ten minutes,” Melody asserts. “So I’m making us coffee, and we’re hanging out.”

  I smile and swing the door open, meeting her neon-pink hair and pouty eyes. “For ten minutes?” I ask with a smile.

  “I will take what I can get.” She gives her hair a sassy flip and bounces toward the kitchen.

  I bend over to twist my hair into a ponytail and smooth out my pants. The kitchen is warm and smells like hazelnut and vanilla from whatever fancy coffee Melody is brewing. Christmas lights are strung all over the open shelves and taped along the ceiling, and there’s hardly a surface that doesn’t have at least one potted succulent plant on it.

  I lean against the countertop and take the steaming mug from my cousin. “Thanks, Mel.”

  “I mean, okay. I get that you’re, like, saving lives in the emergency room and all that. But I know you haven’t been working double your usual shifts. And you’ve been at Chase’s a lot.”

  I swallow and sip my coffee, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

  “And don’t get me wrong. Chase Kennedy…I mean…” She fans herself and holds her hand to her chest. “He’s a catch and a half. But I also know he’s a notorious fuckboy. But you have to know even more about that than I do! He’s your best friend. And trust me, sleeping with him can and will ruin that.”

  I take a deep breath and glance at the clock. I knew Nosy Mel couldn’t stay out of my business for much longer, especially where Chase is concerned. “I’m not sleeping with him, Melody.”

  Not yet, anyway.

  She arches a defined eyebrow that sports a sparkly piercing. “Very funny, cuz. I know an orgasm glow when I see one. And from what I can tell about Chase…he’ll get you about as vibrant as the damn sun.”

  I hold my mug against my lip, trying and failing to hide my smile at the image of the hot tub. “I told you, I want to go after Peter Chapman.”

  “The Wall Street guy from Jonah’s apartment party, right? I kinda forgot about him.” She giggles.

  “Well, I didn’t. He’s taking me out as soon as he gets back from London in a couple weeks, and I have a really good feeling about it. He’s stable, Mel. He wants commitment and a family and something real. Something lifelong.”

  “Something that Chase Kennedy doesn’t want,” she says matter-of-factly, locking her gaze with mine.

  I wave my hand dismissively and take another swig of coffee. “What does Chase have to do with any of this? He’s my childhood best friend. Nothing more.”

  “Then explain the glow.” She sets her coffee mug on the countertop and crosses her arms, leaning close to me. “Explain. The. Glow.”

  I bite my lip, staring into my coffee and knowing I’m absolutely miserable at keeping secrets. Besides, I live with Melody. And she apparently has some sixth sense for sexual satisfaction.

  I lower the cup. “Okay, but you better be completely chill about this. No screaming or jumping or making any kind of deal.”

  Her eyes widen with excitement, and she makes an exaggerated lip-zipping motion. “Remaining calm. Got it.”

  “Chase is kind of…” I fiddle with a bulb on one of the twinkly strings of lights, trying to find the easiest way to explain our agreement without sounding completely insane. “Teaching me some things. Like…physical things.”

  She gasps and grins widely. “So you are sleeping together. I freaking knew it, Whitney!” Melody’s voice is something between a whisper and a squeal.

  “Well, no, not yet. That’s the last lesson. We have a little plan. But we’ve done a couple other things, so I guess that explains the…” I circle my hand in front of my face sarcastically. “Glow.”

  “That’s so adorable, oh my Lordy!” Melody squeezes her hands together. “Teaching you how to bang? Wow. That’s the cutest thing ever. I always knew you two would figure your shit out and end up together.”

  My chest tightens. “No, Mel. We’re not together. We’re—”

  “Oh.” She flicks her hand and finishes her coffee. “No label yet, of course. I mean, it’s so new, and he’s, like, totally famous. So you guys wanna keep it on the ol’ down low. I got you, girl!”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Listen to me. We’re not together, and we’re not ever going to be. This is Chase we’re talking about. Chase. My best friend since forever who also happens to be a world-class NFL quarterback and has a bedroom full of exotic-looking supermodels every weekend.”

  She frowns and draws back. “But you guys are getting all…physical. That has to mean something.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything.” The words crash around me, harsh and cold and true. “It’s exactly what I said it is. He’s showing me my way around the bedroom so I’m ready for the dating world. For Peter, remember?”

  “Oh. You’re serious about him?”

  I groan in frustration. “Yes, Melody. I’m very serious about him. And I don’t want to be some stupidly inexperienced child when it comes to sex, so Chase is helping me out. As a friend.”

  The corners of her mouth turn down. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  I roll my eyes and rinse my mug in the sink, checking the clock again. “Thanks for the support.”

  “I’m looking out for you, Whit. I know how this kinda stuff works. He’s gonna show you his undoubtedly magical and totally mind-blowing tricks between the sheets, and you’re gonna fall in love with him. No, scratch that. You’re going to realize that you’ve been in love with him since you were thirteen.”

  I shut off the faucet and press my fingers into my temples. “Melody, I appreciate you caring about me. But I’m fine. I know Chase inside out and upside down. Were always gonna be friends. And no one will be doing any falling, I can assure you. I mean, come on. If I were going to suddenly realize I’m in love with my best friend, don’t you think it would have happened by now?”

