On the Defense

  CHICAGO GRIZZLIES

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2023 by Piper Rayne®

  Piper Rayne® registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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  * * *

  About On the Defense

  Miles Cavanaugh is moving into “The Den”—a notorious four-flat apartment complex in Chicago with two of his new teammates from the Chicago Grizzlies.

  The Den is known for the number of women who come and go, but as the three bachelors start their new season, they get their first inkling that things are starting to change.

  Enjoy a sneak peek into Piper Rayne’s upcoming Chicago Grizzlies football romance series.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Also by Piper Rayne

  About Piper & Rayne

  Chapter 1

  Miles

  The Uber pulls up to a typical Chicago three-flat in the heart of the north side, just across the street from the Colts baseball stadium. The driver retrieves my bag as droves of people file down the sidewalks toward the stadium, wearing red-and-blue jerseys with their favorite players’ names on the back.

  “About fucking time!” Siska screams from the doorway of the bar on the ground floor of the building.

  I glance at the sign above my old college buddy and teammate on the Chicago Grizzlies.

  Peepers Alley is the complete opposite of every other high-end bar on this street. Where everything else around here is modern, Peepers’s dingy appearance makes it seem as though they’re trying to be unique or stand out.

  I grab my suitcase and duffel bag from the driver—all my other belongings were delivered earlier today from the rental I’ve been staying at since being traded to Chicago in the middle of last season.

  “We couldn’t have done this when there wasn’t a Colts game going on?” I say from the other side of the sidewalk, then I thank my Uber driver and tip him before pocketing my phone.

  “Dad! Dad!” A boy, probably about eleven, looks between Siska and me, tugging on his dad’s arm. “That’s Miles Cavanaugh and Damon Siska.”

  I smile at the kid and wink. His eyes widen and I almost laugh. I remember when I was his age and saw my first professional athlete out in the real world.

  The dad is too busy hustling his family toward the stadium, talking about being late, to listen to his son, but the kid keeps looking over his shoulder.

  When there’s a break in foot traffic, I take the opportunity to breach the distance between Siska and me.

  “Come have a beer and then I’ll take you to your place.” He pats me on the back as I step into the bar. It doesn’t look as if it’s been renovated since the building was erected.

  Siska was my teammate in college, and although he can be a total dick at times, he’s a good friend who always has my back. Like right now. When I first came here late last year, he welcomed me to this city like a brother. And now he’s helped me get into the sought-after condo building he shares with the Grizzlies quarterback, Cooper Rice.

  Each player has their own floor in the three-flat. At training camp last week, Siska informed the other players that had been bidding on the third floor that he was pulling veteran rank and getting me an in with the owner of the building after the player living there retired. Needless to say, it didn’t make me the team’s favorite player.

  The bar isn’t as crowded as the others I passed on the way here. Older men sit on stools around the actual bar, but a lot of the tables are empty. A woman behind the bar is arguing with a man at the end about the new shortstop the Colts got on a trade, Easton Bailey. She’s adamant he’s the player the team needs, while the guy is arguing that they need better pitching.

  The guys around the bar look like the kind who’ve followed sports their entire lives and refer to their favorite teams with an us instead of them, as if they’re on the field, diamond, or ice too. Some wear older player jerseys and I assume they must be die-hard fans.

  “Rubes!” Siska shouts.

  The older woman behind the bar waves at the old man she’s talking to and looks at us. She has a grandma look to her, but one I wouldn’t want to meet in an alley.

  Siska points at me and her bored frown tips up at the corners slightly. Every barstool in the place slowly spins and all the older men are staring right at me. Whispers commence. I’m sure if they’re Grizzlies fans, they probably weren’t all on board with my trade even though they needed me. Their last safety was beyond his prime.

  “Ah, Miles Cavanaugh, huh?” She opens the bar top to step from behind the bar and comes over to us. “It’s about time you stopped in my bar.”

  “Sorry?” I say.

  She laughs. A deep raspy one that suggests she’s a smoker or was one for many years. “You don’t have to be sorry, but now you’re one of my boys. Any of you who live upstairs, I take care of.”

  Siska puts his arm around her. “Miles, this is the owner of the place. She inherited Peepers when her old man died.”

  Ruby gives Siska a look and he removes his arm from around her, sipping his beer. “She’s not one for affection.”

  Interesting that she says we’re her responsibility, but she doesn’t like affection. I really hope the team doesn’t pay her to keep track of us and every move we make.

  “Nice to meet you…”

  “Ruby or Rubes, I’ll answer to either. Welcome to Peepers. What kind of beer do you like?”

  I don’t drink beer, but I have a feeling if I say that, I’ll offend every patron in the bar because they all have mugs of beer in their hands and beer bellies to match.

  Siska laughs, knowing I’m not big on drinking.

