ONE
CHASE
@BroncoBelle22: I already bought the dress for our wedding. Just tell me what size ring you wear. #ChasingLove
@FutureMrsQB: Delete Tinder. Forget anyone else. I’m your endgame. #ChasingLove
@ILovePBramen: I make peanut butter ramen too. Soulmates?? #ChasingLove
@Stormhawks4Life: My cousin’s neighbor would be PERFECT for you. She’s twenty-six, loves football, and has no food allergies. DM me for her number! #ChasingLove
I slip out of the east wing exit of the Stormhawks stadium and duck behind a Gatorade cart, crouching like I’m starring in Mission Impossible: Quarterback Edition. The September night air has that early-fall chill, and the glow from the stadium lights casts long shadows across the emptying lot.
From the south exit comes a screech of excitement, and I guess my older brother and teammate, Jake, has just made his appearance like we planned. Hopefully giving enough of a show to distract the waiting fans. Normally, I love signing autographs and posing for selfies, but after last week’s away game to the Wildhorns when a woman in a tight-fitting Stormhawks jersey tried to handcuff herself to my wrist, I’m taking no chances tonight. The LA security team thought it was funny. I did not. Which is why I’m sneaking out of my own stadium after a Sunday night home game like I’m fifteen instead of twenty-eight, dodging Mama’s curfew.
It’s my own stupid fault the female fans have gone wild. It started last month. After we’d won the first game of the season against the Cincinnati Ironclads. I was doing a post-game press conference with Coach Allen when a reporter asked me about my love life. The question was a follow-up to the story from my ex, Jen, who, three months into the first relationship I’ve had in years, pulled the “you’re not ready” breakup card, before selling the details to a gossip magazine.
One story that got picked up, twisted and paraphrased by the gossip sites hungry for clicks. And that’s all it was—a story. In her version, I was a hopeless jock who couldn’t commit, who could barely tie his own cleats let alone hold down a relationship. What she left out was the reality: three months where I booked last-minute flights to New York just to sit front row at her runway shows. Three months of letting her pick the restaurants so we could be photographed in the right places. Three months where she never once came to Denver, never once stood in the sky box at a pre-season game, never even asked to see my home on Oakwood Ranch.
Chase, care to comment on Jennifer Hollister telling StarScene that you’re destined to be single for your entire life?
I blinked into the bright lights and the room of journalists waiting for my reply. My head was still on the last touchdown and the win we’d just pulled off, not on my personal life, and I didn’t think before answering.
Maybe I am, I said with a rueful smile. Maybe love isn’t on the cards for me, and that’s fine. Football’s got all my heart right now.
One moment of raw honesty, and suddenly I’m the internet’s favorite dating fantasy. Now it feels like half the women in Colorado have made it their personal mission to find me true love. Chasing Love might look cute on TikTok, but in real life it feels like full-contact chaos, and I forgot my helmet. My DMs have been blowing up for weeks, my face is plastered on dating memes, and women are waiting for me after games waving signs like “Future Mrs. Sullivan.” Which is why I’ve roped Jake in as a distraction as I sneak across the parking lot.
Giving a final check the lot is clear, I sling my gym bag over my aching shoulder and make a break for Jake’s truck and my ride to The Hay Barn. My mind is on that first sip of cold beer when I spot a familiar blue truck and an even more familiar blonde standing beside it. My feet change direction before my brain catches up. Just like they did when I was nine years old and first saw Serena Hayes and her big smile and her sparkly gold sneakers in Miss Fenton’s third-grade class. Too busy staring at her sky-blue eyes to look where I was going, sending Miss Fenton’s worksheets flying as I fell flat on my face. Classic. Five minutes later, she laughed at a joke I didn’t think anyone else heard and we’ve been best friends ever since.
And right now, she’s standing by the driver’s door of her truck, toned arms folded, the lights from the parking lot catching in her long blonde waves. She has big Bambi eyes that miss nothing, a small nose with the tiniest upturn, and rosebud lips that lift at the edges whenever she laughs at my dumb jokes.
Serena is smart as hell, knows the capital of every country, and shares weird facts about cloud formations like it’s hot gossip. She’s the only person I know who’s obsessed with the weather. She even put herself through night school to study meteorology and has her own YouTube channel—Weather with Serena—dedicated to the weather of Denver and Colorado.
And because she’s also my best friend, I can tell just from the way she’s standing that she’s tense. Shoulders too stiff, chin tilted up like she’s bracing for something. That’s when I spot who’s with her. Ryan Kessler. He’s nice-looking in that polished, doesn’t-get-his-hands-dirty way. All tailored shirts and expensive cologne. Ryan’s in backroom management for the Stormhawks, handling logistics, budgets, and staffing coordination, and not someone I have anything to do with, except for the fact he’s spent most of this year as Serena’s boyfriend, up until they broke up a month ago.
Ryan’s back is to me, but I’m close enough to hear the conversation.
“It’s dinner, Serena,” he says. “Not a marriage proposal. I just want a chance to prove I’ve changed.”
“It’s too late,” Serena replies. “We’re over, Ryan. Please accept that.”
“I can’t.” Ryan’s tone is whiny as he takes another step closer to Serena. And that’s when something instinctive sparks in me. I break into a jog and reach Serena’s side in seconds, angling myself in front of her like I’m on defense, shielding her from a blindside hit. One more move from Ryan and he’ll be on the ground.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, flashing her a smile. “You ready to go?”
Serena blinks. We weren’t planning to meet tonight, but any confusion is pushed aside by the relief on her face.
“I was ready ten minutes ago,” she says as I open the driver’s door for her and she slides in.
