Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3)

by Breezie Bennett

  As we slide into our Uber, Melody leans her head against the glass window and drifts off to sleep.

  I look out, watching cars whiz by and groups of drunk people waiting for rides or walking home from the downtown area.

  Melody’s words play in my head over and over. Step it up. Get a little wild.

  I swallow and shut my eyes. There’s one person on this planet who can without a doubt teach me how to be unforgettable in bed. And his name is Chase Kennedy.

  I mean, what are friends for, right?

  Six

  Chase

  The shower hums as I turn the water off and bask in the billows of steam filling the huge, marble bathroom in my apartment. Practice was tough as shit today, and my whole body is feeling it. I clench my jaw as the obnoxious thought of the Steelers game creeps into my mind and pisses me off.

  My phone buzzes with a text, and I welcome the distraction.

  Nit Whit Cooper: On my way up, be there in 2.

  I have no idea what Whitney so desperately needs to talk to me about, but I’m always down to chill with her. I haven’t seen her since the day at the beach when I proposed my little friends-with-benefits idea that didn’t exactly go over as I planned.

  I shake out my wet hair and glance in the mirror. I might have had an ass first game, but at least I look good.

  Just as I pull on sweatpants and a Riders T-shirt, I hear a knock on the door.

  I swing it open, and Whit waltzes in, wearing a look of determination.

  I laugh as she plops down on the couch and crosses her legs very seriously. “Please. Make yourself at home.”

  “Smells like boy shower in here,” she observes.

  “Boy shower?”

  “Yeah. You know how boys’ showers have a specific scent because they use the same bottle of Old Spice to clean their hair, face, and ballsack.”

  I snort.

  Her sparkly brown eyes are narrowed, completely fixed on me. Whitney’s been my best friend, and nothing more, for my entire life, but I’ve always been able to acknowledge that she’s completely hot. Her hair is, like, twelve shades of chocolate brown, and her body is completely banging.

  I glance at her low-cut white tank top and dark jeans, so tight they look like they could have been spray-painted onto her toned legs.

  I sit on the couch next to her and forcibly pull my gaze off her cleavage. I remember when she first started wearing a bra in sixth grade. I used to snap the elastic on the back, and it would drive her crazy.

  I look up to find her gaze again and smile. “So what’s up, Nit Whit?”

  She presses her pink lips together and looks past me.

  “I see those wheels turning.” I tap the side of her head playfully.

  Whitney straightens her back and turns toward me, her eyes burning with something I don’t think I recognize. “Chase Kennedy, I would like to accept your offer. With the condition that I can set some ground rules for this arrangement.”

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up in shock, and I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking with me?”

  She relaxes a bit and gives me a classic Whitney look of irritation. “No, dumbass. At least not yet. That’s my point. I need your help. And you need me, remember?” She points at herself and smiles proudly. “Good luck charm, right?”

  “Yeah.” I rub my forehead and try to process what is actually happening right now. “So you’re serious about this?”

  She flicks the back of my head with her hand. “Are you dense? Yes, I’m serious.”

  “What exactly are we talking here?” I smile and watch her blush. “You’re gonna have to specify your needs. And once you do…” I pat my chest and jut my chin toward her. “Daddy will satisfy them.”

  She tries not to smile and makes a gagging sound. “I don’t need sexual satisfaction, you degenerate. I need sexual…education. And not in the middle school kind of way.”

  “So no hand jobs in the back of a movie theater. Got it.”

  She squints in disgust. “You did hand stuff in middle school?”

  “You didn’t?”

  She breathes out a defeated sigh. “My lack of experience would shock you.”

  “It’s really a crime that you haven’t banged more dudes. Like, a disservice to society. I mean…” I gesture at her flawless rack. “Come on.”

  She bites her lip in an attempt to ignore me, which only makes me want to tease her more. “Okay. Ground rules.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Focus, Six.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I want to set the boundaries and the pace.”

  “So no butt stuff until at least the third time. Noted. Continue.”

