Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3)

by Breezie Bennett

  I study his handsome, chiseled face, framed by messy hair and dusted with a light layer of whiskers. Even though, to me, he is still that wild, fearless, charming boy, I look at him right now and can see why girls fall at his feet. Chase really is shockingly attractive.

  “I guess I just feel stupid for wanting to get married so badly,” I admit, letting his presence bring on my word-vomit, as it always does. “He wasn’t even right for me, and I was willing to settle just to achieve some silly dream.”

  “Hey.” Chase nudges me. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want. You want to get married. I want to bang a girl from every country. These goals can’t be achieved overnight, Cooper.”

  “You’re sick in the head.”

  “You’re the one who’s so desperate for…” He wrinkles his nose as if the word tastes bitter. “Commitment.”

  “How did we turn into such opposites?” I ask, feeling spinny from the whiskey and lying down on my side so my feet are in his lap.

  “No idea, Nit Whit.” Chase sighs deeply and slumps down in the sofa. “You’ll find the right guy, though. Hopefully, he won’t be such a little bitch like Troy.”

  I kick him lightly. “Shut up.”

  My mind continues to race with thoughts and questions and fears. The future looks more confusing and uncertain than ever. Sure, I have my job as a nurse in the ER. Which I love. And I do have a place to live, no matter how eccentric my cousin Melody may be. But everything else is a sloppy, blurry mess that I never thought I’d have to face on my own.

  Through all this, only one word surfaces in my mind and slips out of my half-drunk mouth before I can even think to stop it. “Sex.”

  Chase perks up, and he looks at me with shock and confusion. “R-right now? I don’t know if that’s such a great—”

  “Not with you, moron,” I mumble, turning onto my back to face him and laying my arm over my forehead. “I have to jump into a dating world I haven’t even thought about in six years, and I’m so totally inexperienced. I barely even know how to do it.”

  “How to date?” He eyes me.

  “How to…fuck, to put it in terms you’d understand.”

  He ignores the jab and sits up straight, looking at me with confusion. “Wait a sec. You and Troy never—”

  I wave my hand to shut him up. “No, we did. Of course we did. But barely ever toward the end. And it was always so, I don’t know…”

  “Missionary?”

  “I was gonna say boring. But…” I reach for the bottle and take another sip. “You’re not wrong.”

  He flicks his brows and shoots me a quizzical look—a look that shows there’s a little too much going through his mind right now. “He was your first, right?”

  I blow out a defeated sigh. “Yup. The one and only. Point is, I’m terrified to get back out there, because I have no idea what I’m doing in bed. I’m twenty-eight, you know? This was not how my life was supposed to go, Kennedy.” I groan, turning and burying my face in a couch pillow.

  “Don’t be scared of the single life, Whit. I’m telling you, it’s the only way to fly.”

  “Maybe when you’re a rich, famous, professional athlete with a ridiculous six-pack and a perfect fucking face,” I say through sarcastic anger.

  “Whoa there, pissy pants.” Chase chuckles and jabs my leg lightly. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna find your dude, and then you two are gonna have nice, clean, vanilla sex with the lights off once a week for the rest of your life. Boy…” He swigs whiskey and juts his chin at me. “Doesn’t marriage sound great?”

  “I hate you,” I say, my voice muffled through the pillow I’m still clutching. “But that’s exactly what I’m saying.” I lift my head and look at Chase eagerly. “I want commitment. I want forever. But I don’t want it to be so damn boring. I was ready to marry Troy without even thinking about how dull the relationship actually was.”

  “Yikes. You need to learn how to spice things up between the sheets.” Chase bites his lip and nods in an annoyingly dirty way.

  “It physically pains me to say that you’re…right.”

  “So get out there and experiment. Have some fun. Live a little.” Chase sets his massive hand on my thigh and gives it a squeeze.

  Even when he’s not flirting, he flirts.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re literally South Florida’s king of the single life.”

  Chase waves his hand, leaning back and clearly feeling the whiskey almost as much as I am. “That’s not true, Whit.” His tone turns serious. “I’m America’s king of the single life.”

