Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Chase
Sweat trickled down my chest and over my flat stomach. Some people find sweating disgusting, but me? I loved it. The slicker I was, the harder I'd worked.
Ever since I was a kid, my dad taught me the importance of putting in a good day's work.
"Kid," he'd say, "there's no point doing a thing unless you're gonna give it your all. Don't go doing it half-assed."
Then my mother would glare and tell him off for saying 'ass,' although she agreed with the sentiment.
Half-assed or half-hearted, I lived by that piece of advice. That and my uncle's tip never to put snapping turtles down your pants. He learned that from experience. I guess my dad got the common sense in his family. I like to think I inherited that, too.
I pressed the button on the side of my earphones to turn off the music.
It still throbbed in my ears.
I cursed under my breath and pressed again. Distracted, I lost my rhythm on the treadmill. I stumbled and made a grab for the handles, but missed.
Shit.
I skidded to the end of the treadmill. Before I could stop myself, it tossed me onto the floor. I tried to keep my feet, but instead tumbled and landed on my ass on the carpet behind the machine.
The music played on, undeterred.
I tugged out my stubborn earphones, threw them aside and picked myself up. I sucked in a couple of breaths while trying to regain some of my dignity.
Thank the football gods no one was here to see me. If this happened in a public gym, photos and videos would hit the internet in about three seconds flat.
For that reason alone, my home gym was worth every cent. The world didn't need to know that I, Chase McKinney, wide receiver for the Lowball Bay Humpbacks, was accident prone.
I grabbed a towel, wiped my brow and down my bare chest. I liked to sweat, but I didn't want it to drip along the floor on my way to the shower. My housekeeper, Bernice, would yell at me again, and threaten to quit. She often threatened to do that, but never followed through on it.
Yet.
I didn't really think she would quit. I paid her well and didn't make too much of a mess.
Usually.
Apart from the occasional late-night pasta cooking session.
I stripped off my shorts and stepped under a lukewarm shower.
My muscles were still sore from yesterday's game.
The first of the season, it was a hard one.
The Wollongong Weevils hammered us like they had a grudge.
Maybe because we beat their asses last season and put their star quarterback out of commission.
That's the game for you. Sometimes it's a bitch.
Sometimes it's so much of a bitch that your body feels like you got hit by a train the next day. Them's the breaks. Mostly, it's worth it. Younger me would have given his right arm to be doing what I'm doing now. I wasn't about to be ungrateful. Not for a second.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. The phone rang.
I looked around.
"Okay, where are you now?" I asked it. I had a bad habit of putting my phone down and losing it. Sometimes for days. The fact I heard it now meant it wasn't far. In theory.
I scooped up a shirt from my bed. It wasn't under there. I threw the shirt back down. It missed the bed and slid to the floor, where it lay, arms outstretched, begging to be washed and put away properly. I ignored it.
I listened to the ringing. Was my phone in the living room, maybe?
I stepped out my bedroom door and hesitated. The ringing was coming from downstairs.
"Oh yeah." Now I remember putting my phone down on the kitchen counter. I trotted down the stairs, but reached it just as it stopped.
"Figures." I checked the screen. The caller ID said Brandi. Since when did she call and not inundate me with texts full of kissy face emojis and photos of her breasts?
I waited, but she didn't leave a message. Maybe she'd butt dialled me by accident. I smiled at the thought of her cute little ass. She had it going on in all the right places.
Since the night we met at Waves bar, I'd been head over heels for her. She genuinely seemed into me. Chase McKinney, the guy, not Chase, the pro gridiron player. Women like that were hard to find. Most people want a piece of you the minute you get a little taste of fame.
It soured the experience sometimes, but only around the edges. In the middle of training and playing, I had the best job in the world.
What's the expression? Living my best life? Yeah, that was me. Brandi was the icing on a red velvet cupcake with chocolate sprinkles.
I put the phone back down and adjusted my towel before it fell off my hips. Yeah, this was my home, but I didn't want to scare Bernice, if she was still around somewhere. She'd do that thing where she makes the sign of the cross in front of herself and walk away muttering under her breath.
That was what she did the last time. Before threatening to quit for real if she sees my dick again.
I took two steps away. The phone rang again.
I stepped back, picked it up and squinted at the screen. The number was one I didn't recognise. It was probably the press. I should ignore it, but I hit 'answer' anyway and held the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Chase?" a woman's voice came down the line. Or the airwaves, or whatever they called it these days. "This is Ashley Levitt."
I frowned. It took me a moment to remember who she was. Finally, I snapped my fingers.
"Kris Richards' girlfriend." I'd known Kris since high school. His parents found it hilarious to remind everyone his middle initial was P. He hated it. Funny how that goes.
His last name could have been Bacon. That would be worse and more obvious. At least it takes people a while to realise his name was Crispy Dick.
