Chapter 29
CHASE
With a grunt, I ask, “Can we be done now?”
Pippa checks the schedule on her phone. “No, you have a date.”
“What was that?” I thumb over my shoulder toward the pizza parlor.
“You playing hooky and eating lunch.”
“I was hoping it was more than that.”
Pippa stops on the sidewalk. In a whisper, she says, “One word: playbook. You can’t break the rules. I can’t either.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of something.”
“I just don’t want to see you get in more trouble.”
“I can handle it. What I can’t deal with is this back and forth, hot and cold. You know you want me.” I drop the comment and leave it right there on the sidewalk between us, wondering what she’ll do with it.
“Chase. I can’t have you. Plus, we’re too different. You’re smooth and suave. I’m awkward and uncertain.”
“Not the case if those are bad things, but I like you the way you are.”
“I’m not normal. We both know that.”
I step closer because right here wouldn’t be a bad spot to pick up where we left off in the pizza shop. “I like your version of normal, Pippa.”
She gazes down at her feet. “To be clear, I’m not lacking self-confidence. I just don’t want to stick out. I refuse to call myself a hot mess, but I don’t exactly have it together.”
“Together,” I echo, wanting nothing more than for us to be going on dates, kissing, being together.
“Yeah, I have rules that stitch my life together.”
“And lists...” I trail off as I recall the crush list she was writing on the airplane and the one on my phone that I took a snapshot of in Rhiannon’s office.
Pippa’s comment about having a crush on me when we were at the Smythe’s comes at me sideways. She’s trying to get over me...and I have the original crush list and was the subject of it.
I’m about to confess this connection I just made when Pippa’s phone beeps and she whisks us to the location for my date.
Regret and resentment start to stack up like dominoes and I’m not sure how much longer I can handle being the nice guy and fighting against doing what I want...which is life with Pippa.
During some of Coach Hammer’s more grueling workouts, when my energy wanes, I slip into a zone. Not to be confused with the zone, when I’m at my best. A zone is more what I imagine being a zombie or a robot must be like. It’s a place to go where I stop thinking and just do the work in front of me.
To be clear, I was not attacked by the undead or taken over by a cyborg (though the guys and I would love a zombie versus robot movie!), but I am just going through the motions with these stupid Crush or Cupid dates.
They’re increasingly ridiculous and pointless.
I’m starting to wonder if Rhiannon is getting revenge on something I don’t remember doing.
Because nothing is worse than having Pippa watch me stroll the Boston Harbor with Ainsley, visit the museum with Jessy, or go out to dinner with Yasmin. It’s a nightmare because all I want is to be doing those things with Pippa.
But we can’t because of the playbook. Because she’s my image coach. Blah, blah, blah.
Aside from some meetings with contractors, football-related stuff, and checking in with the charity I oversee to teach young people farming and trade skills, there’s filming for Crush or Cupid. Suffice it to say, I’d rather be doing drills for Coach Hammer.
I’m trying to talk my way out of meeting date number eleven. Her name is Brielle. I’ve stopped looking at the candidates’ profiles because it’s going to be an automatic no.
The girl for me is walking next to me. Her phone pings with a message. She almost gets swiped by a bike messenger when she steps off the sidewalk, and there’s nothing better than my hands on her, feeling the warmth from under her blouse.
It’s the perfect spring day with the sun shining and a light breeze as we enter Boston Public Garden, where today’s dating activity is to take a ride on a Swan Boat.
“Do I really have to do this?” I’m no longer above whining.
Pippa tilts her head to the side. “After today, there is only one date left. The producers are thrilled with the footage. You’re doing great. Really convincing. The women of the world are going to love you.”
“I hate this,” I say through clenched teeth.
She smooths a lint fuzzy from my shirt. Without thinking, I press my hand against hers. “You feel that?”
Her eyebrows bunch together. “Feel what? Do you have a lump? A bump? Please tell me you’re not lumpy or bumpy under there. My dad knows a great doctor.”
I crack a partial smile because her sweet concern is one of the things I like about her. “No lumps or bumps.” I was going to point out the beating of my heart. But her phone pings.
She takes her hand away to check, leaving me cold, even though the sun is warm today.
“It’s showtime.”
This reminds me that it’s all fake. I’m not going to marry any of the twelve women or Marlow. If I can’t have Pippa, I’ll look into life at a monastery.
“Alright, off you get.” Pippa positions herself on a park bench where she’ll have a full view and can coach me if necessary.
