TWELVE
CHASE
@StillSingleInDenver: I’ve got my “Future Mrs. Sullivan” mug on order #ChasingLove
@BroncoBelle22: OK! You and Serena look gorgeous together. But if it doesn’t work out, call me. #ChasingLove
@StormhawksStatsGirl: OMG you guys look too cute together! Do I hear wedding bells? #Chase it feels like fuel.
The Trailblazers come fast, hard, and relentless. Any other game this season, it might’ve been enough to beat us. But today we answer with our own fight. We’re fast, precise, and most importantly, connected. And when that final whistle blows, the scoreboard reads 28-17. Stormhawks win.
The stadium erupts, and we gather on the field, helmets raised high. Jake slaps me on the back. “Told you we didn’t need luck.”
“Yeah.” The buzz of the win thrums through me. We were the better team out there today. I keep my head high and my smile wide as we head into the locker room. These are the moments. The times when everything connects, when I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be—with my team and my family—that make everything feel right. These are the moments I live for. The ones that make the weight I carry feel light enough to ignore.
I fumble with the keys to my apartment, my fingers still buzzing from the adrenaline of the game and maybe a little bit from the celebratory whiskey shots Flic gave us. Serena’s leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a smile playing on her lips as she watches me struggle. God she’s beautiful. She’s swapped her Stormhawks coaching uniform for a pair of dark jeans and a light sweater that hugs her curves. Her hair is loose down her back and her makeup is subtle but deliberate—making those sky-blue eyes look like they could swallow me whole. The beer and the win must be messing with my head, because I haven’t been able to stop looking at her tonight, searching her out in every group.
“You sure you’re sober enough to get us inside, Chase?” Serena’s voice is teasing and playful.
“Oh, I’m plenty sober,” I shoot back. We both know it’s a lie. Finally, I get the key into the lock and push the door open. “But if I wasn’t, I’d blame you.”
“Hey, I’m the designated driver.” Serena steps into my apartment and kicks off her ankle boots before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Exactly,” I call after her. “You should’ve hauled my ass from the bar hours ago.” I drop onto the couch, spreading my arms out across the back of the cushion, loving the way the world is blurry around the edges in a good way, and how tomorrow is a rest day. No practice. No grueling gym workout. Just rest and hanging out with Serena. Perfect! I’m already thinking of us heading up to the ranch. Coaxing Dylan and Izzy into taking us riding.
“You were the one who started the line-dancing,” Serena replies, returning from the kitchen and nudging her elbow into my ribs as she drops down beside me, handing me a bottle of water.
I chuckle, staring out at the Denver skyline and the dots of light and then the pitch black of where the city ends and the wilderness begins.
“How do you not even have throw pillows for this couch?” Serena rolls her eyes as she shifts position, tucking her legs under herself and moving to face me. “You need, literally, everything,” she adds.
“Should I be calling my bank before our shopping trip tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
We talk for a while. Gossiping about the evening in between Serena tapping a list on her phone of shops and items she wants to buy for here and my house at the ranch. By the second yawn Serena tries to hide, I know it’s time for bed. I might have had a grueling game on the field, but Serena has been on her feet all day, running the cheer team through their routines and overseeing a million tiny details that all add up to create the magic the cheer squad always bring.
I stand up and reach out to pull her to her feet. “Bedtime for you, princess.”
“Princess?”
“Just getting some practice in for our next fake date.” Truth is, I’m as surprised as she is by what I just said. Pet names have never been my thing. “Would you rather I called you?—”
She cuts me off with a sharp punch to my arm before I can utter the childhood nickname her family had for her. One she only confessed to me in a late-night game of truth or dare as kids because it was that or sneak into Dylan’s room and steal all his clothes.
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, her voice low but playful. “You swore you’d never speak that name aloud.”
I lean in. My senses fill with the sweet blossom scent of her perfume. I lower my voice. “I swore I’d never say it publicly. There’s no one else here right now, Rena Bean.”
Her eyes dance as she shoves me hard toward the couch. But I’m ready for her, grabbing her arms and pulling her down with me. We land in a heap, laughter bubbling out of us as we struggle to untangle ourselves. She’s still trying to swat me with her hands, but I hold them tight, forcing her to stop. Only when she does am I suddenly aware of how close she is and the way her body is pressing against me. Her face inches from mine. I can’t stop my eyes from dragging down to her lips as an unfamiliar pull tugs at my chest.
All it would take is for me to lean in.
I cut the thought dead. Shove it away. Don’t let it take root.
Then Serena is scrambling away, putting distance between us. “Be glad you don’t have a throw pillow on this couch, or I’d be smothering you right now,” she says, shooting me dagger-eyes but laughing, too.
“Love to see you try,” I shoot back, trying to keep my tone light, even as my heart pounds.
I’ve not exactly got much to compare it to, but fake dating Serena has been more fun than any relationship I’ve ever had. With Jen, I was always booking last-minute flights and sitting front row at fashion shows, pretending not to mind when she chose attending a new club opening together over something quieter, trying to be the kind of boyfriend she wanted me to be.
