“I think Daddy’s gonna lose,” Asher asserts, staring out at the field and pressing his hands to the glass surrounding the box.
“Unless Chase Kennedy can pull out some magic, Daddy’s team very well might lose. But losing is a part of life, you know.” Jessica looks over her shoulder, blond curls swinging as she smiles at me.
“No promises on that,” I chime in. “I’m here as his ‘good luck charm.’” I hold up air quotes. “But I’m pretty sure I’m failing miserably at my duties.”
Frankie laughs. “Leo told me you went to all of Chase’s high school and college games, and his dumb superstitious ass thinks you’re the reason he’s so good.”
Jessica covers Asher’s ears quickly. “Language!”
Frankie holds a hand to her mouth and giggles. “Whoops, sorry. But there aren’t really a lot of other words that describe Chase Kennedy so well, besides…A-S-S.” She turns to me with raised brows. “No offense, Whitney.”
I chuckle. “No argument from me on that one.”
Erica purses her lips and leans forward in her seat. “I’m just totally shocked Chase even has the humility to credit his wins to something other than his own almighty greatness and perfect arm that was placed on his body by God himself.” She pushes an enormous pair of sunglasses onto her head and points at me. “That’s quite the compliment to you, girly.”
I rest my head in my hand and look back at the field, where the Riders just called their final timeout of the game. “Huh. I never thought of it that way. To be honest, I’ve never really thought the words Chase and humility could even go in the same sentence.”
Frankie bounces her legs excitedly. “Ooh, Whitney! Tell us an embarrassing Chase story. My hubby just got completely taken down, and I need the pick-me-up.”
Jessica narrows her eyes at us with a smile, sensing the need for this to be an adults-only conversation, and sends Asher to play with his train in the corner, out of earshot.
I take a final swig of the pink stuff in my cup and turn toward the other women. “Okay. When he was sixteen, this girl had a massive crush on him. Like a weak-in-the-knees, can’t-speak-around-him kind of crush. It was sad, but sweet.”
“Chase had groupies in high school? I’m so shocked,” Jessica says with an eye roll.
“No kidding,” I add. “Freaking Six…he’s been drowning in them since kindergarten. But anyway, this particular girl got a little nervy one day and hyped herself up enough to ask Chase to be her homecoming date after school one day. She was probably quivering. And in true Kennedy fashion, he looks her right in the eyes and says, ‘I’m already going with Chelsea and Britt.’”
Frankie almost chokes on her drink. “He had two homecoming dates?”
I shrug with a nod. “Both volleyball players. So the shy girl was so furious, she took her calculus textbook and smacked him with it. Right in the…” I eye Jessica to make sure Asher can’t hear, but he’s lost in his train world and can’t hear a thing. “Balls. Just like, wham! In the crowded parking lot.”
Erica gasps and laughs heartily. “He kinda deserved it.”
“He totally did,” I agree. “And I was putting my stuff in my car, getting ready to leave, watching this entire interaction. It was painful. When the girl walked away, I went over to Chase, and he was literally in tears. It was so hard not to laugh, but I let him hide in the back seat of my car and went to the school nurse to get him an ice pack. He’ll deny crying to this day, but you heard it here first, ladies.”
“That is rich.” Frankie leans her head back and touches her necklace again. “He is a special one, that Kennedy. I’d love to see him through your eyes.” She turns to me and shakes her head. “Knowing his whole history and all the freaky weird Chase stuff that probably goes through his mind all the time…”
Jessica nods. “You gotta wonder…how true are the rumors?” She lowers her voice to a tiny whisper and leans in close to us. “I mean, he’s supposed to be some kind of absolute god in bed. Is it all talk?”
No, Jess. It’s not.
Frankie narrows her eyes at me. “You two have really never done it? I mean, this is Chase we’re talking about. Aren’t you just dying of curiosity?”
