Easy Ride (South Florida Riders Book 3) by Breezie Bennett

Author:Breezie Bennett [Bennett, Breezie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Palm Island Publishing
Published: 2019-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Whitney

I brew another pot of coffee in the break room at the hospital as I sit down for lunch. I’ve been in a fog all day. A big, hazy, floaty, confused fog. I’m not used to feeling uneasy, especially not at work. When I’m at the hospital, nothing matters except the patients and their health and their lives.

But today, I can’t seem to shoo the flock of butterflies swirling through my stomach, or shake the image of Chase kissing me against the wall at the stadium yesterday.

Maybe I’ve had a bit too much coffee.

He was being Chase Kennedy. Flirty and sexy and always getting what he wants. I just never thought what he wants would be…me.

I shut my eyes and sip the hot coffee, leaning against the counter and quieting the schoolgirl in my mind who thinks Chase Quarterback Kennedy might be into me.

“It’s Chase, for Christ sake,” I mumble.

“Are you okay, Whitney?” Sky, the cheery-eyed new nursing assistant, gives me a concerned look.

“Oh!” I swallow a slurp of coffee and wave my hand in the air. “I’m totally fine. Just trying to briefly escape food-poisoning lady in room twelve.”

Sky snorts and flips her shiny blond ponytail. “Yeah, she’s not having the best time. I can head in and check on her, if you want.”

I laugh sympathetically. “The joys of nursing. Thanks, Sky.”

She gives me a sweet smile and slips out the door, leaving me alone in the break room. I puff out a deep sigh and slump into a worn-out plush chair next to the window.

The sun is beating down on Florida as hard as ever, but something about today seems extra bright. The sky is like an endless blue blanket, and the greenery seems to decorate the entire landscape.

Suddenly, I feel my phone vibrating with an incoming call, and I curse the little flip my heart does when I think it might be Chase.

It’s a number I don’t recognize. Probably some scam or sales call. Still, I hate being rude to salespeople, so I answer.

“Is this Whitney Cooper?” The deep male voice on the other end of the line is vaguely familiar.

“Yes,” I say slowly.

“It’s Peter. Peter Chapman, from the party.”

Oh my God.

Nerves jolt through me, and I hop up out of the chair, pacing around the break room like an anxious twelve-year-old. “Peter, hey! It’s so great to hear from you. I didn’t expect you to call until you got back from London.”

“I know.” He chuckles softly. “But I ended up getting talked into an international cellular data plan by my company, and I figured, you know, why wait?”

Maybe because I can’t really think about you at the moment since I have tentative plans to go to “third down” with my NFL star best friend tonight.

“Yeah, totally!” Jesus. I sound like my cousin. I clear my throat. “How’s London been?”

“Oh, you know. Meetings and spreadsheets and a constant stream of emails and phone calls about which I have little to no interest. The office here is nice, though.

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