But with Serena, I can just be me. She’s seen every version of me—awkward, cocky, quiet—and she’s never asked me to be anything other than myself. I can talk for hours about whether I should hire a private detective to find my mom, and she never once tells me to make a decision or change the subject. Which makes this whole situation one hell of a mind fuck. Because Serena might feel like the easiest, most natural girlfriend I’ve ever had, but she isn’t actually my girlfriend. And never will be.
Serena steps away in the direction of the spare room, throwing the next comment over her shoulder. “And anyway, we can’t go to bed. I promised Harper we’d do a late-night selfie from your bed and post it on your socials. I’m going to get my pjs on.”
She disappears into the spare room before I can respond, leaving me sitting on the couch in my empty apartment with my head still spinning. Serena has been on my bed countless times before. We used to sleep top and tail at the ranch until we were twelve and Mama made me move to the pull-out in Jake’s room whenever Serena stayed over. But suddenly everything feels supercharged.
I never expected this fake dating thing to mess with my head so much. I run a hand over my shaved head, trying to shake off the tension building inside me. I hear the soft rustle of fabric from the spare room and imagine Serena pulling off her sweater, slipping out of her?—
No! I shut the thought down and drag myself up to brush my teeth. I will not perv over my best friend.
By the time I’m back in my room, Serena is flopped on top of my covers, wearing a loose tee and shorts that show off long, toned legs I pretend not to notice. She’s makeup free, hair pulled into a messy bun, and looking effortlessly beautiful.
She smiles. “Ready?”
“Sure,” I reply, dropping onto the bed beside her.
“You need to take your tee off,” she says, and I don’t miss the cute way her cheeks color a fraction. Maybe I’m not the only one finding this new level of fake intimacy hard to process.
I pull off my tee and open my arms for her so she can nestle against my chest. I glance down at her, catching the contrast of our skin. Serena is golden tanned and sun-warmed but still looking pale next to me. I have the in between of my mom’s white skin and my dad’s rich brown. A reminder every time I look in the mirror that no matter how much love is between me and Mama and my brothers, no matter how damn proud I am to be a Sullivan, I will always carry my biological parents with me.
Then Serena snaps a few pictures and we make silly faces, goofing around and laughing at each other. Easy as breathing.
“Done,” she says, posting one of the photos and shifting away, leaving my body feeling cold without her pressed against it.
I turn on my side to face her, propping my head up with one hand. “The fans seem to be buying it,” I say. “I’m getting less DMs, and there was no more than the usual crowd of fans waiting after the game tonight. If you wanted to stop early so you could go on an actual date, I get it.”
She sighs. “With my track record, I think I’m better off single.”
No way I’m arguing with that. Serena has the worst taste in men, but I can’t help pushing it. “Still,” I tease, unable to stop myself from leaning closer, riding high on the buzz of whiskey shots and winning, wanting to feel her warmth against me. “No real dates. No hookups. No fun.”
She gives me a dry look. “If you mean sex, Chase. I can live without it. It’s overrated.”
“What?” The word falls out of my mouth on an exhale.
“Oh, come on. Mind-blowing sex is a myth. It’s something movies invented to sell tickets and give women unrealistic expectations.”
There’s a pause where I just stare at her, my brain short-circuiting. I’m aware we’re moving into uncharted territory. We’ve never talked sex before. And yet I can’t stop myself. “Serena Hayes, are you seriously telling me you’ve never had good sex?”
Her smile fades and she draws her lower lip between her teeth. “Define ‘good’?” she says, voice quiet.
And fuck if I don’t want to pummel Ryan and every other selfish prick of an ex for not worshipping Serena’s body and showing her how good that should feel.
She lets out a small hollow laugh. “I guess anyone who has to ask you to define good sex probably hasn’t had it. How sad is that?”
“I mean… yeah… pretty sad. I might not be very good at the long-term thing, but I know how to make sure a woman never has to ask that question,” I reply.
“So I should sleep with you, is that what you’re saying?” She laughs at her own joke, but suddenly I’m hyper-aware of how close our bodies are. How we’re lying on my bed, alone, in the semi-darkness. And I’m drinking in how beautiful she is—her cheeks flushed from the mention of sex, her lips so damn close to mine. All I can think about is that kiss on the sidelines earlier and how much I want to do it again. Except that’s against the rules. No kissing except in public. No falling for each other. That’s what we both agreed. That’s what Serena expects from me.
“I’m just saying it’s a damn shame no one’s treated you the way you deserve,” I say quietly, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Her eyes lock with mine, and then she looks away quickly, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. It feels like we’re dancing on a tightrope. One wrong move and it’s over. Not just this moment. But maybe our friendship, too. I won’t risk it. Not when I can’t give her the future she wants. I draw in a slow breath and let the silence settle around us. Inside, my pulse hammers, my body hyper-aware of hers just inches away. Everything in me is begging to give in. To feel her beneath me, around me, to hear my name on her lips in the dark.
“I should go back to the spare room,” she whispers into the silence.
“Two more minutes,” I reply, before I can stop myself. I can’t lie to myself anymore. I want Serena. I want to kiss every curve, explore every inch, make her feel worshipped and wanted in a way she’s never known. The way she deserves.
But I can’t…