FIVE
SERENA
Chase is still giving me that look. The one he used to give me before dragging me into fun and trouble. “Harper’s got a point.”
I shake my head. “People would never buy it. Ryan would never buy it. I spent every day of that relationship telling him you and I are only ever going to be friends. Plus, he knows I never date athletes.”
“Yeah, I get that. Those hockey dudes have way too much ego.”
I laugh. “And football players are humble?”
“Exception to the rule.” He smirks.
“Exception my ass. You literally have a hashtag fan club trying to marry you.”
“That’s not ego, that’s community spirit.”
I snort. “Community spirit? You mean desperation.”
“Either way, I did nothing to encourage it. I can’t help that I scream gorgeous husband material.”
“And what were you saying about your ego?” I say.
“Hey, it’s fact, not ego.” He chuckles as he plucks a fry from his plate. “No way Ryan would try to compete with this.”
I make a face like I don’t see it at all. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“Come on, Serena.” He flexes his bicep.
“Please. You’ve got one good arm and a body fueled entirely by peanut butter ramen.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Harsh. That ramen built this empire.”
“Empire? You mean the apartment you still haven’t furnished and the house with zero cutlery and one plate?”
“Plates are overrated. You can eat straight from the pan.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help taking in the muscular arms designed to throw a football arcing through the air with impossible precision. Arms that could hold someone close and never let go. And then there’s his face—strong jawline, a mouth made for smiling and kissing, and those warm brown eyes that always look like they’re seeing the real me. He’s hot in a way that feels entirely unfair to the rest of the population. And I’m thankfully immune to it all.
Mostly.
Chase leans back in the booth, rubbing a hand absently over his throwing shoulder. “We could do it at the Hearts of Denver awards. It’s our bye week anyway so we’re all going to support Dylan. You said Ryan is going to be there, right?”
I nod, my pulse jumping faster than I want to admit.
“And there’ll be plenty of press on the red carpet.”
“This is starting to sound like the storyline from one of those cheesy high school musicals on Disney,” I reply.
Chase laughs. “Are you telling me I should break into song right now?” He lifts his arms, mouth open like he’s about to belt out a chorus.
“Don’t you dare, Sullivan.”
We both say it at the same time: “The fifth-grade talent show.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Why do you always bring that up?”
“Because it was genius. You froze on stage and couldn’t remember a single line of your monologue, so I jumped up and sang the Stormhawks fight song at the top of my lungs. Got the whole gym on their feet.”
“Got me humiliated, you mean,” I mutter, though my lips twitch. “Everyone was still talking about it a month later.”
“Yeah, but no one remembered you forgetting your lines. They only remembered me nailing the high note.”
“Please. You cracked on that high note.”
He puts a hand to his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Cruel, Hayes. Cruel.”
The warmth of the memories linger even as he steers us back. “All I’m saying is, we wouldn’t have to do much if we did it at the Hearts of Denver awards. A kiss on the red carpet, tell people we’re official. One night of dancing and hanging out, that’s all.”
I take a bite of my burger, buying myself time. It’s medium-rare, extra pickles, loaded with cheese and dripping with sauce. After years of obsessively counting calories, it still feels rebellious to eat something like this. I used to pick croutons out of salads, swap dressing for lemon juice, chew gum just to stop myself snacking. Being a Stormhawks cheerleader came with strict rules in our contracts, and even stricter unspoken ones. But the two jobs, the exhaustion, the constant rushing, and the hunger had all been worth it when I stepped onto the field and nailed a routine that sent the stadium roaring. Keeping fit is still part of my life. But there’s no way I’m giving up burgers like this again.
Chase drops his onion rings onto my plate. Not because he doesn’t like them. But because he knows they’re my favorite. The simple gesture makes me think of Ryan. Ryan, who wanted the version of me that looked good on his arm. He liked me polished, makeup perfect, hair smoothed. He expected me to fit around his schedule, his friends, his ego.
It wasn’t me he wanted. Not the woman who falls asleep with her mascara smudged, or reads fact books cover to cover, or eats onion rings like they’re oxygen. And yet now he won’t let up trying to win me back. He even turned up at my Pilates class last week, whispering invitations for coffee between stretches. I haven’t told anyone about that. Not Chase. Not even Liv. Saying it out loud would make it real. And I’m still hoping he’ll take the hint.
“What do you say?” Chase asks.
I look up, and for the first time I see something new in his eyes—hope. Real hope.
“You seriously want to do this?” I ask.
“Right now, I’m willing to try anything to kill this Chasing Love mess. And you have to admit, it’s a good idea.”
Maybe Chase is right. Maybe pretending to date at the Hearts of Denver awards would finally shut Ryan down. And besides, Chase needs this. He laughs off the Chasing Love hashtags and memes, and the jokes about his love life, but I know the attention is getting to him.
These fans think Chase hasn’t met the right woman yet. But the truth is, meeting women has never been an issue. It’s getting past the casual hook-up that’s the problem. Jen was the first woman since college who stuck around long enough for anyone to call it a relationship. And Chase was a good boyfriend. The kind who showed up, who remembered the small things, but I could tell Jen didn’t come close to breaking his heart when it ended. It’s like he’s accepted that love isn’t something made for him and has stopped trying to find it. Whatever the reason for Chase’s dismal love life, having the whole city treat him like a prize to be won definitely isn’t helping.
“OK. I’m in.”
Chase grins—that big, troublemaking, light-up-the-world grin—and something zings through me, quick and sharp and dangerous, that I haven’t felt in a long time. I shove it back down, pretend it wasn’t there at all.
It’s only one night.
What could possibly go wrong?