"Uh, yeah," Ashley replied. "I was just wondering if you have some time to talk. In person."
I hesitated. "If this is one of those 'I want to hook up with my boyfriend's best friend behind his back, things—"
"It's not," she said quickly.
I didn't know her well. We'd met a few times at parties and bars. I'd always thought she seemed nice. Dependable. If she told me she wasn't up to anything bad, I believed her. For now, anyway.
"It's kinda important," she added.
"Does Kris know you're calling?" I asked.
"Not exactly. He and I aren't together anymore," she said. "Before you think anything, I'm not looking to hook up. It's—" Her breath muffled the line. "It's something you're going to want to know, okay?"
"Okay," I said slowly. I tried to get my head around that. Hadn't Kris and her been together for a year or two? I hadn't seen him for a while, but he'd seemed happy.
"Is everything all right?" I asked. "Kris isn't—"
"He's fine," she said quickly. "Last time I saw him." She sounded bitter.
"What did he do?" I asked. I meant it as a joke, but she was silent for a moment.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Right. Well, I can meet you somewhere." I couldn't remember if she'd been here, to my place, before.
I had the sense she'd prefer neutral territory.
Kris was my friend. Technically I should be on his side after a breakup.
Inviting her here could end badly. Besides, Brandi was the jealous type.
If I invited Ashley here and Brandi turned up, she'd get pissy.
I didn't want to deal with that right now.
"Okay. What about Waves?" she suggested.
The bar was pretty much the go-to bar for the whole team. Owned by the cousin of Hawk Florence, the Humpbacks’ quarterback, it was a nicer place than most of the bars in Lowball Bay, but without being fancy.
They also made the best burgers this side of just about anywhere.
"Yeah, okay," I agreed. "In an hour?" They'd be open for lunch by then. I could get a meal as well as having a chat with Ashley. Win.
"I'll be there," she said. "Thanks."
"Yeah. Bye." I hung up.
Brandi had called again while I was talking to Ashely, but hadn't left a message this time either. I thought about calling her, but heard Bernice singing to herself. She was getting closer. Now would be a good time to get back to my room and get dressed.
I held onto my towel with one hand and trotted back across the wide kitchen and up the stairs to the top story. I reached the landing just as Bernice hurried past, dusting cloths in hand.
Phew, that was close.
I grimaced at myself. I was a grown man, she was my employee. She should be watching out for me, not the other way around.
Of course, she wasn't the one walking around in a towel. She wasn't that kind of housekeeper. Naked cleaners were a thing, but my mother would kill me if I hired any. Unless they were men and she was allowed to watch. Then she'd kill me afterward and blame me for corrupting her.
As if she needed my help. I'd seen the books she liked to read. Romance which was heavy on the spice and usually involved multiple men with one woman. She was way ahead of me. She still hated when anyone said the word 'ass'. Women were complicated.
I hurried into my room and tugged on a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt.
One of the things I loved the most about Bernice was that she didn't mind coming into my room and picking up my dirty clothes off the floor.
I could just drop things all over and the next day they'd be clean and back in their drawers or on hangers.
In spite of my mother's constant reminding, I never got the hang of cleaning up after myself.
Until I tripped over a pile of crap on the floor.
That was the only incentive which actually worked.
Okay, it worked when I didn't just get up off the floor and kick the pile aside. Which was most of the time.
All right, I'd probably never learn. That was what Bernice was for.
I pulled on socks and a pair of old sneakers. I loved these shoes. Bernice had thrown them away several times, but I pulled them out of the bin and put them back in my cupboard.
So one had a hole near the toe. They were still comfortable.
I headed back down stairs and managed to make it without falling over my own feet.
I grabbed my phone. Brandi had called a third time, but still no message. I'd call her when I got back. I needed to hurry to make it across town.
Honestly, I wasn't sure why it was important to me to be on time.
Something in Ashley's tone convinced me not to mess her around.
She'd sounded upset. No, more than that, she sounded like she'd lost her best friend.
What the hell that had to do with me, I have no idea. I guess I'd find out soon enough.
I grabbed my helmet on the way out the door and jammed it onto my head.
Some of the appeal of heading over to Waves was taking the chance to ride my bike.
I liked my SUV well enough, but my bike was my first love.
The rush of whizzing through the streets, wind on my face, machine between my legs.
It was second only to playing football for sheer thrill.
If crowds cheered while I rode, I might give up football and ride more often.
Since that wouldn't pay the bills, I stuck to riding when I could.
I led my girl out to the driveway and mounted. With the engine thrumming like a purr, I pointed her toward the road and gunned her into life.
With a roar, I rode toward Waves, my mouth closed so I didn't eat bugs as I went. I'd learned my lesson on that one, the hard way. Flies don't make good food.
Burgers, on the other hand, let me at them.