I glance back at Ryan with my most golden quarterback smile. “Oh, hey, Ryan. Didn’t see you there.”
The muscles in his jaw tick. He knows I saw him. Just as we both know I cut right through his little powerplay and don’t give a damn.
I jog around to the passenger side and hop in, throwing my gym bag to the back seat beside Serena’s usual haul: her own gym clothes, a pair of slightly scuffed pom-poms, and a yoga mat rolled tight. There’s also a box of granola bars and candy she keeps stocked to hand out to her cheer squad at every practice because she’s not just one of the cheer coaches now, she’s also taken on the role of team mom to all of them, too. The box is sitting on a stack of dog-eared meteorology magazines.
“You’re too mean, Chase,” she says, but she’s smiling as she pulls out of the lot.
“And you’re too nice,” I shoot back, thumbs tapping out a quick message to Jake.
CHASE: Got a ride. Mission accomplished. I owe you one!
Serena scoops her hair behind her ear. “I’m just trying to keep things professional with Ryan because our jobs cross over sometimes. But he isn’t getting the message.”
“He’s still after another shot then?”
“The more I say no, the more determined he is. I can’t believe I didn’t see how controlling he was when we were together. I actually used to think him picking the restaurant every single time was romantic.” She heaves a sigh, and I can tell it’s getting to her.
“Want me to run him over? I’ll make it look like an accident.”
She laughs, and the sound untangles the tightness of tonight’s game in my chest. One of those fierce games that leaves everything sore, including my pride. We won against the Riverrunners, but barely. A fourth-quarter scramble that felt more like a bar fight than strategy, edging us to a three-point win, but I still walked off the field feeling like I’d lost. Last week’s disaster against the Wildhorns is still fresh in everyone’s minds, especially mine. Two missed reads and one interception tonight isn’t the kind of football that’s going to get us into the playoffs, let alone to the Super Bowl, come February.
We hit the road, the Denver city lights stretching ahead. This part of town is lined with low-rise office blocks and mom-and-pop storefronts, but in the distance, the glass towers of the business district slice into the night sky. Denver might be Colorado’s capital, but it carries a small-town soul thanks to the Stormhawks. The team has been owned by the same Denver-based family who started it in the fifties. It’s created a football legacy that’s woven deep into the city’s fabric. The Stormhawks mean everything to Denver. And the city is the heartbeat of the team. That’s what gives this place its small-town vibe. No matter how big it gets, it still feels like home. Something I appreciate a lot more after living in Kansas for four years.
“Where am I dropping you?” she asks. “Apartment or ranch?”
My two homes. On game nights and early practice days, I crash at the apartment I bought in the city this year, in the same building as Jake and his wife, Harper. The rest of the time, I’m out at Oakwood Ranch.
I’m staying in the city tonight, but no way am I ready to go home yet.
“The Hay Barn,” I reply, already longing for a cold beer in my favorite booth and the kind of banter with my brothers that cuts through the pressure of the game and reminds me what matters. Dylan, older than me by four years, hasn’t played pro football for the Stormhawks since his ACL tear a few years back. He now breeds horses for the rodeo on the ranch with his wife, Izzy—the ranch hand he fell in love with after he hired her to help him. But Dylan never misses an opportunity to come into the city to catch a game and meet afterward to tear apart the plays.
I shoot a look at Serena. “And you look like you need company, so you’re coming in.” I sense Serena hesitate. “Harper and Mia are already there,” I add, knowing the mention of our friends is the final nudge she needs to say yes. The four of us were in homeroom together throughout high school, and with Harper now married to Jake, and Mia the VP of Colorado’s biggest media firm, Arquette Media, it feels good to finally all be in the same city again.
Serena’s smile widens. “Well, when you put it like that… The Hay Barn it is.”
For a moment, everything feels easy. Like it always does when I’m with Serena. I was traded from the Kansas City Trailblazers to the Stormhawks before the start of last season, in one of the biggest trades in franchise history. Coming home to Denver was amazing on so many levels. I’m playing for my home team with Jake as my tight end. I get to see him and Dylan and Mama all the time, and that means the world.
But one of the biggest draws about being home is getting to hang out with my best friend whenever I want. Now that Serena’s moved from cheerleading to cheer coaching, we don’t even have to worry about the team thinking we’re breaking any rules in our contracts about fraternizing. Just two best friends. Easy. Fun.
Aside from my love life being headline news on every gossip site in America, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
“So, what’s your secret identity name going to be?” I ask, settling into my seat as we hit green lights and empty road.
“My what?” Serena shoots me a questioning look. I love how she knows a joke is coming, her eyes already dancing like she’s about to laugh.
“The way I see it, you need to hide from Ryan and I’m dodging the Chasing Love fans. Think that means we’re both officially in witness protection and will need secret identities.”
“Should we get matching disguises?”
“I never go anywhere without a fake mustache in my gym bag.”
“What’s your code name then?” she asks.
I raise a brow. “Captain Handsome.”
She groans. “You’re insufferable.”
We drive on, throwing fake names at each other. “Cleopatra Thunderstrike?” Serena suggests. “And you can be Major Snuggle.”
“Major Snuggle? You’re making me sound like a pampered cat,” I say, pretending to take offense. “Surely I’m more of a Dirk Beefcake?” I lift my throwing arm and flex my bicep, both of us cracking up.
By the time we find a place to park down the street from The Hay Barn, and I offer up Lance Lightning Rod, we’re both howling with laughter.
Serena cuts the engine, still smiling, and the weight of the game eases off my shoulders. A fake name, a cold beer, and my best friend at my side? That’s all the escape I need tonight.