Chapter 17 Chase
CHASE
Seated together at the table, a long moment passes and a grandfather clock chimes from somewhere in the manor.
As if recalibrating in that quiet moment before shaking her head, Pippa straightens. Her smile ripples, but it isn’t a frown, so that’s progress.
She organizes the papers that had spilled out of her folder and then stacks her hands on top of each other. “Okay, I can do this.”
I rub my palms together, ready to catch anything that’s thrown at me.
“When Cateline mentioned athletes, I didn’t make the connection that the #BruiserButt scandal got you sent here. Why didn’t you mention it the other night?”
“I didn’t know you worked here. Nor am I exactly proud of what I did.”
She clicks her tongue as if she doesn’t believe me. “Does that mean I’m working with a reformed prankster?”
“If you’re referring to—?”
She opens the folder sharply and cutting me off, says, “Forget it. Let’s just move on and start the interview.”
I still owe Pippa an apology about the sponge cake, but I repeatedly get stopped from saying, I’m sorry.
She taps her pen on the top paper. “Chase Collins.”
“That’s me. Chase Collins. I don’t chase the football; the football chases me.” I repeat the fan-favorite saying that they attached to my name.
She scratches something down on the piece of paper.
“Tell me a little more about your career, please.”
“I’m the quarterback and lead offense. I pass the ball or run it. Um, I was recruited out of high school and couldn’t attend the last month of school, prom, or graduation, as you know—” I pause, giving her an opening to comment on what I’d missed.
Pippa’s lips part. “I didn’t know that’s why you left.”
“Freddie didn’t mention it?”
She shrugs. “If you recall, he was preoccupied with his prom date.”
I roll my eyes because when was Freddie not preoccupied with his flavor of the week?
“Being picked early was a big deal for me and I don’t take it for granted.
I’m very thankful for the opportunities it’s afforded me.
” And in a backward kind of way, it’s led me to see Pippa again.
“But I have to admit that I miss high school. It was easier in a lot of ways. Fewer responsibilities, more fun...”
She tilts her head, looking at me blankly as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Did you go to college?”
“I did, but mostly remotely and in the offseason on campus. It took me five years to finish, but I have a degree in sports medicine.”
She nods as she takes notes.
“A lot of people think football players aren’t very smart, and some are as dumb as a box of rocks—” I use one of my grandfather’s favorite sayings. “But it pays to apply yourself. I learned a lot in college and then afterward, it helped with teamwork, strategy, and the all-important hustle.”
“Thank you for sharing your thoughts on how fun high school was and the intelligence of football players,” she says stiffly.
The center of my brow crinkles with confusion. I shared that because she asked about college and I wanted to demonstrate that I’m not just another dumb jock.
I bring us back to familiar Hinnifin Hall territory.
“Remember that time when Mr. Garber stumbled on the bleacher stairs during halftime at the rugby match against the Marlborough Darts? No one moved and you were the only one who offered to help him up,” I say, flinching because I’ve also taken a spill on bleacher stairs when running suicides up and down for sixty minutes straight.
“I was stuck in the announcer’s box, witnessing the whole thing. ”
Pippa doesn’t say a word. She couldn’t have forgotten about that.
I try again. “You were always so sweet, bringing the kitchen staff Christmas gifts—little stockings embroidered with their names.”
Her response is a blank stare as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Okay, last rugby game of the season. We were ahead, but then Finnigan got injured. You visited him in the infirmary and read him the chapters assigned for English so he didn’t fall behind.
How do I know that? I was in there too—had a splinter, but in the following days, I’d visit Nurse Sellers for one thing or another, so I could hear you reading.
” I just played my ace card. Well, one of them.
Pippa draws a stilted breath. Her gaze focuses just past my head as though trying to steel herself from responding, reacting, or showing any emotion.
I sigh and toss my hands in the air. “Are you pretending you don’t remember?”
“We should focus on your time at this school, not high school.”
Perhaps senior year wasn’t one long party for her as it had been for me. Granted, I was sent to Hinnifin under duress, but it turned out to be pretty fun. If the Pippa stories in the alumni group she mentioned are any indication, maybe she can’t say the same.
“Okay, tell me about this reform school, academy, etiquette, lesson thing,” I say, getting back in the driver’s seat of the conversation. “Oh, wait, I missed one. Charm school.”
“That is slightly different from what we offer here.”
“Good, because I was going to ask, aren’t I charming already?” If chatting with her like a normal person about our shared past isn’t going to work, I’ll put on my crown and attempt to get her to crack a smile.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of amusement shines in her eyes. Then again, she is wearing glasses, so it’s hard to tell.
“The focus here at Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia is on learning to think of others before yourself.” She gives me a pointed look. Although Pippa refuses to acknowledge our shared history, her eyes hold a shadow from the past. “We help clients learn to be gracious.”
“Like holding open doors and pulling out chairs? Because if so, I’ll take you out to dinner and prove to you that I know my manners.”
With zero response and her chin lifted, she carries on.
