Chapter 2
CHASE
The three women, Callie, Jocelyn, and Carol, giggle at the conclusion of our tour in the Boston Bruisers’ training facility—locker room included. It’s the offseason, so it was empty, though you never know who might pop in for a workout or to escape the demands of public life. Me included.
However, right now, that means smiling, laughing, and casting the net of football star charm. Being on my best behavior. And when am I not?
Unlike my other Bruiser bros, most of the time, I’m exemplary, at least when it comes to dating. Whereas they’re on the prowl and playing the field, I’m on the lookout for Miss Right.
Declan and Wolf get into the weeds with women. But I can’t say much about Grey, other than he’ll need a strong ray of sunshine to break through the clouds circling him. As for Rylen, he went and tied the knot, which is what I’m fixing to do. Once I find the right person.
Callie’s gushy voice breaks into my thoughts with a question about what I’m doing later. Probably the same as now, thinking about my future, marriage, and love. It’s never far from my mind.
And I’m over six feet of solid muscle; I can run a football and rope a horse. In other words, I’m a man and have no problem admitting that I’m looking for love.
Snapping back into my role, I gently clap my hands together and give them a rub. “I’d love to hang out, but I have a meeting in the lounge.” Not a lie. Most days, I meet the guys in the lounge at some point. Today, that’s after this tour.
“Can we come?” Jocelyn asks.
“That’s an off-limits zone.” I try to let them down easily, but as the word off-limits comes out of my mouth, a slippery thought joins it.
From time to time, a woman from my past appears in my mind. I call her Pizza because I really, really like pizza (and at least during the preseason and game time, pizza is off-limits), so I go ham offseason. Sometimes, literally Hawaiian style with ham and pineapple. It’s delicious.
Sure, it’s no substitute, but little do the guys know that if I go on a pizza binge, it’s probably because I’ve been thinking about her.
Typically, it takes days to shake her loose from my thoughts. Not because she was clingy, or we had a bad experience. Okay, that’s not entirely true, but it wasn’t anything she did.
Rather, it was a matter of my having to push her as far away as possible. Anything more between Pizza and me came with too much of a risk. Blood may be thicker than water, but the bro code is quite viscous and I’d hate to see my best friend turn vicious.
It was in Mr. Halverson’s chem class that I gave her the code name Pizza and haven’t looked back. Okay, I’ve looked back, forward, sideways, inside, and out, but there’s no way there could be anything between us. Not in the past, present, or future.
“But the Bruisers are known for breaking the rules,” Carol teases, drawing me back to the moment.
Not this Bruiser. I’m as straitlaced as they come. The bad boy reputation comes by association. The Bruiser Babes, as they call themselves, take all of us guys as a package deal.
It’s not that these three aren’t attractive. Nor are they unpleasant, as far as hardcore fans looking for more go. Rather, I don’t feel the spark. The chemistry. They’re not Pizza. But pizza is forbidden.
Incoming!
There she is again, popping into my thoughts with those big brown eyes. Wincing, as if she’s actually striding down the hall, I momentarily hope she can’t see me, if only so I don’t have to deploy what I dubbed “Jerk Mode.”
Of course, she’s not here. I blink my eyes a few times, wondering if I need to take a cold shower or drink a strong cup of coffee to return to my senses.
Once the memories of Pizza take hold, it’s hard to dig my way back to reality. It can take days, even though Chase + Pizza is a closed case. Game over, as it were. Unless we’re talking about a slice with pipperoni. No, I mean pepperoni. I could go for one of those right now.
I grip the back of my neck. This is bad. “My apologies, ladies. But the tour ends here.” I wiggle a Sharpie in my hand to indicate it’s time to sign.
“Rumor has it you’ll autograph anything, anywhere,” Callie says.
This brings to mind a Bruiser Babe who had number twenty-four’s signature tattooed on her thigh—well, use your imagination. “No, that would be Wolf. I’ll sign official Boston Bruiser merch or paper only.” I say all this with my signature smile so they don’t think I’ve deployed Jerk Mode.
Shirts, a frisbee, and a football appear from their bags.
“Please add, ‘I’d be lion if I said I didn’t like you’ and spell lying, L-I-O-N.” Jocelyn winks.
“Ooh. Me too,” Carol adds.
