Page 27 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

Emma

Chapter Sixteen

H e’s watching me again.

I can feel his eyes on me while I move around his kitchen, helping with dinner. It’s not creepy—just focused. Like he’s trying to memorize everything.

When I glance over my shoulder, Chase quickly looks down at the wine bottle he’s opening, color rising on his cheeks at being caught. It’s endearing, this bashfulness from a man who’s usually so confident.

“Your kitchen is surprisingly well-equipped for someone who claims to never cook.”

“I said I rarely cook, not that I never cook.” Chase hobbles over without his crutch, his knee clearly improving. “My mother would disown me if I couldn’t make at least five decent meals.”

“Five whole meals? Impressive.”

“Mock all you want, Anderson, but my lasagna has been known to make grown men weep.”

The domesticity of the moment strikes me suddenly—Chase and I in his kitchen, preparing dinner together, teasing and laughing as if we’ve been doing this for years. Max appears from wherever he was hiding to weave between our legs, purring loudly as he rubs against my ankles .

“Someone’s looking for dinner too,” I observe, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. Max immediately flops onto his back, exposing his belly.

“I’m glad he likes you. He’s usually pretty selective about who gets the belly rub privilege.”

I smile, giving Max the attention he’s demanding. “This is nice,” I add, looking around. “Your place, I mean. It suits you.”

“I just wish it felt more homey.” He pours us each a glass of red wine. “It’s just… big. For one person.”

There’s something vulnerable in the admission that catches me off guard. Chase Mitchell, star hockey player, is lonely in his big beautiful house.

“I know what you mean. After I left for college, coming home to an empty apartment always felt strange.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m at the facility so much. At least there, the noise fills the emptiness.”

“Until you got injured.”

His smile dims. “Yeah. Being sidelined has its downsides beyond just missing games.”

I turn off the burner. “Well, tonight you’re not alone. And if the steak is half as good as you claim, maybe I’ll even come back.”

The words slip out more genuinely than intended, sounding dangerously like a promise. Chase’s expression shifts, something hopeful flickering across his features before he masks it.

Dinner exceeds my expectations. The steak is perfectly cooked, and the conversation flows as easily as the wine .

“You’ll be there for the Bears-Wolves game?” Chase asks, refilling my wine glass.

“Of course. I’m still the team’s PT, even if my brother is the enemy captain.”

“And you’ll be wearing my jersey again?” The hopeful note in his voice makes me smile.

“Presumptuous, Mitchell.”

“Hopeful. You looked good in my number, Blondie.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “The Bears blue clashes with my complexion.”

“Liar. Nothing clashes with your complexion.” He states it so matter-of-factly that I’m momentarily speechless.

These casual, sincere compliments slip past my defenses because they’re delivered without expectation. Just Chase stating what he sees, unaware of how each one chips away at the walls around my heart.

“Speaking of the game, the Bears’ PR department called me today. They want to do a feature on us.”

He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “On us? Why?”

“Apparently we’re a ‘hockey power couple.’ Star forward dating the team’s physical therapist while her brother is the rival captain.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I’d discuss it with you. Mr. Peterson wasn’t thrilled. He pulled me aside afterward, reminded me about professional boundaries again.”

Chase’s expression darkens. “He’s giving you a hard time?”

“Just concerned about appearances.”

“We don’t have to do the interview if it makes things complicated for you professionally.”

“It’s already complicated. You and me… whatever this is. It’s not exactly following the ethical guidelines they taught in PT school.”

“Do you regret it?” His voice drops, vulnerability replacing his usual confidence.

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. My mother’s face lights up the screen .

“Sorry, I should take this. It’s my mom.”

“Emma, sweetheart! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Did you forget?”

Guilt floods me as I realize I completely forgot our weekly phone call. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I got caught up with work and then—”

“No need to apologize. I can call back tomorrow if now isn’t a good time.”

I glance at Chase, who’s started clearing the table. “Actually, now is fine. I’m just having dinner with… a friend.”

He looks up at that, one eyebrow raised. Friend? he mouths silently.

“A friend?” My mother’s interest is immediately piqued. “What kind of friend?”

I hesitate, then make an impulsive decision. “Do you want to meet him? We could switch to video.”

Chase’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods when I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Mom, this is Chase Mitchell. Chase, this is my mother, Diane Anderson. ”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Chase. Emma hasn’t mentioned a special friend.”

“It’s relatively new,” he replies smoothly. “But very special.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my stomach flip.

“He plays hockey for the Bears. He’s currently one of my patients.”

My mother’s eyebrows rise. “Jackson must love that.”

He laughs. “We had dinner last week. He only threatened my life twice, so I consider it progress.”

My mother launches into updates about her book club, volunteer work, Jackson’s recent visit. Chase listens attentively, asking thoughtful questions and laughing at all the right moments.

My mother is clearly charmed. I watch Chase interact with her, the easy way he draws her out. It’s a side of him I haven’t fully seen before. The family man beneath the hockey star.

“And how’s your knee? Emma’s always been an excellent healer.”

“She’s the best PT I’ve worked with. I’m ahead of schedule, thanks to her.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s the worst patient. Never follows instructions.”

“I follow the important ones,” he protests, his hand finding mine beneath the table.

“Emma takes after her father that way,” my mother reflects, her expression turning nostalgic. “He was a doctor. So dedicated to his patients. He would have been so proud of her.”

The mention of my father creates a familiar ache.

“He died when she was just a baby. Car accident. She was only six months old.”

I tense, not because I mind him knowing, but because it’s so personal for a relationship that’s supposedly just for show.

“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand gently. “That must have been incredibly difficult.”