Through the earpiece, she says, “Remember to stand up straight.”
Whereas I usually stand tall, putting myself into a zone is taking its toll. There’s a slight hitch in my shoulders.
“Let’s see you smile. She’s on her way.”
I’ve been told my smile is ordinarily bright and flirtatious, but it takes every ounce of my will to lift my lips.
“You look great. This is going to be great.” If I’m not mistaken, Pippa’s voice is strained.
A squeal comes from nearby, probably a child happy to see the ducks.
But then it gets louder as a woman races toward me wearing black and blue, including a pair of blue platform Converse sneakers that almost reach her knees.
She’s on the shorter side, but I can’t tell whether the film crew accidentally let a fan onto the set or if this is my date.
Please, no.
The squeal reaches an eardrum-splitting volume as she flings herself at me. She hops up and down and grips my shirt, then spins in a circle, showing me the jersey with my last name emblazoned across the back.
Up close, she’s not a child, unless this one has spent an inordinate amount of time in the sun without protection.
“I can’t believe I’m meeting you. I’ve loved you since you started on the Bruisers. I’m Brielle and want to have more of your babies.”
My mouth drops open and I stand stock still, shocked, frozen.
“Say something,” Pippa says into the comms unit in my ear.
“Uh,” I start. “Thanks for being a fan.”
The woman pulls out her phone and says, “Look! The kids have been so excited to meet you. Chase, I’d like you to meet Chasely, Chasette, Chasella, and Chasen.” She swipes through several photos of dolls dressed up in Bruisers’ merch.
“You’re joking, right?” I blurt.
“No, Chase. No, that’s not what you say. This is your date.” Pippa shouts into my ear.
My eyes widen as I stare in Pippa’s direction across the park and I mouth, You’ve got to be kidding me. The cameras are discreet for as natural a reality show as possible, but definitely rolling.
“I’m now hoping for Chase Junior.” Brielle’s smile is lumpy, bumpy, and deranged.
My eyes widen in terror. How did she slip past Rhiannon?
Taking Pippa’s cue to be polite, I say, “I imagine you already have your hands full with all those, um, kids.”
“The more the merrier.” Brielle flutters her eyelashes.
I open and close my mouth, not sure how to play this and await instruction.
Brielle continues to badger me about marriage and kids and future plans. Pippa remains quiet in my ear.
An assist. I need an assist.
Sweat beads across my brow. Sure, this might make entertaining television, but this isn’t my life. It can’t be. I’m not opposed to having kids. Not at all, but not with this woman. Where’d they find her? Why didn’t they screen her more carefully?
I make a fuss of my phone vibrating in my pocket, pull it out as if reading a message, and say, “Oh, no. Team emergency.”
“But it’s offseason.” Brielle starts to name each of the players and their known locations.
I shift away from her slightly, hoping for an obvious way out.
“It’ll be you and me and the kids. We’ll move somewhere far away where no one can find you. I mean, bother you.”
The nice guy in me, not wanting to be rude or flunk out of Blancbourg, tries to come up with a better out.
“Listen, Chase. I know this is a lot, but we’re meant to be together. You, me, the kids. I’ve been waiting all this time and know we’re going to have the best marriage.” She discusses her big plans in elaborate detail.
I start to slowly back away. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Fury rises in Brielle’s eyes. “These are your kids and you know it. If you deny it, I’ll bring you to court and prove it.”
“Miss, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“I see you every night in my dreams.” She springs toward me at the same time another figure streaks in my direction, throwing herself at me.
For a split second, I fear it’s a rival fan and I’m being rushed by two small but mighty defensive ends.
But the scent of sweet rose fills my nose.
An unmistakable accent hollers, “He’s mine, all mine,” before Pippa smothers my face with kisses.
Then my lips capture hers and she goes silent as our mouths press together in a long-awaited kiss.
I get lost in Pippa’s lips. The lines have blurred. I’m not sure if I’m headed for a touchdown or a disaster, but I’ll take my chances. I’m no longer in a zone. I’m in the zone, and Pippa is here, and I never want to leave.
Everything in my life lately has been a rough order of steamrolled commands, but Pippa is so soft, so gentle, so perfect. Being close opens up all the hatches I’d battened down. The turbulent waters I’ve been sailing finally settle. The long-awaited shore is in sight.
I appreciate this woman for coming to my rescue and love her even more for finally kissing me.