The waitress set down two brownie skillets with homemade vanilla ice cream. Brooke intercepted Nichole’s salted caramel cheesecake. “How tall does your model need to be?”
“At least six feet.” Josie smashed her ice cream onto her brownie.
“Nichole, aren’t you six feet tall?” Brooke grinned at her.
Nichole shook her head and reached for her cheesecake. “I’m six feet, one inch.”
“That’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Josie latched on to Nichole’s arm. “Would you be my model?”
Brooke held Nichole’s cheesecake hostage and nodded her head.
“You seriously cannot want me to model for you.” Nichole gaped at Josie.
Josie blinked. “Why not? You’re beautiful.”
She appreciated her friend’s confidence boost. “I don’t know the first thing about modeling.”
“Mia is taking the photographs.” Josie’s smile lifted into her eyes. “She’s an expert at poses and all that. She can show you.”
“It’s a few hours Tuesday morning to be a pretend bride in Josie’s stunning gowns.” Brooke sighed.
“The photoshoot is meant to showcase the gowns, not you,” Josie promised.
Nichole had mentioned she needed to add more fun to her routine. And Josie’s gowns were spectacular. Who didn’t want to be a pretend bride for a few hours? “Yes. I’ll do it.”
Josie wrapped her arms around Nichole and hugged her. Brooke handed over the cheesecake.
Dessert plates scraped clean and the bill paid, the women left the restaurant. Their search for Nichole’s perfect personal negotiator remained unfinished, but not yet forfeited. Brooke and Josie promised to come up with more names. Nichole promised to practice her best model poses.
The trio went their separate ways.
Her new clothes hung safely in her closet, Wesley tucked in for the night, Nichole climbed into bed and propped her laptop on a pillow. She studied the profiles of the investors for her meeting. Alerts from her social media page pinged in the corner of her screen. Nichole clicked over to her page. Both Josie and Brooke posted updates about their shopping adventure and tagged Nichole.
More updates from friends scrolled across her page. A familiar name caught her attention.
The one guy she’d trusted in high school.
Brooke and Nichole wanted her personal negotiator to be someone she trusted.
Did she dare ask him?
Nichole tapped her fingers on the keyboard. He was the only person who had never been a pushover, and he owed her. She was well over a decade in calling in the favor. But was there a time limit on favors owed?
She had helped him pass high school, then his college courses long enough to enter the football draft. He’d told her he owed her whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed. She had only to ask.
Nichole’s fingers moved across the keyboard and typed. It was one private message. Nothing lost if he never opened it.
But there was even more to be gained if he did.
Nichole pressed the send button and shut down her laptop.
Now she waited. Waited to see if Chase Jacobs would accept her invitation. Waited to see if Chase Jacobs could change her world this time.
CHAPTER THREE
CHASE PULLED INTO a parking space at the state park an hour north of the city, switched off the engine and focused his mind. Thirty-three wasn’t old. Never mind that he’d taken more time to get out of bed than usual that morning. He wasn’t past his prime. Despite being seven years older than most players on the field. Thirties were the new twenties. He had more experience, more knowledge and more skill.
A quick, succinct rap on his tinted passenger window followed by the words, “Come on, old man. Let’s get riding,” spurred Chase out of his truck.
Greetings came from half a dozen teammates, a mix of former and current players, waiting near the start of the 12-mile advanced mountain biking trail. One of Chase’s favorite postseason workout spots.
Chase waved and ordered his throbbing shoulder to stand down. He regarded the two men leaning against his truck bed. “Didn’t think so many people liked bike riding.”
“You asked last night on the group chat if anyone was up for a challenge this afternoon.” Beau Bradford, Chase’s backup quarterback, ran his hand through his curly hair and chuckled. “We all accepted.”