  I laugh in disgust and kick him in the side. “I’m sleeping right here, I hope you know.”

  He stands up, looking messy and sleepy. His tired gaze lingers on me, and he smiles. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

  To me, Chase Kennedy has always been an enigma. I’ve watched him treat every woman he encounters like some sort of conquest, just one gorgeous notch after another on his belt. Except me. I’ve meant the world to him for our entire lives, and I know he would never jeopardize that friendship. Neither would I.

  But tonight, at three a.m., as my head swims from the alcohol and Chase turns around to get me something to sleep under, I let myself explore his unreasonably athletic body. Every muscle is flawlessly carved, and he carries himself in a way that makes him so irresistibly cocky.

  For the first time in probably ten years, I wonder what it’s like to be a Chase Kennedy conquest.

  Three

  Chase

  I hear Coach call a timeout as we’re lining up on offense.

  Thank fuck.

  The Riders stadium is totally packed for our first game of the regular season, and the blistering sun scorches the field. With only three minutes left on the clock in the fourth quarter, we’re down by seven against the Steelers, and damn, it’s not looking good.

  My usual home game hype is fading fast. I know I’ve been playing pretty shitty. Plays that are typically clear as day are fucking with my head, and I’ve thrown a couple of real piss-poor passes.

  “Kennedy, what the hell is going on with you?” Coach Watson grunts as we pile into the huddle on the sidelines.

  I bite down on my mouthguard and lean my palms onto my knees. Anger courses through me, and I know I have no one to blame but myself. “I don’t know, Coach. I’ll get it together.”

  “Yeah, you better get it together fast. The only way we can pull this out is if you can throw a bomb to Sterling through the slot and get his ass into the end zone, Kennedy!” he snaps at me.

  I wipe a drop of sweat from my jawline with the back of my hand and look up. “Yeah. I got it,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Confidence runs in my veins. I eat, sleep, and breathe being a quarterback. Well, that and getting laid. But I don’t know what the hell is going on with me today. First game jitters aren’t even in my fucking vocabulary.

  I dig the spikes of my cleats into the grass and jog back out to the line of scrimmage.

  Leo smacks my shoulder pad. “Let’s bring it home, man.”

  I nod and stand behind Clay Rollins, the center, and draw in a deep breath, bending my knees and bouncing on the balls of my feet. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s throw a fucking football.

  The crowd goes quiet, and blood pounds through my head as adrenaline rushes over me. Clay snaps the ball, and it lands softly in my grasp.

  I pull it back over my shoulder and swallow hard. My eyes find Leo. Backing up and giving a couple of convincing pump fakes, I see him dart through the defense and right into the open slot. I jerk left, then aim right at Leo and send a powerful spiral racing toward him.

  The second the football is out of my hands, an enormous linebacker plows into me, and I grit my teeth and take the hit. My shoulder slams into the grass first, and for a split second, it feels like it’s tearing.

  Fuck.

  I get up quickly, only to see that the ball is in the hands of a fucking Steeler.

 
A pick? Jesus Christ. I’m Chase fucking Kennedy. I do not throw interceptions. I clench my jaw and let out a string of swears under my breath as I realize this game is over. We’ve lost, and it’s entirely my fault.

  I hate this feeling. I hate losing. I’m not used to it at all, and I don’t want to be. I’ve worked my ass off on the field my whole life so I never have to feel this way. I shake off the pain in my shoulder and decide I just hit the ground wrong.

  The Steelers run down the clock for the last two minutes, and I drop my ass onto the bench and grip a bottle of Gatorade, smashing it in my palm as I yank my helmet off and wipe the sweat and dirt from my forehead.

  Dylan sits next to me and elbows my side. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, bro.”

  I lean my elbows into my knees and kick the dirt. “I fucked up so bad. We needed to come out this season with a bang, and we got absolutely tossed by Pittsburgh. I should have hit Sterling with that last pass. We could have won if I timed it better.”