“It was. But we had Jackson, and each other. We made it work.”

When we finally end the call twenty minutes later, I feel strangely exposed.

“Your mom is great. I see where you get your smile from.”

“Everyone says that. Sorry about the impromptu introduction. And for her bringing up my dad.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad I got to meet her. And I’m glad she told me about your father. It helps me understand you better.”

“Understand me?” I turn to face him, arms crossed defensively. “What’s there to understand? He died before I could remember him. ”

“But his absence shaped you anyway.” His insight is gentle but penetrating. “The way you throw yourself into caring for others. The way you maintain distance to protect yourself from loss.”

The accuracy steals my breath. “That’s… presumptuous.”

“Is it? I lost my grandfather when I was eight. He was the one who taught me to skate, who took me to my first hockey game. When he died, I threw myself into the sport—as if by excelling at the thing he loved, I could somehow keep him with me.”

The personal revelation catches me off guard. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many people do. My parents tried their best, but they were both working. My grandfather was the one who took me to early morning practices, who cheered the loudest at games. After he died, hockey became more than a sport. It became a connection to him. Every time I step on the ice, I feel him with me.”

The weight of his confession settles between us. I reach out and squeeze his hand.

He looks down at our joined hands, then back at my face. Something shifts in his expression—vulnerability mixed with something that makes my pulse quicken.

“Thank you for sharing that. It’s not part of our… arrangement. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Chase moves closer, his thumb tracing over my knuckles. “You make me want to share things. That’s dangerous.”

My mind starts racing. This isn’t what I signed up for. Everyone says Chase Mitchell is this cocky hockey player who can’t keep it in his pants around physical therapists. But here he is, sharing something deeply personal about his grandfather. Looking at me like I matter.

What if everyone was wrong about everything? What if the cocky attitude is just armor, the same way my clinical detachment is mine?

“Why dangerous?” I hear myself ask.

“Because it makes me want more than what we agreed to.” His eyes search mine. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice is soft, concerned .

You’re what’s in my head. How you’re not supposed to be this person. How you’re not supposed to make me feel safe and understood.

“Just… stuff.”

Chase studies my face. “Well, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Overthinking. You get this little crease right here—” He touches the spot between my eyebrows. “—when you’re spiraling about something.”

The fact that he’s noticed such a small detail sends a flutter through my stomach. “I don’t spiral.”

“You absolutely spiral.” His thumb smooths over the spot he just touched. “Let me take your mind off whatever you’re thinking about.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Come on, Blondie.” He takes my hand, leading me toward his bedroom. “Trust me.”

Stepping into his bedroom, I notice immediately that things have changed since the last time I was here. Navy and dark blue everywhere—a new comforter, matching pillows, even curtains that weren’t there before. There’s even a Bears decal on the wall above his headboard.

He leads me toward the full-length mirror in the corner, positioning me in front of it, his hands settling on my hips. I can feel the heat of his body pressing into my back.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are.”

I try to avert my gaze, but his fingers grip my chin, forcing me to meet my own eyes in the mirror. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Blondie. You’re going to watch every second of this.”

My breath catches as his hands slide up my sides, his fingers brushing the underside of my breasts through my sweater.

His lips brush against my ear. “You’re so fucking perfect, Emma. Every inch of you.”

His hands move lower, skimming over my hips before slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. I gasp as his fingers find the edge of my panties, teasing the sensitive skin there. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I manage to say, though my voice is shaky.

Chase pauses, his eyes locking onto mine in the mirror. “Do you want to stop?”

I shake my head, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and desire.

“Use your words, Emma. Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. His fingers dip lower, sliding beneath the lace of my panties to find the slick heat between my legs. I moan, my eyes fluttering shut as he presses against my clit. “Eyes open. I want you to look at yourself.”

My eyes flick to the mirror, and I can’t look away. My face is flushed, my lips parted as I pant for air. Chase’s hand moves lower, his finger sliding inside me, and I cry out at the sudden fullness. He curls it, hitting that spot that makes my knees weak.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

He adds a second finger, stretching me, and I moan loudly, my hips rocking against his hand. His thumb presses against my clit, rubbing in tight circles that send jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

“That’s it, Blondie,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I moan again, louder this time. His thumb never stops moving, circling my clit with relentless pressure that has me teetering on the edge of release. My hands grip the edge of the dresser, needing something to anchor me.

Just as I’m about to come, his fingers slip out of me, and I whimper. “Chase…”

“Mmm,” he hums, his lips brushing against my neck as his hands move to the waistband of my jeans. He tugs them down slowly until they pool around my knees. His fingers hook into the lace of my panties next, pulling them down too, leaving me completely exposed in front of the mirror.

“Fuck, Emma,” he murmurs. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect. I could eat you out for hours. ”

His tongue drags up my slit slowly, and I gasp, my hands instinctively flying to his head, tangling in his hair. He does it again, swirling around my clit before dipping lower to tease my entrance.

“Chase,” I whimper, “don’t stop.”

His thumb finds my clit, rubbing it in tight circles while his mouth stays locked on me. The combination is overwhelming, and I cry out, my body arching as the pleasure builds.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls against me. “Ride my fucking face. Take what you need.”

I do as he says, grinding against him as he devours me. He doesn’t hold back, dragging me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the brink.

“Chase, I’m so close,” I moan.

“Come for me, Emma. Let me taste you.”

His words push me over the edge, and I come with a scream, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. Chase doesn’t let up, his mouth and hand working me through it until I’m a trembling mess.

When he finally pulls away and stands up, he looks down at me, cupping my face in his hands.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathes before crashing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me completely, and I melt into him.

Fuck the ground rules.