NINE
CHASE
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is yelling at me to stop. To pull back. We’ve done what we needed to do. We’ve sold the kiss for the cameras. And yet, I can’t seem to loosen my hold. My hands keep roaming down Serena’s back, pulling her even closer, pressing her body to mine. I can’t stop myself from deepening the kiss. Her mouth is soft and warm, and I swear, I forget where we are, who I am. Forget how to breathe.
Then it ends, and Serena is drawing gently away, and it’s a fight not to keep hold of her. I open my eyes, and for a fraction of a second, she’s looking at me like she sees everything I’m feeling—the heat, the want, the confusion. For that one moment it feels like the world has tipped upside down. But then I blink and it’s gone and she’s Serena again.
I take a breath. My heart is still hammering in my chest. I’ve thrown a hundred game-winning passes under more pressure than this, but one brush of Serena’s skin and I’m rattled like a rookie. No doubt the result of how keyed up I am from the weeks of Chasing Love attention and how much I want my life back.
From the carpet beside me, Serena takes my hand and with a final wave to the cameras and a practiced smile, she leads me inside. The second we’re through the doors and away from the cameras, a strong hand claps me on the back.
“I mean…” Jake says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d pull it off… but damn.”
Harper’s smiling beside him. “You looked like you were ready to eat her alive.”
“Just following orders,” I reply. “Next time I’m requesting more practice runs.” It’s the joke I’m expected to make and everyone laughs, but inside it feels like the world has shifted a little beneath my feet, and suddenly I need to shake it off.
I grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hand one to Serena before downing my own, softening the sharp edges of whatever that was out there. One more drink and things are feeling normal again. I let the evening unfold around me. I stand with my brothers and Serena and Harper and Izzy. I make jokes, I laugh. Mama comes and goes as she works the room, introducing us to sponsors as she passes. Then we’re ushered into the huge glass atrium, set with dining tables and silverware.
Don Hubert gives a moving speech about his father’s passion and drive to create the Stormhawks and help the people of Denver. Then the awards are handed out. First, a local teacher from East High, recognized for starting a literacy and mentorship program that now reaches across the city. A firefighter steps up to applause, his crew having rescued two families in last summer’s wildfires. Then a nonprofit founder who created safe housing for at-risk teens. Each story draws cheers, some tears, and the kind of pride that makes me grateful to call this city home.
And finally, Dylan receives his Heart of the Community award, delivering an emotional speech about the impact of the Stormhawks outreach program—giving underprivileged kids access to coaching, equipment, and the joy of football practice. He talks about how it’s changed lives, and how it’s changed him too. He runs the ranch full-time, but still finds the hours to give back, roping Jake and me in whenever we can.
When the band starts to play, Jake nudges my foot under the table and leans in. “Round two, bro. Time to show off those moves Mrs. Conley taught us in high school.”
I huff a laugh, remembering the awkward dance lessons the principal ran once a week in the run-up to prom, hoping that by teaching us to dance, it would keep the prom respectful, even though year after year, it never did. I throw a glance at Serena and raise my brows in question. She shoots me a “why not” shrug, and I grab her hand.
“I hope you remember the steps,” she teases as I draw her to me in the center of the dance floor.
“After the way Mrs. Conley drilled the waltz into us every day for weeks, how could I forget?”
Serena turns to face me, resting her free hand gently on my bicep. “I swear the waltz was the only dance she knew.”
“Posture, Chase. Where is your posture,” I whisper in Serena’s ear, mimicking the outraged cry of Mrs. Conley.
Serena giggles as we start to move. It’s stilted at first, but then we find the rhythm and glide around the other dancers. Serena rattles off more facts about mountain lions. We joke. We laugh. Then from the corner of my eye I spot Ryan eyeballing us from the bar.
He’s leaning against the bar with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, eyes narrowed. My jaw ticks and my grip on Serena’s back tightens a fraction. There’s something about this guy that doesn’t sit right with me. And it’s not just because he dated Serena. I really have tried to like her boyfriends over the years, but none of them have come close to measuring up in my book. As far as I’m concerned, not a single one of her exes has ever realized how amazing Serena is. And they sure as hell didn’t spend every minute of every day showering her with the adoration and love she deserves.
But this guy? I can’t decide if I want to wind him up or put him on his ass. But considering our location and our fake date plan tonight, I settle on the former.
“I’m gonna dip you,” I murmur in Serena’s ear.
“Seriously? Mrs. Conley did not teach us this.”
“I’ve got my own moves.” I smile wickedly at her, then I guide her into a smooth spin, our bodies swaying to the beat. As we come out of it, I step closer, my hand sliding down the silk of her dress to support her lower spine. With a playful flourish, I dip her low, enjoying the way her blonde hair tumbles away from her shoulders and her smile widens.
When I pull her up, I move us closer.
“I think Mrs. Conley would say you weren’t respecting my dance space,” Serena whispers, but her hand slides around my back.
“We’re being watched,” I say against her ear, drawing in the sweet floral scent of her perfume. “Run your hand over my ass.”
She snorts. “I thought we agreed that was against the rules.”
“You know what they say about rules,” I quip.
“What’s that?”
“Made to be broken.”
She laughs.
“It’s a good ass,” I tease.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s very firm,” I add, enjoying the way her eyes flicker with amusement and disbelief.
“OK. You can stop talking about your ass now.”
“We’re putting on a show, remember?” My own fingers trail down her back, moving lower. “Don’t be a chicken,” I whisper.
“I seem to remember the last time you called me a chicken; we were ten, and you were daring me to sneak into the barn with you after dark.”
“You were being a chicken then too,” I chuckle.
“It wasn’t me who got spooked by the sound of an owl and screamed so loud you woke Mama up, and I told her it was me who screamed so you wouldn’t get in trouble.”
“Still did though.” I smile. “What’s it gonna be? You still chicken?”
Serena huffs a sound midway between a laugh and an exasperated sigh, but a second later her hand moves down my body, and her lips move to my neck, grazing my skin in a caress that sends darts of heat shooting through me.
“I’m no chicken, Sullivan.” Her voice is low and daring, her breath hot on my skin.
I plaster on my cockiest smile and tighten my hold on her waist, making sure Ryan can see every inch of it. “That’s my girl,” I say, for her, for him, for the cameras.