  “Dude, you gotta relax. We’re projected to make it to the playoffs, no questions asked. It was just an off day. You’re still a raw QB.”

  I stand up and sling my towel around the back of my neck as the game clock ticks down to zero. “I don’t have off days, Dylan.”

  The feeling of defeat presses on all of us as we trudge into the locker room. Most of the guys are basically silent, and I slam my palm onto a locker when we walk in.

  Coach keeps a positive attitude, of course, telling us we need to work more as a team and refine our offensive strategies and all this shit. But he really could just say, “Chase dropped the fucking ball,” and no one would argue.

  After our mildly inspiring post-game talk, I walk over to my locker without a word and start taking my pads off.

  “Well, I guess the good news is that my wife is happy,” I hear Leo joking with Elliot a few feet away. “Frankie will deny it, but she’s still a Steelers fan deep down.”

  Elliot chuckles. “Hey, Jessica was raised as a Pats fan. I’m glad that didn’t stick with her.”

  “Well, at least we have them.” Leo shuts his locker. “Win or lose, we got our cute-ass good luck charms in the stands.”

  Elliot agrees, and the two of them seem to shrug off the loss pretty easily. A couple of seasons ago, they would have probably been pissed at me, or at least given me shit for how I played. Especially Sterling.

  But now they just laugh it off and talk about their wives. Gross.

  But as I hang up my jersey and try to shake off the frustration of this game, their words about having a good luck charm echo in my head.

  Whitney was always mine. She went to every high school game to see me play. Well, she was a cheerleader, so I guess she kinda had to go. But she’s always been my best bud and was reliably in the stands to watch me wreck shit on the field. And then in college at UF, she never missed a game day in The Swamp. Sometimes she was totally hammered with her sorority friends, but still, she was there. And I never fucked up.

  With her in the stadium, I played like a boss and just got better and better. That’s it. I just gotta get Whit to come to every Riders game. And then I can get back to beast mode, and this shitshow of a first game will be ancient history when I’m throwing bullets at the Super Bowl.

  I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and walk out to the athletes’ garage, feeling a wave of relief as the brilliance of my new plan settles into my mind.

  Only problem is, I know Whitney Cooper. And I know that she’ll say she can’t commit to that because she’s a psycho who works as an ER nurse at all kinds of sickening hours, and it’s a big deal to change them. So I’ll just have to give her something in return.

  I click my keys and watch the door of my bright green Lamborghini Gallardo swing open and lift up. As I slide into the driver’s seat, my slightly drunken late-night conversation with Whitney from the other day comes racing through my head.

  She needs to learn how to do one particular thing that I happen to be very, very good at.

  Now I just have to convince the only woman who is completely unfazed by my hot, douchey quarterback thing that she needs sex lessons from me.

  It’s always low-key kinda killed me that my best friend is an absolute dime and I’ve never banged her. So, I can’t say I’m terribly opposed to the idea of being her “teacher.”

  Four

  Whitney

  “You’re getting your adorable little ass back out there!” Melody dances around the living room, flipping her bright pink-dyed hair over her shoulder and shimmying in my face.

  “Mel, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but going to a party tonight filled with people I’ve never met and dudes trying to get into my heartbroken, vulnerable pants kinda sounds like my own personal hell.” I pull a fuzzy blanket over my face and snuggle down in the sofa.

  “Psh. Come on, cuz. You’re not heartbroken. Troy was a total drip, and you know it. You’re not even sad about him. You’re just scared of being single.” She pushes her thick, neon-green glasses up the bridge of her nose and raises her brows at me.

  The truth of her words hits me like a sucker punch.

  “I’m not going. I have a date tonight anyway,” I grumble through the blanket.

  My pushy cousin yanks it off of my face and crosses her arms. “With who?”

  “The sexy Prime Minister of England, if you must know.”

  She rolls her eyes and flops onto the couch next to me. “You are not watching Love Actually again.”

  I pout and press my face into a throw pillow. “Please?”

