Chapter 30
PIPPA
Imelt into Chase, his lips, and the kiss. His big hands cup my jaw. His stubble is slightly rough and I don’t mind because his mouth on mine dulls all the ambient noise, along with the static and stress in my mind and body.
Everything glasses over like a pond on a spring day.
Inside, the heart fluffies lift me on feathery clouds and I float through calm waters.
It’s peace. It’s bliss. It’s a place I’ve never been and don’t want to leave.
Then I remember that this isn’t real. I threw myself at the quarterback because I could no longer take watching the situation with Brielle. I had to do something drastic.
But I admit that I snapped because of all the dates I endured until today. All the women fawning over Chase, pawing at him, making him smile—even if it did seem forced.
I take his hand and run headlong through the crowd, shouting, “He’s mine. All mine!” The only thing I can think of is to meet crazy with crazy.
To my surprise, Chase goes along with it.
Hand in hand, we race out of the park and don’t stop until we’re back on his street with the maple trees casting dappled light on the sidewalk.
Chase glances over his shoulder. “It doesn’t look like she followed us. That was a close call.”
We stop so I can catch my breath. “I’m sorry.”
He hits me hard with his flirtatious grin. “I’m not.” His eyes dip to my lips and he leans in.
The space between us starts to shrink, inch by inch, until we’re only dealing with fractions. The city sounds go quiet. The earth beneath my feet disappears.
He pulls me in, and like before in the park, I feel his heart beating under his shirt. Mine pounds so madly, I’m not sure where it ends and his begins.
The whooshing in and out of my breath ceases, and it’s only the kiss that’s sustaining me as our mouths move together.
Chase’s arms are around me and he steps forward. Like when we danced at the Smythe’s, I follow his lead and take a step back. We slowly move like this until I’m pinned against his car parked in front of the brownstone.
It’s like we both want to run away from all this madness, but the kiss keeps us rooted because we don’t want it to end.
His giant hands press against the back of my neck as mine knot into his hair—it’s definitely soft.
Chase pulls away for one second and whispers, “It’s just us.”
And for a few more moments, as the kiss continues, that’s all that matters.
The kiss deepens as his breath and the wind whisper across my skin, sending the heart fluffies shivering through me in the best kind of way. I’m warm and floaty inside and out.
This is better than I imagined kissing Chase would be like. It’s an equal give and take. A balance of man and woman. Of desire and devotion.
When we part, he says, “This is unreal.”
My expression slowly flattens as reality returns—and beeps with messages on my phone. I’m not sure exactly what rule I just broke, pulling Chase off the Crush or Cupid location, but it was probably a big one. “It was very real and very wrong.” I duck under his arm, moving away from the car.
He steps closer. “What do you mean? That was right. So right.”
He’s not wrong, but the rules! “I’m your teacher. I can’t—we have to go.”
“Go where? Go inside? Kiss again?” His lips form the flirtiest smile.
I tell myself to resist it. My career and his depend on it.
“Chase, that was caught on film. We have to fix this.” I smooth my hand along my hair and then twist it nervously. “What are we going to do? I’ve ruined everything.”
“You potentially saved me from a zombie robot programmed to ruin my life.”
I wrinkle my nose with confusion. “What?”
“Never mind. You have no idea the mental gymnastics I’ve had to do to make it through this week.”
“Your last date is this afternoon. We can come back from this.”
“I don’t want to go on another date, Pippa. I want—”
“You want what you can’t have.”
“Who says?”
“The rules.” I have to keep my mouth full of lies to keep myself from kissing him again.
Hands in his pockets, Chase rocks back on his heels. “So, I’m really behind the eight ball, huh?”
“If by that, you mean there’s no good choice to make in this situation, then that’s not true. Just follow through with the agreement on Crush or Cupid and this will all be over before you know it. Just think, one of these women might be your future wife. Happily ever after and all that.”
“No, Pippa. I won’t get my happily ever after like this.”
“You will. It’s in the contract.” I read it three times, trying to find a loophole to get him out of it without messing up Rhiannon’s job.
Meanwhile, I dissolved my agreement with her to be my dating coach. I’m counting down the days until I can retreat to my quiet, orderly life, even if it comes with the occasional appearance of Chompy the Swamp Thing.
“You’re surprisingly stubborn,” Chase says, lassoing his hand around my waist.
Heat sweeps through me, sending my heart fluffies fluttering. It’s decided. My favorite place on earth is in Chase’s arms. “I’m not stubborn.” I frown as I step backward, making a pathetic attempt to follow the rules and break loose.
“You’re even stubborn about being stubborn and—”
“Am not,” I say as I tip backward. My high heel catches in the sidewalk crack.
Chase comes to my rescue, catching me well before I hit the ground.
“Good thing I’m patient,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m willing to wait out whatever it is you’re objecting to about us being together.”
“We’ve been over this. Work, mine and yours. Plus, the rules and—”
He presses his finger to my lips as I stand up straight again.
“There have been too many moments between us to deny our chemistry. A spark. I see it. Feel it. Live it. Breathe it. You can play coach, go along with this stupid dating thing, and tell me we can’t be together because of rules, but this is more than a crush, Pippa. ”
“It’s not a Cupid scenario,” I say, my tone confirming that indeed, I’m being stubborn. “If you keep talking like that, we’ll be in the town hall by the end of the day, and I want to get married in a church.”
As if the kiss flipped the people-pleasing patient switch in Chase, he’s gone from being cooperative and reserved to setting his sights on me with possessively bold declarations.
It terrifies me, but I like it. A lot.
“Pippa, I’m a Boston Bruiser’s all-star because I can go the distance.
In the gym, if the coach says to do fifty reps, I do fifty-one.
