Page 1 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

“ No. Absolutely not.” I shake my head at Maya, who stands in my bedroom doorway, an expectant look on her face. “I already told you I’m not going.”

I flip her off without looking up from my textbook. “I have a valid reason to be ‘holed up,’ thank you. I’m studying.”

“You’ve been using that excuse for three weeks.” Maya flops onto my bed, disrupting my notes. “And the exam was yesterday.”

Damn it.

“Look. I just don’t feel like watching Tyler parade around with his latest puck bunny.”

“Who gives a shit about Tyler?” Maya sits up, her tight black curls bouncing. “It’s been four years, Em. Four. Years.”

“I know how long it’s been,” I mutter.

Her expression softens. “Tyler’s an asshole who broke your heart. But he’s also your ex from a million years ago, and you’re giving him way too much power by avoiding these parties.”

“I’m not avoiding—”

“The Bears just won the championship. This is the party of the year. We’re going.”

I glance at my cozy pajamas and then back at Maya, already dressed to kill in a form-fitting red dress.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I try.

The corners of Maya’s mouth curl. “I thought you’d use that excuse. So I brought options.”

And that’s how, forty-five minutes later, I find myself staring at a stranger in my bathroom mirror. Maya has transformed my blonde hair from its usual mess into soft waves cascading down my back. My green eyes pop with smoky shadow and mascara, and my lips are painted a deep pink.

But it’s the dress that has me questioning my life choices.

“Maya, I can’t wear this in public.” I tug at the hem of the black dress, which barely covers my ass. “I’m practically naked.”

“You look hot.” She appears behind me, looking me up and down with approval. “And FYI, showing skin isn’t a crime.”

The dress is sinful—skin-tight black fabric with a neckline that plunges dangerously low, showing off cleavage I didn’t know I had. The back is practically nonexistent, and the hemline… bending over is definitely not an option tonight.

She must see the panic written all over my face, because she sighs as she passes me a pair of strappy black heels that look like torture devices.

“Em, nobody’s going to care what you’re wearing.

This is a hockey party in Pinewood. Everyone will be too drunk to remember if you flashed your ass or not. ”

“That’s reassuring,” I mutter, but step into the heels anyway.

She grins. “You’ll thank me when some hot hockey player is drooling all over you tonight.”

I roll my eyes. “Been there, done that. Never again.”

The party is in full swing when we arrive. The large house, owned by one of the Bears’ defensemen, is packed with bodies. Music thumps through the floor, and the distinct smell of alcohol and sweat hangs in the air.

“I need a drink!” I shout to Maya over the music.

She nods, already scanning the crowd. “I’ll find us something. Don’t move.”

I press myself against a wall, trying to become invisible, which is difficult in this dress. From my spot, I can see into the living room where several Bears players are doing shots off the Stanley Cup.

“Beer for the lady.”

I turn to find Tyler West standing beside me, holding out a red solo cup. His sandy hair is styled in that perfectly messy way that used to make my heart race. Now it just makes me want to punch him in the throat.

“No thanks. I’m waiting for Maya.”

Tyler’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Come on, Em. It’s been four years. We can be civil.”

“Civil would be you leaving me alone,” I say through gritted teeth.

He leans closer, and I smell his cologne—the same one he wore when we were together. “You look incredible tonight.”

“And you look like you should be with your date.” I nod toward a redhead across the room who’s watching us with narrowed eyes.

He glances over his shoulder, then shrugs. “Jessica? Or was it Jennifer? Maybe Jill?”

I scoff in disgust. “You really are a pig.”

He has the decency to look embarrassed. "Look, she's just—"

"I really don't care." I push off the wall. "Excuse me."

I weave through the crowd, looking for Maya and finding the bar instead .

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, a rookie player who seems stuck with the boring job.

“Something strong,” I reply.

“Rough night already?” a deep voice asks from beside me.

I turn to find myself staring at a broad chest covered by a simple black T-shirt. My eyes travel upward, over muscular shoulders, a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and finally to a pair of startling blue eyes framed by shaggy brown hair.