  Just as Melody is opening her mouth to give me another lecture about how many men would just absolutely die to be with me, there’s a knock on the apartment door.

  “You’re getting that. Because I haven’t seen you leave the couch today, and hello, Nurse Cooper, you’re going to get blood clots.” She pushes me and slaps my butt as I stand up.

  I shoot her a look and trek to the front door, shielding my eyes from the blindingly bright colors on every square inch of wall in this apartment.

  I yank open the purple door and draw back in surprise when I see Chase standing on the doorstep with a smile that definitely looks like he’s up to something.

  “Who is it?” Melody calls.

  I smile at him and gesture for him to come in. “It’s Chase.”

  She hurries into the entryway and places her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? The one time I don’t answer the door, it’s someone hot and famous?” She shakes out her pink hair and purses her lips.

  “Nice to see you, too, Melody,” Chase says with a jut of his chin. “Let’s go to the beach, Nit Whit.”

  I look down at my baggy sweatpants and oversize UF College of Nursing T-shirt. “Don’t you have practice or something?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes with suspicion at his sudden interest in a spontaneous beach day.

  “Just an early workout, so I’m done for the day. Get ready, come on,” he says eagerly.

  I stare at him with parted lips, now in a state of full-on confusion. “You’re being weird.”

  “No, I’m being nice. You’re all sad about losing five-inch Troy, so I’m here to make you feel better.”

  I sigh, rolling my eyes and trying to hide my laugh at his jab at my ex. “All right, Six. Give me two seconds, and…” I glance back toward the living room and lower my voice. “Try not to let Melody sexually assault you.”

  He cringes and laughs softly.

  I walk into the little room where I’m staying. I shamefully have not had the time or energy to unpack anything, so the floor is littered with overflowing bags and suitcases that I stuffed aggressively to get out of Troy’s and my apartment as fast as I could.

  The memory makes me shudder. I dig through a bag and find a red polka dot bikini that I don’t think I’ve put on in three years. I shrug and pull off my T-shirt and sweats, marveling at the fact that the swimsuit still fits.

  There’s definitely a little more ass and cleavage than when I first boug
ht it, but I can’t find the energy to care. It’s just Chase, after all. He sees cleavage as much as he breathes oxygen.

  I throw a pair of shorts on and walk back out to the living room, where Chase is being lectured by my cousin about how all athletes should adopt a vegan diet and how he just has to come do yoga at the new studio she’s opening. He looks relieved when I smile and tell her to hush.

  “Let’s go, Six.” I walk out to the front door and open it. “Bye, Mel.”

  “Have fun,” she says in a singsong voice, standing behind Chase and giving me an exaggerated wink.

  I follow Chase out the door and into the blazing Florida sun.

  “Damn, Nit Whit. The titties are out. Love to see it.”

  I groan and roll my eyes, although I can’t deny that the male attention feels good. Even if it is coming from Chase Fuckboy Kennedy.

  His Lamborghini seems hilarious parked outside of Melody’s very average-looking townhouse.

  “We’re walking, right? It’s, like, three blocks,” I say, holding up a hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight. “Not to mention I don’t feel at all like dealing with your spacecraft of a car.”

  “Don’t you dare hate on the Lambo.” He shakes his head with disappointment as we start walking toward the beach.

  The air is salty and sticky, and the radiant sun bakes into my skin as I realize I haven’t gone outside since I got home from working a twelve-hour shift two days ago. I take a deep breath of tropical Florida warmth and let a smile rest on my face.

  “You’re quiet,” Chase observes as we reach the scorching sand and find a place to sit down, laying out a towel to share.

  I stretch my arms out and look up at the clear blue sky. “It’s so sunny and nice out. Thanks for kidnapping me.”

  Chase drops down onto the sand next to me and leans back on his palms. “More like rescuing you. That place looks like a rainbow unicorn yakked everywhere.”

  “Will you shut up?” I say through a laugh. “Melody is being a really good cousin. Although I could seriously do without her trying to drag me to some bizarre party tonight.”