  “I fucking hate you.” She covers her mouth with her hand to fight a laugh and uses the other one to smack my arm. “Be serious!”

  I tilt my head and give her a teasing look. “Okay, okay. I’m totally serious.”

  She arches a brow. “This can’t mess with our friendship. I don’t know what I’d do without my best friend, and I don’t want to find out. Whatever happens is completely for the sole purpose of me getting more…” She searches for a word, then lowers her voice to a more timid tone. “Wild.”

  I smile at the verbiage. “Getting wild, as you put it, will not change our friendship.” I lock eyes with my best friend, holding her gaze and feeling all of the years of football games and messy nights and tears and laughter sitting in the space between us. “I promise.”

  She relaxes completely now, letting out a long breath and resting her head on my shoulder. We sit quietly for a long minute, her body rising and falling with mine, and I wonder if having sex will make us any closer as friends. I don’t see how anything could.

  “What changed your mind?” I ask her, unable to push away my curiosity for another second and knowing that Whit will for sure tell me the truth.

  “Well…” She raises her voice to a high, girly pitch. “I just wanted any excuse to get nailed by the Chase Kennedy.” She fake-swoons.

  I laugh and shove her lightly. “Come on. If you just wanted my dick, you one hundred percent would have had it by now.”

  “Shut up. I actually met someone.”

  I pull away and grab her shoulders, grinning at her. “Already? Damn, you’re out here moving faster than me.”

  “Hah. For once. But he’s really perfect. Like, super stable, great job, wants a family, and all that jazz.”

  “All that Whitney type of shit,” I tease her. “Yeah, I’m familiar. Well, fuck. That sounds awesome. So he’s the dude you wanna impress with some magic skills in the sack, huh?”

  “He’s only dated, like, models and Instagram girls and all this crap. Like, he’s probably used to having good-ass sex. And I’m, you know, not.” She laughs in embarrassment, and I laugh with her, thinking what a damn crime it is that my smoking-hot best friend has never been properly piped.

  “He’s in London for a month, but we’re going out as soon as he gets back.”

  I smile and study the excitement in her expression. “Plenty of time.”

  “That brings me to another ground rule.” Whitney leans back and gives me a stern look, pointing a finger right in my face. “While we’re doing…this…no other girls.”

  I fake a shocked gasp. “Nope. Can’t do that. Sorry.”

  She smacks me yet again and rolls her eyes.

  “Of course, Whit. Jesus, I’m not an animal.”

  She looks at me for a long second, as if to ask me if I’ve ever actually met myself. “All right, Six.” Whitney stands up abruptly and swings her thick hair over her shoulder.

  I get off the couch and stand face-to-face with her, unable to help but smile at the entire situation.

  I’m gonna show Whitney Cooper how to do it.

  She holds out her hand jokingly to shake mine. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she asserts through a bubbly laugh.

  “Oh, baby.” I angle my head toward her and lean in close, smelling the familiar sweetness
of her shampoo and catching the glimmer of intrigue in her eyes. “You don’t know about pleasure. Yet.”

  Whitney draws in a sharp breath, and for a nanosecond I notice a flash of something in her gaze. She looks away and shakes her head. “I’m not some bimbo who’s gonna fall under your magical Chase spell.” She waves her hands dismissively. “This is strictly educational. You’re still my idiot best friend.”

  She smiles lovingly and walks to the front door of my apartment. As she swings it open, she pauses and turns around to meet my gaze. “Oh, and Kennedy?”

  “Yes, Whit?”

  “This probably goes without saying, but…no feelings. You’re still a living, breathing heartbreak.”

  Her words surprise me, and I draw back, laughing softly. “Yeah, uh, not a problem. I don’t do feelings, remember?” I wave my hands around to emphasize just how ridiculous the notion is.

  She shrugs without a word and walks out, shutting the door behind her.