“Perfect.” Chase cleared his throat. Defiance of Mallory’s recommendation for surgery as soon as possible had prompted Chase’s impulsive text to his teammates yesterday. He had things to prove to the coaching staff, the team and himself. He had to prove to everyone—especially the doubters—that nothing had changed. He was in fact the same Chase Jacobs: a resilient and capable producer on the field. Not fragile or weak or vulnerable. Not a has-been.
Elliot Cote, his former teammate and good friend, dropped the truck’s tailgate and reached for Chase’s bike. “Hope you brought extra water and snacks. They intend to do the full trail.”
“You said yourself, the other trails on this mountain are for kids and amateurs.” Beau laughed and returned to the others.
The full trail involved jumps and steep declines on the return. Chase pressed his lips together and grabbed his helmet from the back seat. He’d always been impulsive. One day he’d learn to censor himself. Unfortunately, today was already too late. Chase fastened his helmet under his chin, accepted his bike from Elliot and rode over to the group. “This isn’t your mother’s spin class, boys. If you need training wheels, stick to the flats. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the top.”
Elliot’s boom of laughter pushed against Chase’s back like a shot of adrenaline, urging him onto the trail.
Having cycled nine miles, Chase dropped his bike in an open clearing and sucked in a deep breath of air. Held it and closed his eyes. He pictured the stadium of his first college football game. The grass freshly painted. The fifty-thousand-plus seats not yet filled. The excited rush of energy racing through his veins. No pain, only anticipation. Chase squeezed his eyes together, concentrated harder. The muscles around his right shoulder refused to relax. The imagery failed to distract his mind. The pain intensified.
Chase cursed. He opened and closed his right hand as if the pins and needles sensation stabbing into his palm was that simple to eliminate. Finished his water bottle as if dehydration caused the intense throbbing in his shoulder, not the rough terrain and tense grip on the handlebars for the past hour.
Elliot dropped his bike beside Chase’s. His gaze always perceptive and too intuitive—a gift that had made him unstoppable on the defensive line—was stuck on Chase’s shoulder before it centered on Chase. “I saw the hit.”
Chase realized exactly what hit Elliot referred to. The one that had occurred with less than thirty seconds on the clock in the divisional playoff game last month. The sack had drawn a penalty flag for roughing the passer and a gain of yards that had brought his team half the distance to the goal line. But the damage had already been done to Chase’s shoulder and the game had already been lost. One touchdown would take the point deficit to three, but not change the final outcome. Chase had taken four hits to his right shoulder the past season alone. The last hit had proved to be the most damaging. “Nothing that time won’t heal.”
“Or a doctor’s knife,” Elliot suggested.
Elliot knew Chase the best out of anyone on the field, past or present. Elliot had witnessed the sack from the sidelines. And no doubt had watched Chase’s awkward recovery on the field. Chase had rushed to the scrimmage line, called the play and waited for the snap. Adrenaline had overridden the pain. Chase had thrown for a touchdown and tied the game. Overtime had been a challenge. He’d overthrown two receivers and suffered another sack. Three plays later, their best receiver dropped a pass. Oklahoma City recovered the ball, moved into field goal range. Chase had watched the clock run out and accepted defea
t. And never disclosed his injury. Today his indignant shoulder demanded his full attention and refused to be ignored.
Beau slowed his bike beside them and flashed his trademark grin, easygoing and welcoming. The grin that made Beau the guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The guy every little kid wanted to become. “Tapping out already?”
Chase had only ever wanted to be himself. But would he—as he was, injured and past his prime—be enough to secure the Pioneers’ starting quarterback position? Doubt chased along his already frayed nerves. Chase pointed at a trail that disappeared into the eucalyptus forest and steepest side of the mountain. “We’re hiking to the peak.”
Elliot muttered beside Chase.
Beau nodded at the trail, respect on his face and in his words. “We’ll take the switchbacks and see you at the top.” Beau waved for the others to follow him.
“We don’t have to keep going.” Elliot wiped the sweat from his forehead. “We’ve seen the view how many times before?”
