Chapter 11
We’re on break since the captains and Coach are in Atlanta for the All-Star Game, and I’ve been on my best behavior since starting on the team five weeks ago.
But now it’s time to let loose on a much-deserved night out with some of the guys who stayed in town over break and two of my former teammates who came up to visit for a few days.
Since my conversation with Bree a couple days ago, I’ve been thinking about what she said.
She’s made it clear nothing is going to happen between us.
I agreed to being friends, and the only way I know how to do that is to let off some steam and find another distraction for the night.
The last month of seeing her around the stadium wearing someone else’s jersey, and getting cozy with Miller despite the assurance they’re just friends, sparked a jealous streak I’ve never possessed before.
Who could just be friends with a woman like that?
Just seeing her sucks for me because I can’t have her.
Touch her. Want her. But I also wish I could do all those things.
She calls to me whenever she’s around, and even sometimes when she’s not.
Like in my dreams when I’m back to where it all started, surrounded by her scent and the feel of her body that has me jerking off as soon as I wake up.
I tried to fuck her out of my system after I got back from St John, but it didn’t work.
I haven’t tried since I saw her again and that ends tonight.
My balls might fall off if I don’t come inside someone instead of on my own stomach, shower wall, or hand.
Pathetic. That’s what I am. Lusting after a woman I can’t have who wants nothing to do with me.
But what if she does?
The small voice in the back of my head is what keeps me on the line. That also ends tonight. She said friends. I need to move on.
“Are we ready to show up and show out?” I ask the guys huddled around the windows in my downtown condo.
Variations of “hell yeah” and “let’s get this show on the road” fill the air, so I pick up the tequila shot and down it before leading the group out of my condo and into the elevators.
Raucous conversation swirls around me. I don’t pay much attention.
The alcohol is swimming in my bloodstream, and I’m ready to hit the bars.
It doesn’t take long to make it to Broadway.
As soon as we top the hill, the neon lights glow beneath us.
Crowds of people are everywhere, even on a Sunday night.
The main strip is closed so people can walk in the middle of the road instead of only on the sidewalks.
The side streets are still open and police monitor the crosswalks so that no one gets run over. It’s perfect madness and I love it.
“Where to, Chaser?” Brady asks, walking beside me.
Surveying the options, I see a line of women headed to a bar known for its rooftop and DJ.
“Follow the bachelorettes, boys. We’re having some fun tonight.” I pat him on the back and push him towards the women.
“There’s always a list they need to cross off,” one of the guys says, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
“I’m more than happy to help with that.” Whoops of agreement surround me as we fall in line behind them. They catch sight of us immediately and giggle to each other. We’re so getting lucky in here tonight.
Hours later, I’m three sheets to the wind on beer and liquor in the VIP area of yet another bar.
“We should get out of here.” The sultry voice tickles my ear.
She’s got deliciously curvy hips and a huge rack.
Her bleach blonde hair is pulled tight in a high ponytail and her long nails run down my chest.
Unfortunately for me, she’s not doing it for me at all.
I’ve tried to get my dick on board with the hottie grinding in my lap to the music.
He’s not influenced in the least. I could go back with her and try to make it work, but it won’t help.
Those words just threw me back to when Bree whispered the same thing in my ear.
Unsurprisingly, thoughts of Bree have my dick stirring in my pants. Fucking great.
I need to get out of here and away from this woman before things go south. I tip my head at the guys letting them know we need to head out. The girl on my lap takes that as her cue to get up too.
“I’m just going to the little girl’s room to freshen up before we leave,” she says, pressing her tits into my chest and ogling me with lustful eyes. I watch her and the other girls leave and turn to my boys.
“We need to get out of here. Right now.” A few of the guys protest leaving because they were wanting to take their ladies home.
I don’t wait for them to decide whether to stay or leave.
I book it out of the bar like my ass is on fire.
I need to get far away before she comes back from the bathroom and throws a fit.
Running out of the bar, I weave through the crowd and out onto the main drag. Laughter catches up to me from the guys trailing behind me.
“Bro, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that fast.”
“And you get paid for it.”
They jump on me and continue their ribbing as we distance ourselves from the bar. I only slightly feel bad for the guys we left behind. Hopefully their girls don’t take my disappearing act out on them. I hate being a cockblock.
Which reminds me of the reason I’m not going home with anyone tonight. I’m annoyed. Frustrated. Irritable from the lack of sex and from the cause of the lack of sex. The who I can’t get out of my head.
“Broooo, do you see that?” one of my former teammates asks, pointing across the street.
“What?” I ask, following his line of sight.
“Is that a horse? Out here in this craziness?” His southern accent is coming out with the alcohol flowing through his system.
Sure as shit, there are two horses tied to one of the metal dividers.
People are standing around and taking pictures with them.
Their brown coats shine against the lights.
Despite the loud noises and people surrounding them, the only sign of discomfort is the shaking movement of their heads.
They rock back and forth, stomping their feet occasionally.
I’m drunk and mad. That’s the only explanation I can find for what happens next.
“Dude, where are you—Oh shit!” Brady shouts after me, but I’m already halfway across the street, untying the reins from the metal. I loop them over the horse’s head, hike my foot into the stirrup, and swing myself into the saddle.
“Yah,” I yell and jerk the reins around, kicking my heels into the horse’s side.
It’s hooves clack against the pavement as it begins to walk down the street.
First people stare slack-jawed at me riding a horse down the street, then they bring out their phones and start recording when the shouts start.