I look out to the field and watch the team jog out of the huddle as the timeout ends. It’s the Riders’ ball, and Chase is running along the sideline, hyping up the crowd, and blowing kisses at screaming girls. “I guess I’m a little curious,” I say, my voice small and quiet.
“Damn right you are!” Erica claps her hands. “If you ever do, you better tell us about it. And by it, I mean…” She uses her hands to make the shape of a dick between her legs. “It.”
I laugh. “Let’s see if they can pull this game out.”
I scoot forward in my seat and watch Chase closely. He’s been running noticeably more hands-off plays this game to avoid long throws with that shoulder sprain. Which is smart, but without Chase’s cannon throws and glory catches from Leo Sterling, the Riders’ offense is looking a tad sorry.
He needs to throw a bomb if they’re gonna have a chance at winning this game, or even tying it. He shouldn’t throw a bomb. Frankly, his ass should be parked on the bench. But I know Chase way too well to even try to suggest that he sit for a game or two.
I squeeze my hands together and swallow hard as they line up on offense, and Clay flicks the ball to Chase.
Come on, Kennedy. Be smart. It’s better to lose one game than injure yourself worse.
Of course, he can’t hear my thoughts, and in the blink of an eye, he launches a Hail Mary pass that looks like it may be intended for Leo.
But that’s not where it goes. The ball curves off to the side, severely lacking Chase’s signature spiral and accuracy, lands right in the hands of the Broncos’ defensive back, and he charges it down the field as the clock runs out.
“A pick?” Frankie says under her breath. “I can barely remember Kennedy ever throwing a pick until this season. He really is off his game.”
“Guess I’m just a terrible good luck charm.” I force a laugh, but keep my eyes fixed on Six. He’s in pain. It wasn’t just a bad pass, it’s his damn shoulder. And no one knows but me.
As the players’ families start to file out of the seats and head down to the field, I know I have to talk to him. I can’t let him keep making this sprain worse by trying to be Tom Brady all the time. Plus, if he hurt it even more with that throw, I should take a look at it as soon as possible.
“Well, ladies, it’s a consolation-sex kinda night,” Erica says loudly as she clicks down the stadium corridor in her spiky heels.
Jessica frantically covers Asher’s ears just in time and shoots Erica a look.
Frankie snorts.
By the time we make it through the maze that is the Riders stadium and down to the field, most of the guys are heading to the locker room, surrounded by a palpable feeling of defeat.
Leo pulls his helmet off and shakes out his hair, kissing Frankie and pressing his forehead to hers.
Elliot picks up his son and swings him over his shoulder, squeezing Jessica tightly against them.
I scan the pack of grumbling, frustrated football players for Six. I know how much Chase hates to lose. Really, really hates it. I wish everyone else knew what I know. That the loss is entirely not his fault. He’s hurt and way too proud to admit it.
I finally find his chiseled face, smeared with dirt and sweat. His eyes are low, and he’s chewing on his mouth guard in a pissed-off but dangerously sexy way.
I push my hormones aside and watch him. He clutches his helmet at his side and doesn’t so much as look at any of the media. His jaw is clenched, and his fists are tight.
I know now isn’t the time to ask him about his shoulder, especially because he’s so adamant about keeping it between us. So I stay on the side of the field by the tunnel and try to go as unnoticed as I can while all the other players trudge into the locker room. The wives and families dwindle, and the crowd empties from the stadium.
> I’m not leaving until I talk to him.
The stadium is basically a ghost town now, with the occasional scurrying cameraperson or straggler fans. I lean against the concrete on the inside of the tunnel and check my phone.
One by one, the Riders walk out of the stadium. Some meet their wives in the garage. Others just hop into their noisy sports cars.
The minutes tick by, the players are all leaving, but…no Six.
I sink down and sit right on the pavement, throwing any bit of care about getting stains on my white jeans out the window.
Where the hell is he?
I hope he’s not getting an earful from his coach about screwing up. Goddamn stubborn Chase.
Finally, I hear sneakers on the ground and jump up in anticipation. But the frame coming out of the locker room is definitely not Chase’s. Lanky and quiet, Matt McKenzie gives me a smile as he walks by.