  Ruby looks at him. “Don’t tell me he’s one of those girly seltzer drinkers?”

  “Nah…” Though I can be and they’re actually pretty good. “I’m just a water guy.”

  She smiles and pats my forearm. “Good for you.” She waves for me to follow her over to the bar. “You don’t want to end up like these guys, all looking like they’ve got a pillow under their shirts.” She hands me a water bottle after unscrewing the cap for me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” She winks then turns her attention to a grumble on the other side of the bar.

  Siska leans in and says, “She’s great. Nosy at times and will give you hell when you play like shit, but she’s like the grandma I never had.” Siska waves me toward an open doorway on the side of the bar. “Come on, Cooper is over here. You can meet his best friend.”

  We walk into the other room and the Grizzlies quarterback, Cooper Rice, is sitting at a table, drinking a beer and laughing with a gorgeous woman sitting next to him.

  “Cavanaugh!” he says, putting out his hand.

  I shake it and turn my attention to the blonde next to him. She smiles at me, and my first thought is that she’s totally the kind of girl I can envision Cooper being into. She’s tall with blonde hair to her shoulders and barely any makeup on. Looks like the girl next door, but I have a feeling when she’s done up, she’s something else.

  “This is Elle.” He thumbs in the girl’s direction.

  She puts out her hand. “Ellery actually, but call me Elle.”

  Then I remember that I saw her at a couple of games last year, waiting for Cooper afterward. But Cooper and I didn’t hang in the same social circle after I got traded. Then again, I didn’t hang with a lot of the guys. I was still getting used to a new city, new team, new dynamic.

  I sit down. “What’s it like to date Chicago’s most sought-after professional athlete?”

  Elle laughs.

  “She’s my best friend. It’s not like that.” Cooper shakes his head at me.

  “I value my life, Miles. I do not like drama, and I get enough of it just being his best friend,” she says.

  “That’s why my invitation always stands.” Siska opens his arms wide.

  She guffaws. “You’d be done with me after one night.”

  “Not you. You’re different.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you say that to every woman.”

  Siska places his hand over his heart and falls back into his chair. “That really hurts.”

  Siska’s reputation has been cemented in the tabloids. He was a player back in college, and when I arrived in Chicago last year, I realized that nothing had changed in that regard.

  We talk about the Colts season so far and how we have rooftop access to the bleachers on top of this building overlooking the stadium.

  After about fifteen minutes, I’m eager to get to my place to make it start feeling like mine, so I stand. “I’m gonna get going. I want to get settled before our first practice tomorrow.”

  “I told you, Elle, creature of habit,” Siska says.

  “Oh, Miles, our friend B is coming and we’re all going to the rooftop to watch the game. Want to join us?” Elle asks.

  It sounds like a lot of fun, but if I’m not settled before tomorrow, my week will be chaotic and I won’t function. It’s imperative that I have a killer year. Being traded sucks and the last thing I need is to be traded one year after joining a new team. Then my reputation will tell other GMs I’m replaceable, and being replaceable in professional football means a shortened career. I worked my ass off to get here and I am not fucking replaceable.

  “Next time, for sure. It was nice meeting you, Elle.” I shake her hand and do the handshake thing with Cooper again.

  “I’ll walk you up.” Siska waggles his eyebrows at Elle. “Make sure your friend sits right next to me.”

  Elle sighs. “She’s already been warned about you.”

  Siska leads me out a back door to a staircase behind the building, and we walk up the three flights of stairs.

  “How come you didn’t want the top floor?” I ask.

  “Fuck if I’m walking up these stairs every day.”

  I don’t see the big deal. The exercise is good.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, he says, “Yeah, perfect for your neurotic ass.”

  We laugh because he’s right. Although I was pissed when I got traded, it’s good to be here with Siska. I’ve missed him, and unlike my three close friends back in San Francisco, he’s single like me. If I had to go to one more housewarming or engagement party, I don’t know what I’d do. Being the seventh wheel isn’t exactly fun, especially after your little sister finds her happily ever after with your teammate. It’s kinda depressing actually.

  I’ve decided to approach this season as a new city and new possibilities. Who knows, maybe I’ll find the woman of my dreams here in Chicago. God knows it wasn’t happening back in San Francisco.

  Chapter 2

  Bryce

  I stop at the corner store and grab the first Colts jersey I find in my size and take it up to the register. Baseball is okay, but it’s not my preference when it comes to sports. I’m a football gal through and through. Always have been. So when my best friend from college invited me to a rooftop party to watch the Chicago Colts, I had nothing to wear. And because I am a sports lover, baseball or not, I want to look the part.

  “You grabbed the last one,” the salesman says to me. “Bailey is a hot commodity right now.”

  I nod.