“Hey, stop right there,” a voice calls out.
“Freeze!” another voice chimes in. I look back over my shoulder and see two police officers walking after me. It’s then I notice the badge on the horse I’m riding. The horse I’ve stolen. The police horse I’ve stolen from the actual police and am currently riding downtown drunk off my ass. Oops.
Because I’m drunk, I don’t do the logical thing and return it. Instead, I slap the reins and kick the horse again, breaking into a gallop. The initial shouts fade into the background, drowned out by the sound of hooves and my manic laughter.
“Giddy up, buster. Let’s ride.” I laugh harder and hang on as the horse dodges the crowd and continues down the street.
He just wants to be free. I get it. Who has a horse like this in a crowded downtown area anyway?
Horses are meant to run and roam in fields, not be tied to poles in cities where people stumble around drunk and gawk at them for pictures.
I’m doing him a favor by taking him. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as we get farther away.
It’s short lived when two police cars block our path up ahead and an echo of hooves gets closer from behind.
Looking over my shoulder again, I see another police horse approaching with a cop on its back.
Frantically, I search for an escape. All the side streets are littered with cars.
The cops in front of us are positioned behind their cars with weapons drawn.
My horse slows and the one behind us gains on us. I’m stuck.
“Stop the horse now,” the officer yells.
Fuck. I’m busted. The joy in this joyride just ended. I must not stop soon enough because the next thing I know the horse-riding officer pulls on the reins from my side. The horse stops immediately, throwing me from the saddle and over its head.
“Ouch,” I groan when I hit the ground. “That’s gonna hurt in the morning.”
“Don’t move. Hands behind your head.” I groan again and roll on the ground. “I said, ‘Don’t move!’” the officer yells again.
“Okay, okay, I won’t move. Geez,” I grumble, lying on my back. Officers swarm me. One reaches down and yanks my arm, using it as leverage to roll me onto my stomach. The pavement scratches my face “Ow, fuck, calm down.”
“Hands behind your back.” He wrenches my hands around, slapping the cold metal cuffs on my wrists. It hurts, but I don’t think he broke it or pulled it out of socket.
“Do you need a medic?” another voice asks from above after the arresting officer maneuvers me to a seated position. Quickly giving myself a once-over, I take stock of my body. I’m sure I’ll be bruised from how I landed, but nothing feels seriously injured.
“No, I’m fine.” It feels like there may be blood on my face or hands, or both. Maybe even my knees, but I don’t need a medic. Don’t even think I need a night in the drunk tank either. Nothing like falling off a horse to sober you up.
“At least get the kit from the car and wipe him off,” someone instructs. “You got any ID on you?”
“Yeah, my wallet’s in my back pocket.” I lean over on a hip so the officer can dig it out, and I wince at the soreness.
“Chase Matthew Bennett,” the officer reads my license then whistles under his breath.
“The Chaser?” the younger officer asks, returning with the first aid kit.
“One in the same,” I grumble. The team is going to be fucking pissed. This is exactly what Coach Crenshaw warned me about. I was supposed to keep my nose clean and the bad press away.
This is going to be a nightmare. Reality is crashing in on me at warp speed.
I wish I was still drunk.
I hear the officers talking over me, but I only catch a few words here and there until I hear “The Troubadours’ rookie short stop.”
“Ah, fuck. The news is going to be all over this. Let’s hurry this along before we get more cameras on us.
” Looking around as he starts to help me up, I see people gawking on the sidewalk with their phones aimed in our direction, likely filming my downfall.
I lower my head, trying to hide, but my hat is turned backwards, offering no shield to my face.
“Can you uh—” What kind of idiot am I to think these cops will help me? But I have to try. “Excuse me, officer. Can you turn my hat around and lower it on my head?” I plead. He takes mercy on me and repositions my hat so I can try to hide my face.
“Chase Bennett, you are under arrest for drunk and disorderly, theft, and public intoxication. You have the right to remain silent…” He reads my Miranda rights while steering me to the back of the police car.
Once I’m seated, he asks if I understand my rights, and I acknowledge him before he shuts me into the backseat.
I turn away from the door to try and hide from the intrusive eyes outside the car.
He calls in his report and starts the car, driving us to the station in silence.
When we arrive, there are cameras already waiting.
“Good news travels fast, I see,” he huffs. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and don’t miss the disappointment reflected at me. There’s also compassion, which is fortified when he continues, “I’ll come around and grab ya. Try to keep you covered as much as possible while we go in.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, embarrassment setting in.
A cloud of regret is quickly encroaching as well.
I shouldn’t have gotten so wasted tonight.
I shouldn’t have been out looking to get laid just to get Bree out of my mind.
If I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have run away from that girl or found another distraction in the form of a horse.
Now, Gabrielle is going to be so pissed at me.
That’s who she is. She’s Gabrielle. Not Bree. Not my girl. She’s nothing to me.
Except she is.
No, she’s not. That’s what we agreed on not even two days ago.
The work this will cause her is going to ruin everything that ever was between us and any hope I had to rekindle what we had on the island.
I can’t let her get to me. It’s not worth it.
Except it could be.
I really shouldn’t be thinking about her right now, but it’s easier than thinking of what’s going on around me.
I’m taken into the station.
Fingerprinted.
Photographed.
Booked.
And put in the tank while we wait for my lawyer to arrive.
Thank god Coach is in Atlanta for the All-Star Game and can’t show up at the station tonight. He’s going to fucking kill me.