Chase hadn’t seen the view with surgery and the possible end of his career looming on the horizon. “You can’t tap out on the last three miles.” He couldn’t tap out of the game or his career now either.
One mile in, Elliot broke the silence. “How’d the exit meeting go?”
“Routine.” Chase slipped on a rock and grabbed a tree limb with his good arm to steady himself. At least he’d managed a firm, steady handshake at the end of his routine exit meeting with Keith Romero, the Pioneers’ general manager. “Keith wished me an uneventful off-season.”
Elliot chuckled. “Got a plan for that?”
“Still working on it.” Just as he was working on getting up the mountain without face-planting. And working on avoiding surgery.
Dried branches snapped underneath Elliot’s heavy steps. His voice came out in a long exhale. “Any word on your contract negotiations?”
“Nothing, but Travis gave me a lecture on my repairing my reputation.” His agent, Travis Shaw, had always been more like a father to Chase, despite being only six years older than him. Travis had always been protective and supportive, yet maintained high expectations.
Travis had continued his fatherly role a few days ago on their weekly conference call. He’d lectured Chase for more than an hour about being responsible and showing he had respect for the game, himself and the team. As if Chase didn’t leave everything he had on the field every Sunday for the love of his team and the game. It’s your disregard for your health and safety off the field that the Pioneers’ coaching staff and entire management question. It’s the disregard that’s interfering with your contract extension. You do want a new contract, don’t you?
More than anything. Fear clipped him. Panic rushed him and Chase slipped again. A life without football scared him. This time his right hand flailed, his fingers refused to curl around a low-lying tree branch.
Elliot braced his hand against Chase’s back, catching Chase before he fell. Chase clenched every muscle in his back, firmed his legs and reminded his entire body that only his right shoulder was impaired. Elliot never commented, never teased his friend, only had Chase’s back the same as he’d done for Chase over the years both on the field and off.
Finally, Chase rallied his body and sidelined his pain, reducing it from all-consuming to a localized dull ache. He pushed away from Elliot and forced himself to finish the rest of the hike on his own two feet.
Together Chase and Elliot stepped out onto the peak and used their shirts to wipe the sweat from their faces. The others had already arrived and posed for photos near the edge.
Elliot jammed his elbow into Chase’s side. “Did anyone tell you that Beau is sharing your quarterback coach this off-season?”
Chase dropped his shirt into place and scowled. “They left that piece of news out.”
“Figured.” Elliot squeezed his water bottle. “Thought you should know.”
Russ Stanley, the renowned quarterback coach, and Chase had a rhythm. A routine. A relationship they’d built over several seasons together that included how to win and what to improve. A relationship they always continued into the off-season.
Now Chase would share his off-season prep time with his backup quarterback. Russ could recommend Beau over Chase to the Pioneers’ coaching staff and management. The Pioneers could sign Beau as their franchise quarterback and release Chase to the free agency. Then his career would be over. What other team would take a risk on an injured quarterback, past his prime and put him in an unfamiliar offense? No one.
His stomach clenched. That fear, not from pregame jitters, snagged inside him. Chase needed his new contract signed with the Pioneers and soon. “Beau is a good guy.”
“Speaking of reputational repair.” Elliot nodded toward the group of players. “Beau has the reputation you want.”
Chase looked at his friend.
“He’s got the pretty wife who is a social influencer with her organic lifestyle products that benefit the environment.” Elliot sprayed water from his water bottle over his head. “And they have the adorable little kid and another one on the way.”
“He’s the perfect family man.”
“Hasn’t been banned from country clubs, national parks or museums.” Disapproval weighted Elliot’s tone into a blunt rasp.