“As your personal coach, I’m going to guide you through overhauling areas of your life that need refinement.
Depending on your unique needs, we’ll do image consulting, public relations, and social skills commonly known as etiquette.
This will include digital etiquette, dining etiquette, modern manners in various environments, and more. ”
“Apart from the whole moon-gate thing, I pretty much behave myself.”
“Do you?”
I’ve never witnessed this all-business side of Pippa before. Granted, until the other night, I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, but I can’t help but wonder why she’s gone from hot to cold. Well, she’s still hot, appearance-wise, in her classic way.
I don’t think Pippa realizes how pretty and special she is. It gives her a kind of genuineness I rarely encounter in women.
“To answer your question, yes. Yes, I do behave myself.”
A tiny grunt escapes as though she disagrees. “We’ll also focus on communication skills, leadership qualities, appearance, and the ever-important first impression.”
I lean back in the chair. “What’s your first impression of me?”
She reviews her file. “A selfish, cocky, rascal.”
I press my hand against my chest at the blow to my ego. “Yeeowtch. I’m not even charming? What about attractive, intelligent, irresistible?” I smirk. “I’d say the same about you.”
Her mouth opens and closes. Color rises to her cheeks.
Then I recall something crucial about Pippa. She has her rules and one of them might be to keep her personal and professional lives separate. But why doesn’t she just say so? Why the sudden cold shoulder when we heated up the dance floor at the Smythe’s?
She was always honest and didn’t hold back speaking her mind.
When the fire alarms repeatedly went off, ruining career day, she reported seeing a student messing with the fire alarm system.
Our English teacher said stolidly wasn’t a word and she proved that false.
She challenged a guest speaker on campus when he refused to acknowledge that God played a role in creation.
As if my comment about being attractive, intelligent, and irresistible hangs in the air, she closes those big brown eyes that make me want to remain in this room forever. They’re eyes that still enter my dreams from time to time.
Taking a deep breath, she opens them and adjusts her glasses. “Chase, what do you want to be known for? What kind of legacy do you want to leave?”
At that, I drop all pretense of joking, flirting, and whatever wedged itself between us, upsetting her. I’ve thought a lot about that question after Cap passed away.
“When I’m gone, I want everyone I ever encountered to remember me as a man who showed up fully to everything he did.
Who gave his all—one hundred percent. Who left everything on the field.
Who lived with integrity, conscientiousness, and a commitment to faith.
” I focus my eyes on hers. “That’s who I want you to know me as, Pippa. ”
A long moment passes. It’s like we’re caught in a bubble of time and when it pops, we’ll know whether we’ll be able to move forward.
“Then you shouldn’t have fed me a sponge,” she blurts as if no longer able to hold back.
I scrape my hand along my jawline. “Is that what this is about?”
Her nostrils widen as she draws a deep breath. “What do you mean this?”
“Since we sat down, you’ve been acting like you don’t know me. Like, our parents aren’t trying to get us hitched. Like we don’t have a history.”
She pinches her lips together and then says, “It’s easier that way. The simplest path forward, considering our stations.”
“Easier how? Why? Help me understand.”
“This is my job, now, in the present. Let’s leave the distant past and the recent past there.”
I sigh and gaze at my hands. The hands that held hers while we danced at the Smythe’s. Her fingers fit perfectly in my palm. I’d like to find them there again.
There has to be a reason we’ve been brought back together. I messed up with the sponge, but I have a second chance. I don’t want to blow it. Time to tread lightly and give her time to open up and forgive me.
Hammer has his playbook containing strategies for playing on the field.
The guys and I created a playbook of rules to keep us on the team after moon-gate.
If we mess up, get bad press for the team, or are caught fooling around with women, we’re all fired.
Neither playbook will work for how to navigate this thing with Pippa.
It’s as if I hold a blank playbook in my hands and have to figure out a new strategy of play with Pippa Thompson.
“So, what’s next?” I ask simply, letting her take the lead.
“For the next seven days, I’m going to coach you in various forms of etiquette. Then we’ll be taking everything we learned here at Blancbourg into the real world.”
“Is there a test at the end? An exam? Will we have to perform one of Professor Crawford’s historical trials?
” I ask, referring to the high school course where the teacher made us act out scenes from history instead of taking tests.
“Because if so, I’m ready. I’m going to do it right.
I’m going to pass this class and prove to you that I’m not the guy I was in high school. ”
Pippa bites her lip. Her perfectly plump, bow-shaped lips. “I’ll be giving three assessments to the headmistress and your coach. Also, there’s the First Annual Boston Bruisers Charity Ball at the end.”
“Does that mean we get to dance again?” I grin.
At last, I get one in return. It’s subtle, with a little tremble in her chin. The corners of Pippa’s mouth rise like the thinnest crescent moon. From behind her glasses, her eyes crinkle ever so slightly.
But I’ll take what I can get and run with it, all the way to the end zone where I’ll score a touchdown, no matter what it takes.