When drilling, I’ll add an extra ten to the end.
Rylen and I routinely take long endurance runs—marathons and beyond, to see how long and how far we can go.
Even if I have to run around this city, across the country, outside its borders chasing you, I will. ”
“But there’s the evaluation due to Blancbourg. Your coach. Your teammates.” That was my last play. I’ve got none left because now the excuses and objections sound stale and strained in my ears. Who am I trying to fool? I have more than a crush on Chase Collins.
His massive, muscled chest lifts and lowers on a long inhale. “Right. But aren’t we two adults who can make our own decisions?” He scuffs his foot on the sidewalk. “I’ve let other people dictate my life for a long time and—”
“And you’ve also worked hard, as you said. I don’t want to see you throw it all away for me. One more date. See Crush or Cupid through to the end. Do it for me?”
His usually sparkling blue eyes fall into shadow. “Alright. If this is what you want. Fine.” He turns and whisks into his side of the brownstone. The door almost, but not quite, slams behind him.
With heavy feet and an even heavier heart, I go inside too. That wasn’t how I wanted our post-kiss conversation to go. No, I imagined it would be cozier and involve another kiss or two.
But that tells me two things. My crush is still alive and well. And I’m in big trouble because the initial rescue kiss in the park was caught on film and there was nothing innocent about it.
I spend the rest of the day doing damage control, putting out fires all over the world—Rhiannon in London, Cateline in France, and Coach Hammer in Los Angeles. As for the fans of the show, the mystery woman in the park, aka me, got voted Cupid.
For the next twenty-four hours, Chase remains locked behind the closed door of his brownstone. The short burst of energy I summoned to take care of business drains, and I, too, retreat to my side.
For now, it seems like we’ve reached a stalemate. If we were playing for opposing teams, we’d run into overtime. But I’d like to believe Chase and I are on the same team—the one I pray has a future in the lifelong Hall of Fame.
As the quiet hours tick by with me alternately fretting and thankful for the break, I expect to be shipped off to Siberia, or wherever wayward etiquette coaches who kiss their clients while on a national reality show go.
However, Tory sends me repeated text updates about how ratings went through the roof when it aired.
When I made my confession, my boss seemed preoccupied and said we’ll talk when we’re back in Concordia, but she didn’t seem overly concerned that I broke employee guidelines.
Because the contract for Crush or Cupid was signed before the commissioner’s punishment came down, Coach Hammer said Chase isn’t in trouble. He also asked if I like pizza.
Miraculously, we’re in the clear, but that still leaves the issue of us...and Chase’s final date for the show. While trying to distract myself from that unpleasant reality, I do get an idea to make Chase a pizza-scented candle to make up for this mess.
I drag my feet, getting ready to accompany him on his final date.
Part of me wants to pull on little more than a hoodie and leggings, but I opt for a coordinating blouse and skirt with lilacs and ruffles.
It’s cottagecore style and is like wearing the interior of my apartment—my sanctuary—or a London garden in the spring.
The doorbell to the brownstone echoes through the house.
Chase waits on the doorstep, car keys in hand, BMW roadside.
He wears navy blue chinos, cuffed at the ankles, tennis shoes, and has a light jacket slung over his shoulder, drawing my attention to the way the hem of his sleeve hugs his biceps.
“It’s supposed to rain.”
I point to my purse. “I have a compact umbrella.” Apart from the obvious—keys, phone, wallet—among my rules are never to leave home without an umbrella, water, or pepper spray.
Like the perfect gentleman, Chase guides me down the sidewalk, opens the car door, and closes me inside.
However, he remains quiet as he zips along the winding and confusing Boston streets. I recall him commenting the other day about how his grandfather used to complain that the horses the city’s forefathers rode had been the ones to design the streets.
I open my phone to check the dining plans Tory sent me. It’s best for me to check the menu ahead of time so I can focus on Chase’s conversation in case he needs any assistance.
“Mmm. Sushi.”
“Change of plans. We’re headed to Dalton Corner Cuisine.”
“Oh, Tory didn’t notify me of the change.”
“No? Surprise.” But there’s no punctuation at the end of the word. I can’t tell if there should be an exclamation point or a question mark.
The restaurant is one of those newer, bespoke, farm-to-table joints where everything has a story, from the sourcing of the wooden beams spanning the ceiling to the day’s fresh catch to the semolina flour in the homemade ravioli spirals.
I’m not sure what those are. The film crew must be super covert in here because the place is packed and I don’t see them anywhere.
The hostess smiles expectantly and leads Chase to an intimate table with candlelight. I trail behind, assuming my table will be nearby. That’s been the arrangement at all the other dining establishments. But there aren’t any open two-tops available.
“Where should I—?”
Chase pulls out the chair across from him and gestures for me to sit.
“Your date, Judy, I think the name was, should be here any second.” I check the correspondence from Tory on my phone. “Nope. My mistake. The name is Jude. No Y.”
“Mmmhmm,” he says.
“Seriously, Chase. This is the last one. We’re almost done.”
“Pippa, I know.” There is punctuation this time. It’s a full stop. Period. End of sentence.
By the intensity in Chase’s sparkling blue eyes, either he knows something I don’t or this chair is for me. I lift my hand to get the hostess’s attention before she forgets we exist and nearly knock the tray off a server’s shoulder as he gets ready to distribute drinks to a neighboring table.
“I’m so sorry. I—”
“Pippa,” Chase says slowly, kindly, and with authority. “Please sit down.”
“I will, but only so I don’t ruin anyone’s dinner.” He helps me move in my chair and his fingers graze my shoulder, filling me with heart fluffies because this almost feels like a real date.
Too bad, I’ll have to get up and give someone with much better luck than mine the seat.