  I flop onto the couch and replay the last thirty seconds in my mind. No feelings? I mean, fucking duh. I don’t fall for people. It’s not in my DNA. And I’m sure as hell not gonna start with my lifelong best friend.

  Seven

  Whitney

  “It’s open!” Chase shouts from inside his apartment after I knock loudly.

  I try to push away the cocktail of emotions that swirls through me as I walk into the home of my best friend so he can teach me how to have sex.

  In the past twenty-four hours since I officially told him I’m actually down with this unbelievably bizarre plan, I’ve wrestled almost constantly with how ridiculous the whole thing is. I mean, am I that afraid of being subpar in bed? So worried about not being sexual enough that I’m actually enlisting the help of America’s most notorious fuckboy, who also happens to be my best friend?

  The conclusion I’ve come to is…yes. Especially if I want to get a guy like Peter Chapman to fall for me. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say.

  I puff out a breath, so wishing that desperate wasn’t the word for my current state of life, but accepting the fact that it is, I swing open the heavy gray door and walk into Chase’s glitzy castle of a penthouse.

  “Where are you?” I call, locking the door and running my finger across the glass of a framed jersey on the wall of the entryway. “You’ve only been in the NFL for what, like, four years? Isn’t it a little soon to frame your own jersey?”

  “Never too soon to be a fucking legend, Whit.” Chase’s voice drips with a somehow endearing level of arrogance, even from behind the closed bedroom door.

  “Please stop talking,” I shoot back, flopping down onto the familiar couch.

  I lose myself in the shimmering view of Miami at night, all the vibrancy and light bouncing around off the water and glass, creating an endless sea of sparkles. I lie down on my back and watch the fan spinning on the ceiling. I imagine what every other girl says when they walk into this apartment. The view, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sheer money that seems to fill the air. Everyone is probably so impressed by Chase, so massively intimidated by him.

  Sweet little Chasey from elementary school. I feel a sudden swell of pride for my best friend. He could tone down the ego, for sure, but he does deserve all of it.

  “Are you gonna come out here, or what’s the deal?” I call again toward the shut door of the bedroom.

  The door flies open to reveal Chase wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue Calvin Klein boxers, hair ruffled, muscles…everywhere. “I’m waiting for you, dumbass.”

  I force my mouth shut and my eyes on his face, nothing lower. It’s not an easy task. “Why aren’t you…dressed?” I stammer, trying to stop my gaze from lingering on the package in his boxers, something I’ve been subconsciously curious about since I was, like, thirteen.

  He stands with his back straight and all the confidence in the world. I mean, his body, yikes. Who would ever wear clothes? “Nit Whit…” he draws the nickname out slowly and walks toward the couch to sit next to me.

  I inch away, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous around his biceps and his abs and…what’s below them.

  It’s Chase freaking Kennedy! I scream in my head, trying to force myself to picture him as a skinny high school freshman telling me how nervous he was for football tryouts. But all I can see is strength and masculinity and…sex.

  Chase angles his head at me and laughs in amusement. “We’re gonna smash, remember? I don’t know what kinda lame shit Troy was into, but most people take their clothes off for that particular activity.”

  I furrow my brow, suddenly feeling wildly in over my head. “So we’re just gonna…” I study his half-naked body, careful to pick my gaze up after a quick second. “Jump right in?”

  He toys with a strand of my hair, making my heart race a bit. “I mean, I figured we’d start with some foreplay. You know, maximize your education a little.” He winks at me and drops my hair.

  “I’m not ready to have sex right now.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I feel a pesky burning behind my eyes, and suddenly emotion is swelling in my chest. “I’ve only been with one guy, and you’re…well…you.”

  Chase runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair and half smiles at me. “That’s why I’m the teacher, and you’re the student.” He nudges me playfully, empathy glinting in his brown eyes. A look that contains years of friendship and care and seems like it’s reserved just for me. “What’s going on, Whit? Did you change your mind?”

  I swallow hard and relax slightly, remembering that amidst the body and the NFL stats and the fame, he’s just Chase.