Oh. Oh.

The stranger’s mouth curves into a smile, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. “Let me guess… ex-boyfriend?”

I blink, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

“You have that look.” He accepts a beer from the bartender. “Like you’re plotting a murder.”

I laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s been there.” He extends his free hand. “I’m Chase.”

“Emma.” I take his hand, noting how mine disappears in his grip.

I don’t recognize him, which is strange because I know most of the Bears players thanks to Tyler. He must be visiting a friend or something.

The bartender slides a red cup toward me. I take a sip and nearly choke. Whiskey. Straight.

Chase watches in amusement. “Careful there.”

I take another sip, more prepared this time. The liquor burns a path down my throat. “I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” His eyes hold mine for a beat longer than necessary.

The music changes to something with a heavier beat. Around us, people start migrating toward the dance floor.

“Do you want to dance?” He asks, placing his beer down.

I should say no. I came here to prove to Maya I could handle being in the same room as Tyler, not to hook up with some random guy. But there’s something in Chase’s blue eyes that makes me nod .

“Sure.” I down the rest of my drink and toss it in the bin.

He takes my hand, leading me through the crowd. I catch Maya’s eye across the room, and she gives me a dramatic thumbs-up.

The dance floor is packed, bodies pressed together. Chase pulls me to him, his hands resting on my hips. I place mine on his shoulders, feeling solid muscle beneath his shirt.

“So, are you a Bears fan?” he asks, lips close to my ear.

I laugh. “Something like that.”

As we dance, I become increasingly aware of his body against mine. His hands are large and warm on my hips, occasionally dipping lower when the crowd pushes us closer. Each time his fingers graze my bare skin, it sends a jolt through me.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this kind of attraction to someone. Since Tyler, I’ve kept men at arm’s length, focusing on my studies instead. But there’s something about Chase that makes me want to throw caution to the wind.

The music slows slightly, and he pulls me closer, his thigh slipping between mine. The friction sends heat pooling in my belly. I look up at him, finding his eyes already on me, darker now.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he murmurs, one hand sliding up my back.

I should be rolling my eyes at the line, but instead, I’m melting in his arms. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His smile is slow and dangerous. “Want to get some air?”

I know “get some air” is code for “find a dark corner and make out,” but I nod anyway.

“Lead the way.”

He takes my hand again, leading me through the crowd and down a hallway. We pass several closed doors before finding an empty study. Chase pulls me inside and closes the door, muffling the music.

The room is dim, lit only by moonlight streaming through the windows. He turns to me, and for a moment, we just look at each other.

“Is this okay?” he asks, stepping closer .

I nod.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I’ve been wanting to do this since you walked up to the bar, Blondie.”

The nickname should irritate me, but from his lips, it sends a rush of heat through my body.

Then his mouth is on mine, and holy shit. The man knows how to kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weak. I grip his shoulders for balance, pressing against him.

He groans into my mouth, his hands sliding down to my ass and pulling me tighter against him. I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and it sends a thrill through me.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down my neck. “You’re amazing.”

I tilt my head, giving him better access. “So are you.”

He nips at my pulse point, then soothes the sting with his tongue. “You’re driving me crazy.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat between my legs. I’m not usually this easy, but something about Chase makes me forget all my rules.

Our lips meet again, hungrier this time. He walks me backward until I hit something solid, then lifts me so I’m sitting. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, taking in my flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “Fucking gorgeous, Blondie.”

His hands are everywhere—one tangled in my hair, the other cupping my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin fabric, making me arch into his touch.

“Is this okay?” he asks against my lips.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”

The hand that isn’t on my breast trails lower, sliding up my thigh beneath the hem of my dress. His fingers slip beneath the lace, finding me embarrassingly wet. Chase makes a sound of approval, his forehead resting against mine .

“So wet already,” he murmurs, circling my clit with his thumb. “Is it all for me?”

I nod.

“Tell me,” he insists, slowing his movements. “Use your words, Blondie.”

“Yes,” I gasp. “It’s all for you. Please, don’t stop.”

“Good girl.”