  “Sex changes everything. And from what I imagine getting nailed by Chase Kennedy is like…that’s gotta be some classic ‘fuck me so good I fall in love with you’ sex. Not to mention, you’re already closer to him than anyone else. You better have some sturdy emotional walls up.”

  I walk to the little entryway of the townhouse and grab my purse off the hooks by the door, swinging it over my shoulder and rummaging for my keys. “Just trust me, Melody. There are no feelings that aren’t completely platonic. And maybe a little physical, but just for a couple weeks. The thought of anything romantic with Chase seems completely ridiculous. He doesn’t even know what romance is.”

  Melody shouts after me as I’m walking out the door, “But I take it he’s good with his hands?”

  I laugh and shake my head as I shut the door, walking through the burning heat to my car. The air is sticky and salty, and the palm trees around the townhouses sway lightly in the breeze. As I unlock my Honda and slide into the driver’s seat, I pull out my phone to send Chase a text. Chase. My friend.

  Careful with that shoulder at your workout today. xo

  I don’t hit send just yet and stare at the screen for a long second, finally clicking the delete button with my thumb a couple times.

  Careful with that shoulder at your workout today!

  That’s better. Nice and platonic.

  Fifteen

  Chase

  I feel my phone buzz in my pocket as I’m walking into the Riders training center. I glance at it and smile at a text from Whit. Just looking at her name on the screen sends flashes of the other day in the hot tub racing through my mind.

  God, she w
as hot and tight and wet. Touching her and feeling her and hearing her moan my name was everything I didn’t know I needed from Whitney Cooper.

  I knew this game we’re playing would be fun. I just didn’t know quite how much.

  “Kennedy! Come here for a second,” Coach Watson shouts from across the weight-training area.

  Fuck. He knows about my shoulder.

  I play it cool and stand up as straight as I can. “What’s up, Coach?”

  “I want you to start working with Matt McKenzie a bit. Get him throwing pro-level passes.”

  Why? So he can take my starting spot? Not a chance.

  “Uh, Coach, not to be an ass about it, but isn’t that what the quarterback coach is for?” I nod toward Coach Groff, who’s been the main QB coordinator since I first got drafted.

  “Generally, yes.” Coach Watson crosses his arms. “And Groff is still doing the majority of the work with both of you. But the hands-on experience you have with this offense is our most valuable asset in grooming him.”

  I have to physically stop myself from groaning. “With all due respect, Coach, I don’t get paid to help rookies.”

  He raises his brows at me and chuckles in a weirdly intimidating way. “But I get paid to tell you what to do. Don’t be a prima donna, Kennedy. You’re getting too mature for all the stardom and showboating, all the cocky bullshit. Come on. You’re one of the best QB’s in the league. Use that for more than just Nike commercials and getting laid.”

  I clench my jaw and look over at the rookie, who’s struggling to bench-press some embarrassingly low amount of weight. I guess as long as I’m helping him, I’m resting my shoulder, which Whit said is the most important thing to get it better. Besides, the kid looks at me like I walk on fucking water. Not that I need the ego boost, but I’ll take the admiration.

  “Shit,” Matt grunts as he racks the wobbly bar.

  I roll my eyes and look back at Coach Watson. “All right. I’ll give him some pointers.”

  Coach pats my back. “Good, Kennedy. Thanks.”

  I nod at him and start walking over to McKenzie, who’s sitting up on the bench, stretching his arms.

  “Chase! Hey, man.” He grins at me and stands suddenly, like he’s about to shake my hand or some shit.

  I laugh softly. “At ease, Junior. I’m gonna help you with some Riders offenses and shit.”

  “You are?” His eyes light up as he chuckles with surprise.

  “Yeah, well, since you clearly have the weight-training thing down.” I glance at the measly weights on either side of the bar. “What are you ripping? Like, three hundred?” I tease him.

  He laughs nervously and looks down at the floor. “Not exactly. I always just kind of relied on my arm. It got me through college and to the draft. And now here. But can I tell you something?”

  I sit on the bench next to his with my legs on either side of it. “I’m guessing you’re just gonna say it.”

  “I feel like I’m so in over my head. I was a solid college QB at Michigan. College football made sense to me. I felt like nothing could faze me on that field. But here…”

  I smile. “That’s right, kid. This isn’t college anymore. The pros are a different fucking level. Trust me. I played half my college games hungover and was still one of the top draft picks for the NFL. My arm was all I needed. But not here. The pros are as much a mental game as they are physical. You just have to remember that you’re the absolute best there is. And you’re playing with the best offense there is. If you can throw it, they’ll catch it. It’s all on you.”

  “That kinda makes it worse. Besides, you’re the best there is. I’m your backup,” he says with a meager shrug.

  For now.

  “That’s a bullshit attitude if I ever heard one. Now quit being a pussy.” I stand up and walk behind his bench, adding a couple of weights to either side of the bar. “I’ll spot you.”

  Matt nervously holds the bar and bench-presses the weight slowly. I don’t really give a fuck about the fact that I’m helping out the rookie. I’m just glad my shoulder is getting a break.