“You’re Kennedy’s friend, right? Waiting for your man?”
“Oh!” I brush off my pants. “He’s not my man. But yes, I am his friend.”
Matt keeps walking and shrugs, holding a duffel bag over his shoulder.
I peer down the tunnel and notice the air getting cooler as the sun starts to set. What is he gonna do, sleep in there? There’s no way I missed him. Right?
“Nit Whit?”
A rush of relief and a flight of butterflies swirl through my chest. “There you are, Six.”
“What the hell are you still doing here?” He cocks his head and smiles at me, and the dark note of defeat in his eyes visibly disappears.
“I—”
Before I can form another word, his arms are wrapped tightly around me, pulling me into his jersey and his scent and…him.
“I’m so happy to see you right now,” he whispers.
My Chase. My closest friend who will never admit he needs anything except me.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling him rest his chin on my head. I hug him back, and everything in my heart feels warm and happy and right. Like nothing else matters except for Chase’s strong arms and broad shoulders and beating heart.
Because Chase is my best friend. And that’s how best friend hugs make you feel.
Right?
Seventeen
Chase
“It’s your shoulder, isn’t it?” Whitney reluctantly wiggles out of my embrace and gives me a sympathetic look.
“Shhh.” I place two fingers over her mouth, trying not to notice how sexy and soft and kissable her lips are. “Keep your voice down, Whit.” I glance around the tunnel outside the locker room. Thankfully, no one’s around.
“Wow, someone’s a little paranoid.” She laughs softly.
I check down the corridor again, but there’s no one in sight.
Whitney leans against the wall, bouncing up on her toes and giving me a knowing look. “You don’t throw picks, Chase Kennedy.”
“Damn right I don’t,” I mumble, inching closer to her and placing one hand on the concrete wall behind her, making the space between us almost disappear. “But that’s what it looks like to everyone after that last pass.”
Whitney looks up at me, and I lose myself in her wide, sparkling brown eyes and constellations of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. “Everyone except me,” she whispers.
“Yeah, Nit Whit.” I can’t even try to fight how magnetically I’m pulled to her right now. Of course she knows it wasn’t a bad pass. Of course Whitney knows exactly what’s wrong and probably how to fix it, because she’s Whitney. Because she’s had me figured out since preschool, and through everything, she’s never stopped understanding me.
She nods slowly, clearly giving in to the palpable attraction almost as much as I am. Her cheeks are flushed, and her expression is one I’ve seen a million times, yet somehow entirely new.
Her back is flat against the wall, and I press both of my hands against the concrete, unable to resist holding my body against hers.
She quickly turns her head to peer down the hall, but there’s nobody here except us. “You should…um…” Her voice is tiny and thin, and she keeps her gaze off to the side. “Rest your arm a bit.”
She won’t look back at me, because she knows that when she does, we’ll both have to face whatever is burning and sparking and crackling between us. It’s not friendship. And it’s more than sex.
I don’t know what it is. But every single molecule of my body is way too desperate to find out. I touch her face and turn her back toward me, holding her cheek and stroking it with my thumb. She looks at me, and she sees me. She’s stood here for hours waiting for me.
“Chase—”
I press my lips to hers.
She gasps through the kiss, almost as confused and surprised by it as I am. But in seconds, she’s kissing me back.
I hold her tight against the wall, cupping her soft, gorgeous face with my hand. She tastes bright and sweet and vibrant, like everything Whitney Cooper has always been.
Her curves arch and lean into me, and I press against her tightly. I’m not thinking with my dick. I’m not even thinking about banging her. Not right now.
This isn’t a bang kiss. I don’t know what this kiss is. It’s not part of our sex game, and it sure as hell is not part of our friendship. But I couldn’t physically look at her for another second and not be kissing her. It just wasn’t an option.
Finally, common sense and reality crash over her, and she draws her mouth away from mine. “Six, what are you—”
“I don’t know.”