  I’m in the sports journalism network, so I know all about Easton Bailey coming to the Colts and how divided the fan base is, but all in all, I think his coming here is a good thing. I’d print that if I covered baseball at my new job with Sportsverse Magazine, but instead, I’m covering the Chicago Tundras hockey team. Hockey is second to football in my books, and I moved to Chicago and took my position with Sportsverse to make a name for myself, but I need to make a name for myself covering a national team. One of the big four in Chicago. But right now, all those positions are filled and I’m probably third down on the list anyway. So I’ll have to continue to pay my dues with the hopes it will eventually pay off and land me a spot covering a national team.

  “Do you have scissors?” I ask.

  He looks at me over the rim of his glasses that rest on the tip of his nose. He’s judging me as if I’m not a real fan. But nonetheless, he opens a drawer and cuts off my tag with a pair of scissors before holding the jersey out to me.

  I hurriedly put it on and tie the ends to rest at my waist. He watches me with rapt attention, his judging expression evident with every raise of his eyebrow or lip.

  After I pay, he holds out the receipt.

  “No thanks.”

  One day he’ll know who I am, and he won’t think of me as some crazy girl fan who doesn’t know stats or the players. I’m used to the judgment. Being a woman journalist covering sports, it comes with the territory.

  I cross the street and follow the directions Elle gave me to the bar on the ground floor of the building Cooper lives in. I’m forced to weave through fans in red and blue since I’m going the opposite way of the stadium entrance. I repeat “excuse me” about a hundred times, only earning some grunts and sighs as I pass.

  I stop outside the bar, staring at the three flats above the sign for Peepers Alley, then I look back down at the bar. I figured we were going to a modern bar like all the other ones around here, not one from the 1970s… maybe.

  I walk in, earning a quirk of an eyebrow from the older lady behind the bar. As if it’s a flash mob coordinated event, all the stools swivel around and a bunch of old men stare at me with their beers in hand.

  “Well, we’re just filled with new people today,” a man says, blatantly looking me up and down.

  “Turn around, darling. Which jersey you wearing?” another man asks.

  Since they kind of remind me of my grandpa, I circle around, showing off the Bailey name with pride.

  Half of the men grunt.

  “Never mind. New to baseball, I see.”

  By the time I spin back around, they’re all facing the televisions hanging in each corner of the bar. And when I say televisions, I don’t mean flat screens.

  “Actually—” I start.

  “B!” Elle shouts, appearing a few feet away from me, then accosts me with a hug.

  I lose my balance for a second but recover. “I just saw you last week.”

  She draws back. “I know, but this is like you living here now. I’m so excited to do stuff like this all the time. I’m always the only girl with Coop and his friends.”

  “Are you honestly asking me to feel sorry for you because you’re stuck with a bunch of hot professional football players all the time?” I laugh.

  She slides her arm around mine, escorting me toward the end of the bar. “Ruby, this is my best friend, Bryce. Bryce, this is Ruby.”

  Ruby nods. She has kind eyes even though her scowl would suggest she might not be that friendly. “I don’t serve rosé, nor do I serve seltzers.”

  I glance at Elle, who laughs. “Don’t worry, my gal is a beer drinker.”

  I raise my eyebrows at Elle. I’m not the keg stand, beer-bonging girl I was in college. “Um…” But it is game day and there’s something about a beer with game day food that just feels right. “A lite beer, please.”

  Ruby grabs a glass, not frosted, and goes to the tap, filling the mug with just the right amount of head. I’m impressed when she places it in front of me. “It on Coop’s tab?”

  “Yep,” Elle confirms, but I dig out money from my purse.

  “No, let me pay.”

  “B, Coop makes how much per year? He’ll buy you a beer.” Elle shakes her head at me.

  But Ruby grabs my twenty. “I like you already,” she says, cashing me out at the old-school register.

  She hands me back my change and I put down a tip before walking alongside Elle to wherever Cooper is sitting.

  “She really is a great woman. Treats the boys like they’re her own,” Elle whispers on our way back to the table. “Her husband passed, and she inherited the bar years ago. Raised all her kids and refuses to do any upgrades. Says if someone can’t appreciate Peepers now, she doesn’t want them as patrons.” Elle shakes her head, heading through a doorway to another room where Coop sits with his feet propped up on another chair, beer tipped back, watching a baseball game on an old TV.

  “Look who I found,” Elle says.

  Coop glances over his shoulder midsip. “What’s up, B?”

  “Not much.” I sit down to his right and Elle brushes his feet off the chair to his left.

  “You look awesome.” His gaze zeroes in on my tits.

  “Eyes up here, asshole,” I say.

  “Sorry, my buddy texted and asked me about your rack. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember. Now I do.”

  “That’s because you’ve only ever had eyes for one of us.” I glance at Elle, whose face turns bright red and she acts as if what I say isn’t true.

 

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