  He does a couple reps before grunting and racking the bar again. “I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward. “I’m no superstar.”

  “Dude, you’re a South Florida Rider.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Your entire persona fits exactly what it should be.” He looks up at me. “I’ve heard about the cheerleader three-ways. You’re a legend, and you still have so many good years. You have a household name that’s synonymous with peak athleticism and talent. Not to mention the women.”

  I laugh and wave my hand. “You were a big deal in the draft. We all heard about you. You’ll get to my level, Junior. And the women…the women will come, trust me. In more ways than one.” I shoot him a wink.

  His face flushes slightly at that comment. “Thanks, Chase. I really appreciate you mentoring me, or whatever. I know how to be a quarterback, just not like you. Not like a pro.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot more than throwing a football. Which you can still get better at.” I stand up to go start the ab circuit my trainers planned for me today.

  “You’ll help me, though?” Babyface calls after me.

  I roll my eyes and turn around, half smiling at him. The poor kid really does need me. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take you through some offenses after my workout.”

  “Dope!”

  I hold out my arm and point at him as I back away. “Step one to being a professional quarterback—don’t say ‘dope.’”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “But I’ve heard you say that.”

  I pat my chest and arch a brow at him. “Dude. I’m me.”

  I walk into the other room to get started on my ab sets and pull out my phone. Whitney’s text is still on my home screen, and I read it again, then type a response.

  Don’t worry. I’m taking it easy. Mostly hitting abs.

  I slide it back into my pocket and feel it buzz with an answer almost instantly.

  Thank God. I was wondering when you were gonna fix that six-pack situation.

  I smile and laugh softly.

  “What are you smiling at like some fucking middle schooler?” Dylan walks past me and smacks my back with his towel.

  “Just some needy chick asking for a booty call for later tonight.” I slip the phone back into my pocket.

  “Ah. A day in the life.”

  “What are you even doing here, bitchboy? Don’t you have a soccer game to play or something?” I squat down and sit on a mat, waiting for a trainer and being careful not to put any weight on my right arm.

  Dylan sits on the mat next to me. “You know you have, like, five jokes, right? You just recycle them constantly?”

  I angle my head toward him. “C’mon, dude. I have at least seven. Give me some credit.”

  Dylan lies on his back to stretch and looks at me. “How’s your hot friend doing? Whitney?”

  The question catches me off guard. I wonder if he’s figured it out. Aside from Whitney herself, Dylan can probably read me better than anyone else. Not that I’m particularly difficult to read, but still.

  “She’s fine, man. She’s good.” I keep my gaze forward, but I can sense Dylan narrowing his eyes at me.

  “You’re telling me you’re not hitting that. You. Chase Kennedy. Womanizer of the first order. You’re letting your ten-out-of-ten newly single best friend stay out of your bedroom? Who are you?”

  I bite my lip and start ripping some sit-ups. “It’s complicated, Rivera.”

  “Ah.” He starts matching me sit-up for sit-up, so I speed up my pace to show him up, because, well, I have to. “The truth comes out. Hey, man, maybe she’s the one? You ever think of that? I mean, she’s been a huge part of your life for, like, ever.”

  I laugh loudly and grab a medicine ball from the rack next to me. “The one? Dude. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? There’s no such thing as the one. There are hot girls, and the
re’s my dick. And those things just seem to go together.”

  Dylan shakes his head, clearly determined to get me to say the most asshole-ish things I can possibly think of. “Everyone has a one, Kennedy.”

  “Okay, Cinderella. I’m gonna knock out these ab sets just in case I happen to find the one at a bar next weekend.”

  Damn Rivera and his destiny-love garbage. I hate thinking about shit like that. It makes me think about my parents, which just reminds me that it’s all BS anyway. True love, my ass.

  Whitney sort of buys into all that stuff. Which is why she wants a guy like Accountant Peter. Which is why she will never, ever want someone like me.

  Sixteen

  Whitney

  “Watch the safety, moron! We talked about this!” Frankie Sterling jumps up from her seat in the box section of the stadium and yells into the glass at her husband, Leo, who just got tackled pretty bad.

  “Bless their hearts, they might lose this one.” Erica Anderson, the tiny blonde and adorably flawless wife of AJ Anderson, holds her hand to her chest. “My AJ hates to lose, I’ll tell you that.”

  Frankie slumps down in her seat and toys with a plastic ring hanging from a chain around her neck. “Our men sure do hate to lose, don’t they? Those damn alphas.”

  I smile and sip a fruity drink. Chase told me he’d get me great VIP tickets with the players’ families when I agreed to show up to every game, but he didn’t mention they’d be full-on suites with drink service and air conditioning.

  Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be succeeding in my role as the QB’s good luck charm. They’re down by seven against the Broncos, and there’s only two minutes left in the fourth quarter.

  “But what if Trash is hungry, Mommy?” I hear Asher’s timid voice whining softly.

  “He’ll be fine, bud. We fed him before we left, and he’ll get another meal after Daddy’s game is over.” Jessica, new wife of running back Elliot Danes and stepmom to his adorable six-year-old, leans over and kisses Asher’s forehead.