Chase could not claim the same. He grabbed Elliot’s water bottle and sprayed his own face as if rinsing off the sweat and mud would transform him into a different man. The only time the Pioneers’ coaching staff and management want to read your name in the headlines this off-season is if it’s attached to your nonprofit work and things like the Pioneers’ upcoming kids’ sports camp. Got it, Chase? Avoid adrenaline rushes, challenges and dares if you want your contract renewed.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck. Surely today’s ride didn’t count. It was a workout with his teammates, nothing more. So far, no bets had been placed. Chase had to keep it that way.
“Don’t worry.” Elliot slapped Chase on the back near his good shoulder. “Beau doesn’t have your talent.”
But Beau Bradford had the reputation the Pioneers wanted. Now Beau had Chase’s quarterback coach too and a direct connection to the head coach the entire off-season. How was Chase going to polish his reputation, heal his shoulder and ensure his starting position as quarterback? He had to develop an exceptional game plan and quick.
“Group photo op,” someone yelled.
Chase and Elliot joined the others.
“Hashtag team bonding.” Beau positioned his camera for a group selfie.
Pictures taken, Chase posted the photograph to his social media pages. Proof for the Pioneers that he was a team player and playing it safe. A private message in his in-box from a familiar name caught his notice.
“Anyone up for trivia night at The Shouting Fiddle once we get off this mountain?” Preston Park, a rookie wide receiver and standout player last year, issued the challenge.
Chase lifted his gaze from his phone. He’d never turned down a game of trivia before. He liked the strategy and finesse involved in winning. Heck, he liked to win.
“Can’t.” Beau zipped his phone in his jacket pocket. “Have to get home and pack. Cassie planned a babymoon at a spa in Sedona.”
The younger players congratulated Beau as if he’d announced he’d won the lottery. Chase glanced at Elliot.
“Got me.” Elliot shrugged. “Sounds like a vacation, although I wouldn’t be going to a spa. Maybe the casinos in Vegas or the white sand beaches in the Bahamas. I like those drinks with the umbrellas.”
The guys looked at Chase. Preston flicked his hand at Chase. “We know Chase is in for sure.”
Elliot whispered, “Remember that reputation repair thing.”
The last time Chase had played trivia, they’d moved the fun to another player’s penthouse suite and launched drones from the balcony. Their erratic flight plans inv
aded the privacy of other residents and resulted in more than one call to law enforcement. Not exactly the headline the Pioneers or Travis wanted to see.
Even more important, Chase needed an immediate physical therapy session on his shoulder, yet he couldn’t admit that, not to his teammates. Chase glanced at his phone and the open message from a former classmate and old friend. The message he couldn’t quite read. But he seized on the excuse and improvised. “I have a date.”
Now the congratulations heaped on Chase. Along with hopes that this one stuck around longer than the last few. Preston clarified that by longer they all meant more than one week. Chase accepted the ribbing and laughed. His dating stats looked worse than a benched player. Yet a benched player worked harder to get back on the field, back into the game. Chase preferred to keep his dating life on the sidelines. The only long-term deal that interested him was football.
Nichole Moore had stuck around longer than a week in high school. She’d stuck around long enough to make sure Chase had graduated from high school and earned a college scholarship. Then she’d stuck around again helping him pass his college courses until he’d been drafted into the pros his junior year of college. She’d been more than a tutor, more than a simple friend. She’d been his confidante and he hers when they’d both needed someone the most.
But they were adults now. They’d moved on and hadn’t spoken in years. What could she want? More than intrigued, Chase headed for the trail. He stopped only to send a quick text to JT, his physical therapist, requesting an afternoon treatment session as soon as possible.
It only took an hour and one fall off his bike for Chase to make it back down the hill. He tightened the straps on his bike in his truck bed, called goodbyes to the guys and started the engine. He connected his cell phone to the audio system and pressed the button for the automated voice to read his message from Nichole out loud. In school, he’d relied on Nichole to help him work through his dyslexia and graduate. Now he relied on modern technology and kept the truth of his dyslexia a well-guarded secret.
Her Surprise Engagement Page 3