He slides one finger inside me, then another, stretching me in the most delicious way. My hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction.

“That’s it,” Chase encourages, his voice rough. “Take what you need. I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

His thumb continues its relentless circles as his fingers pump in and out.

“Chase,” I moan, too far gone to care about being quiet.

“Shh, Blondie,” he murmurs, capturing my lips in another scorching kiss. “Don’t want the whole party to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

The thought of everyone knowing what we’re doing only heightens my arousal. I’m close already, wound tight from the dancing and kissing and the way he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.

“I’m… I’m going to…” I can’t even get the words out.

“Come for me,” Chase urges, curling his fingers just right while pressing his thumb harder against my clit. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

The orgasm hits me hard. My back arches, my thighs clamp around his hand, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Waves of pleasure crash over me as he works me through it, his movements slowing as I come down.

When I finally open my eyes, he’s watching me with a mix of awe and desire. Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean. My brain short-circuits.

“Fuck, Blondie,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “You taste even better than I imagined. ”

I pull him in for another kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. His erection presses against me, and I reach between us to palm him through his jeans.

“My turn,” I whisper, toying with his belt buckle.

He groans as I unbutton his jeans and slide his zipper down. I slip my hand inside, stroking him through his boxers.

“Christ, Emma,” he hisses, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Your hand feels so good.”

I’m just about to free him from his boxers when the door bangs open, flooding the room with light and noise. We spring apart like guilty teenagers, but it’s too late.

Tyler stands in the doorway, his expression morphing from surprise to anger. “What the fuck is this?”

My stomach drops. Of all the people to catch us, it had to be him.

Chase straightens, placing himself slightly in front of me. “We were just talking.”

Tyler’s laugh is harsh. “Right. With your hand up her dress? Real classy, Mitchell.”

Mitchell? Chase’s last name is Mitchell?

Wait.

“You two know each other?” I ask.

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “He’s Chase Mitchell. Newest Bears player. Didn’t he tell you?”

I look at Chase, who has the decency to look uncomfortable. “It didn’t come up.”

“I bet it didn’t.” Tyler’s gaze shifts to me, his lip curling. “Hope you know what you’re getting into, Em. Mitchell here has a reputation with women.”

Chase takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists. “Fuck off, West.”

Tyler holds up his hands. “Hey, no judgment. Just looking out for my ex-girlfriend.”

The way he says it makes my skin crawl .

“I need to go,” I mutter, straightening my dress and pushing past both of them.

“Emma, wait,” Chase calls after me, but I’m already halfway down the hall.

I need to find Maya and get out of here. The alcohol and orgasm-induced haze are clearing rapidly, replaced by mortification. What was I thinking? I came to this party to prove I was over Tyler, not to hook up with his teammate.

I spot Maya by the keg and make a beeline for her.

“There you are!” she exclaims. “I’ve been looking everywhere for—whoa, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We need to leave. Now .”

She takes one look at my face and nods. “Let me grab my purse.”

As we’re heading for the door, I feel my phone vibrate in my clutch. I pull it out to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Emma, it’s Chase. Tyler gave me your number. Can we talk?

I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the reply button. Part of me wants to hear what he has to say. A bigger part just wants to forget this night ever happened.

“Everything okay?” Maya asks as we climb into an Uber.

I turn off my phone and drop it back into my clutch. “Fine. Just ready to go home.”

Three days later, I’m in my apartment, staring at my phone. Chase has sent two more texts since that night. I’ve ignored them all.

But tonight, fueled by a glass of wine and Maya’s insistence that I’m being childish, I finally type out a response.

Me: What is there to talk about? We had a drink, we hooked up, it’s fine. Let’s just forget it happened.

I hit send before I can change my mind. Then I wait, my heart pounding ridiculously fast.

Ten minutes pass. Then thirty. An hour.

No response .

I check to make sure the message went through. It did.

Well, that’s that. Chase Mitchell isn’t interested now that the chase is over. Typical hockey player.

I block his number, delete the conversation, and promise myself I’ll be more careful next time.

No more hockey players.

Ever.