I swallow thickly at the nickname I got a few seasons ago when I graduated from cub to the king of the jungle. I sign my name several times before escorting them to the exit. We snap a few more “goodbye” selfies and then, mercifully, they leave.
As the door closes, I let out a long sigh. One of them has brown hair and for a moment, I imagine Pizza, ponytail swishing as she waves farewell.
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” a familiar voice says over my shoulder.
Still thinking about Pizza, I startle.
“Is it a matter of you torturing yourself or a convoluted screening method for the future Mrs. Collins?” Grey asks.
“Community service.”
He chuckles because he knows I mean it. Mostly.
I do this to keep up a good rapport with the fans, and so my mother stops hassling me.
If she sees photos of me online with various women, she won’t concern herself with my dating life.
Or lack thereof. To be clear, I occasionally date, hoping that someone might draw me out of my pitiful pining over Pizza.
Alright, it’s not that bad. I’m being melodramatic. I have three older sisters, so blame them. But no one has ever made me feel the way Pizza did. Like I could hand her my heart and she’d know what to do with it.
“What about you? Any Bruiser Babes on the roster?” I ask Grey.
This time his chuckle is deeper, darker, as if to say, Not a chance.
Speaking of sisters...my phone rings. It’s Rhiannon. Collins sibling number two and dating coach extraordinaire. When we were kids, our grandparents got us each a football jersey with our birth order on it. I’m Collins number four, the same number now on the team.
“Grey, if someone were to offer you a spot on a dating show, what would you say?” I ask before I take my sister’s call.
His eyes bulge like he’d rather face an incoming fullback flying through the line untouched.
I take that as a confirmation of my standing no. I won’t do it. Answering the call, I tell Rhiannon, “The answer is still no.”
“Oh, come on. It’s totally legit. It won’t be scripted or overly dramatic like some of the other shows you’ve probably seen.”
“I only watched the Hen House with you because I thought it was about building chicken coops—something I want to do someday. And you coaxed me with an entire meat lover’s pie from Giardello’s.”
Still standing beside me, Grey frowns.
I explain, “Rhiannon is working on a dating show pilot for the BBC. Says it’s going to be a big hit. In the UK, they sometimes call single women hens and she made me watch a similar show for research the last time I visited.” I shrug because it doesn’t make sense to me either.
Her voice comes through the phone. “It’s called Crush or Cupid.”
“I’m more of a candidate for a show called Finding Forever.”
Ignoring me, she continues, “It works like this, we set you up with twelve pre-screened dates. Viewers get to vote whether they’re just crush material, which eliminates them from the contending, or Cupid, which would be more like long-term love material.
If that’s the case, they’ll be among the pool of wedding candidates you get to pick from. ”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Grey mutters, then scurries down the hall.
“If you ever want help building an actual hen house, I’m your guy.
Until then, I’m out.” Because I’m not at all interested in what Rhiannon is concocting, even though marriage is on the horizon for me, and not only because I want to find Miss Right and settle down.
My grandfather left a portion of his fortune to me with one stipulation—one I’m pretending doesn’t exist until I find the woman of my dreams.
For the third time in the last few weeks, she tries to sell me on the idea, citing the benefit to my career, satisfying Mom, and how it would boost the visibility of her dating coaching services.
“Rhiannon, I have to train for the upcoming season, have a few endorsements that need my time, and the big push for the farm charity that I help fund comes every spring.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she’s given up. But the Collins crew is nothing if not relentless. Works well for me as the QB, that’s for sure. Not so much when it comes to my relationship with my father.
“What if I told you, I, um—” The line goes quiet before she finishes, reminding me that cell phone service down here can be spotty.
But I know the drop in her tone all too well. “What did you do?”
“I—” But no, it’s not the reception. Rather, she’s reluctant to reveal something.
A spike of nerves zips through me because, although I might be the master prankster in the family, my sisters rule our roost.
“Rhi...” I start.
“I have a very important incoming call. I’ll be in touch with the details.” The phone goes silent.
A long sigh escapes because Rhiannon did something involving me and the dating show and it can’t be good.
I’m a yes man, a people pleaser, unless the opposing team is playing dirty, then it’s a solid no.
Also, a no when it comes to Pizza. She was forbidden then and she’s forbidden now.
I pause outside the team lounge door as a future scene belatedly hurtles toward me.
Freddie, my best friend, is getting married next autumn. That means she’ll be there.
From behind the door, Declan waves at me.