  He’s never even remotely intimidated me until now. Until I’m about to sleep with him.

  “No, not at all.” I laugh softly. “I just think we ought to start slower and work up to…you know…” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his crotch.

  He looks down briefly, as if to acknowledge what’s in his pants and the power it has over every woman he meets. “Like a…” He leans back, tracing the line of his jaw with his thumb. “Lesson plan.”

  “Yes!” I hold up my finger. “A lesson plan.”

  He chuckles and walks into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and shaking his head. “You’re something else, Nit Whit.”

  I wrinkle my nose, frowning in fake sympathy as he joins me again on the sofa. “Sorry you’re not getting laid tonight.”

  He gives me an exaggerated groan and eye roll. “I guess I’ll survive.” He sticks his tongue out at me, and I feel a wash of relief, seeing him once again as my childhood best friend and not the intimidatingly sexy professional athlete who has about a thousand times more sexual experience than I do.

  “Okay.” I tuck my feet underneath me on the couch and scoot forward. “Lesson plan.”

  Chase bites his lip. “We should probably start with foreplay. It’s key. Trust Daddy.”

  I fake-gag. “New ground rule. No more Daddy. And I was thinking we could start a little smaller. Like…kissing.”

  He raises his eyebrows and draws back. “Should I teach you how to hold my hand first, too?”

  “Shut up. I think we should go through the…you know.” I gesture in a vague circle.

  He furrows his brow and stifles a laugh. “The bases?”

  I grin. “Yes. The bases.”

  He cocks his head. “Okay, Nit Whit. I’ll teach you the art of lovemaking one base at a time. But, if you didn’t know, I play football. Not that other lame shit. So we’ll call them downs. First down, second down, third down…”

  “And fourth down. I get it.”

  “Nah. Touchdown.” He nods slowly like this is some sort of brilliant creative breakthrough.

  I snort. “Then what’s fourth down?”

  “Probably off-limits for you,” he says with a suggestive wink.

  “Eww!” I smack his arm quickly.

  Chase laughs heartily. “I’m fucking with you.”

  “So we start with kissing.
First down. Haven’t we kissed before?” I tilt my head and chuckle at a hazy and distant memory of locking lips with Chase.

  “Uh, duh. You don’t remember? Playing spin the bottle in Kyle Brown’s basement? Seventh grade?” His eyes light up with teasing enthusiasm. “You rocked my world, Whitney Cooper. Truth is, I’ve never been the same.”

  I flop back into the sofa cushion, smiling at the reminder of our spin-the-bottle peck fifteen years ago. “Oh shit. Yeah, I remember. I think I’m gonna need a refresher, though.”

  He grazes his knuckle across my thigh, and unexpected chills dance through me. “When are we starting this whole thing for real?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “You gonna pussy out again?” He nudges me. “No pun intended.”

  I narrow my eyes and shove him back, losing myself for a second in the depths of his brown eyes and the fact that I’m going to be having sex with him in a matter of days. “I did not pussy out, you jackass.”

  “I think you’re just scared you’re gonna fall in love with me.”

  His words catch me off guard, and I try to swallow my surprise. “Don’t flatter yourself. The only people who will be doing any falling in love will be me and eligible bachelor Peter Chapman.”

  “Whatever you say, Whit. All I know is once you get a taste of this, you’ll be hooked.” He winks.

  I wave off his comment. “Your ego should be in a museum.”

  “Some of the guys are at the Atlantic right now. Wanna go get drunk? I mean, if we’re not gonna start fucking tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’ll come. But only if you stop referring to sex as fucking.” I stand up and rest my hands on my hips.

  “Sorry. Banging.”

  I try not to laugh as I kick him lightly. My head swirls with confusion. One second, Chase is my idiot best friend who says stupid shit to make me laugh and never really matured past eighth grade. But one second later, he’s…Chase Kennedy. No. 6. The superstar quarterback with a line of women a mile long and a six-pack that could cut glass.