“This isn’t part of the—”
“I know.”
She draws in a slow breath, her chest rising and swelling against me.
It takes me a second to realize I’m still holding her face, and I slowly lower my hand and step back.
Her lips are still parted, and the expression in her eyes is every bit as freaked out as I am.
It occurs to me that maybe I should explain why I just kissed my best friend with a level of passion and intimacy that is completely foreign to me…and completely off-limits for us. “I just…” I run a hand through my hair and glance down the empty corridor. “You waited here. And you know about the shoulder. And everything feels kinda…”
“Mixed up,” she finishes, stepping away from the wall and pushing her hair behind her ears, clearly still a little rattled.
“Yeah.” I nod and try to shake off the weird and confusing tension. I’ve never wanted to kiss Nit Whit before. I mean, I’ve thought about piping her plenty of times. But she’s hot, and I’m a dude. So that’s not that strange.
But I don’t know what this is. Somehow, our sex lessons have blurred the lines between friendship and fucking and…romance?
No way. I don’t do romance. I just got caught up in some weird-ass feeling because of the game and my arm and her…everything.
“You better get home, Six. I’m serious about the whole resting thing.” She playfully bumps my side as we start walking out of the stadium toward the garage. “Stubborn ass.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I groan, welcoming the eased tension and quick subject change. “You took an Uber here, right? C’mon, I’ll give you a ride back to Melody’s place in the Lambo.”
She waves her hands around and laughs sarcastically. “Ooh, what a thrill.”
“Hey, you know how many—”
“Chicks would get absolutely soaked at the idea of taking a ride in my car?” She mocks me in her go-to douchebag voice.
I shove her lightly, and we both laugh. “Well? Do you? Because it’s quite a number, Whit.”
She rolls her eyes and stands next to the neon-green car as I click a button on my keys, and the doors swing up. “I have work in the morning.”
I slide into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I know. I’m taking you back to Melody’s, right?”
She sits in the car and pulls her seat belt on, then turns to me. Her gaze locks on mine for an extra beat, and I wonder if she’s thinking about that kiss. I sure as hell am.
> Something in her eyes is…different. I’ve seen every emotion and expression in the Whitney Cooper handbook, but I don’t know this one. She looks wild and fiery and…wow. Really fucking hot.
“Whit?” I ask, feeling a smile pull at my lips as I realize I couldn’t look away right now if I wanted to.
“When can we do third down?”
I draw back with raised eyebrows and laugh. “Loving the eagerness, Whit, I really am.”
She shrugs and turns to look out the front windshield. “I’m just looking out for the efficiency of my own education, Six.”
It’s completely dark, and the air in the car is hot, and I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss her everywhere. I want to show her everything. I want to watch those brown eyes widen and sparkle with every move I make.
“Come over after work tomorrow,” I say slowly, unable to resist the urge to slide a hand up her sexy, toned thigh.
“Good,” she asserts. “The clock is a-ticking.”
I swallow hard, remembering that she’s doing all of this with me only to impress some finance-cubicle dude. Then we’re going to be friends again. Just friends. Six and Nit Whit, with no benefits. No lessons. The way it’s always been. The way it should be.
But now I’m sitting in my car, looking at her soft hair and adorable nose and deliciously flawless body, and I’m trying to figure out how the hell we spent more than two decades together without ever being more.
Eighteen
Whitney
I brew another pot of coffee in the break room at the hospital as I sit down for lunch. I’ve been in a fog all day. A big, hazy, floaty, confused fog. I’m not used to feeling uneasy, especially not at work. When I’m at the hospital, nothing matters except the patients and their health and their lives.
But today, I can’t seem to shoo the flock of butterflies swirling through my stomach, or shake the image of Chase kissing me against the wall at the stadium yesterday.
Maybe I’ve had a bit too much coffee.
He was being Chase Kennedy. Flirty and sexy and always getting what he wants. I just never thought what he wants would be…me.
Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3) Page 9