Chase is still giving me that look. The one he used to give me before dragging me into fun and trouble. “Harper’s got a point.”
I shake my head. “People would never buy it. Ryan would never buy it. I spent every day of that relationship telling him you and I are only ever going to be friends. Plus, he knows I never date athletes.”
“Yeah, I get that. Those hockey dudes have way too much ego.”
I laugh. “And football players are humble?”
“Exception to the rule.” He smirks.
“Exception my ass. You literally have a hashtag fan club trying to marry you.”
“That’s not ego, that’s community spirit.”
I snort. “Community spirit? You mean desperation.”
“Either way, I did nothing to encourage it. I can’t help that I scream gorgeous husband material.”
“And what were you saying about your ego?” I say.
“Hey, it’s fact, not ego.” He chuckles as he plucks a fry from his plate. “No way Ryan would try to compete with this.”
I make a face like I don’t see it at all. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“Come on, Serena.” He flexes his bicep.
“Please. You’ve got one good arm and a body fueled entirely by peanut butter ramen.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Harsh. That ramen built this empire.”
“Empire? You mean the apartment you still haven’t furnished and the house with zero cutlery and one plate?”
“Plates are overrated. You can eat straight from the pan.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help taking in the muscular arms designed to throw a football arcing through the air with impossible precision. Arms that could hold someone close and never let go. And then there’s his face—strong jawline, a mouth made for smiling and kissing, and those warm brown eyes that always look like they’re seeing the real me. He’s hot in a way that feels entirely unfair to the rest of the population. And I’m thankfully immune to it all.
Mostly.
Chase leans back in the booth, rubbing a hand absently over his throwing shoulder. “We could do it at the Hearts of Denver awards. It’s our bye week anyway so we’re all going to support Dylan. You said Ryan is going to be there, right?”
I nod, my pulse jumping faster than I want to admit.
“And there’ll be plenty of press on the red carpet.”
“This is starting to sound like the storyline from one of those cheesy high school musicals on Disney,” I reply.
Chase laughs. “Are you telling me I should break into song right now?” He lifts his arms, mouth open like he’s about to belt out a chorus.
“Don’t you dare, Sullivan.”
We both say it at the same time: “The fifth-grade talent show.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Why do you always bring that up?”
“Because it was genius. You froze on stage and couldn’t remember a single line of your monologue, so I jumped up and sang the Stormhawks fight song at the top of my lungs. Got the whole gym on their feet.”
“Got me humiliated, you mean,” I mutter, though my lips twitch. “Everyone was still talking about it a month later.”
“Yeah, but no one remembered you forgetting your lines. They only remembered me nailing the high note.”