Barbells and Bombshells

Chase grunted as he racked the barbell, sweat rolling down his neck and pooling between his shoulder blades. His chest heaved from the last set—bench press. Heavy, but not enough. Not yet. He couldn't afford to peak now. Not with the season so close. Not with scouts watching.

The gym smelled like metal, rubber, and that hot, damp smell that comes with effort. Just the way he liked it.

He wiped his face with a towel and sat up slowly, shaking out his arms. His scholarship wasn't a guarantee. He had to earn it every single day—with every rep, every sprint, every game. If he slipped even a little, there were five other guys behind him waiting to take his place. And that was fine. He thrived on pressure.

And yet, even with all of that pushing him toward success, Chase was aware that he was distracted.

Riley.

GirleyRiley.

His girlfriend.

Chase couldn't stop thinking about her. Not just because she was the hottest, most famous girl he'd ever known—but because she was fascinating. Every time she opened her mouth, he felt himself drawn in deeper. The way she talked, the way she thought about people, even the way she moved—it was mesmerizing. Like she was performing for the world but only looking at him.

And when she smiled at him? It hit him in the chest like a freight train.

Last night he'd seen her latest stream. The nurse outfit. Jesus.

It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to say anything in the chat. Not to message her. Not to walk out of his room and just drive over. Chase knew that he needed restraint, that he had to be careful. Because Riley wasn't just being hot online—it was her job. She took it seriously, and he respected that. She wanted to earn her way, use what she had. In a way, it was akin to what he was doing with football. He was blessed with size, she was blessed with tits. Were they so different?

He'd told his parents about her.

At first, they hadn't believed him. His mom laughed outright. "_The _GirleyRiley?" she said, like he'd told her he was dating a cartoon.

But when he pulled up pictures—selfies, candids, one video of Riley snuggling into his chest outside the movies—their tune changed fast.

His mom practically squealed. "Oh honey, she's stunning. She does those eyeliner tutorials, right? Oh my God, Cheryl showed me her TikTok at Bible study. I can't get enough of her."

And his dad? Just gave him this low whistle and said, "Damn, son. My golf buddies send each other her clips. You know how to pick 'em."

Chase had chuckled, but deep down… he got it. It didn't bother him. If anything, it made him feel proud. Riley wasn't just famous. She was special. And somehow—somehow—she was his.

He was just reaching for the dumbbells when the gym door opened, and like a dream stepping out of mist, there she was.

Riley.

She spotted him and beamed. Lately she'd been wearing sneakers with a wedge heel to the gym, which made her legs look incredible as she made her way lightly against the rubber floor. She rushed toward him in a barely-there workout outfit—short pink spandex, a cropped tank that might as well have been lingerie, and her hair in twin buns high on her head.

"Chaaaaase!" she giggled, and before he could react, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips.

His brain short-circuited to the taste of her vanilla lip gloss.

"Hey, baby," she whispered against his skin, then pulled back with a wink. "Don't let me distract you. I'm just here for a little cardio." She fluttered her lashes and turned to skip over to the treadmills, giving him a heart-stopping view as she went.

He tried—he really did—to return to his workout. But it was impossible.

Everyone was watching her.

Not just glancing. Staring.

Including him.

Riley tried to stretch, to jog, to mind her business—but people kept coming up. Asking for autographs. Asking what moisturizer she used. Asking if she really was dating "that guy" from the football team. Chase watched her smile and nod and sign things, but even from across the gym, he could see the tension building in her jaw.

Then the gym bros arrived.

Three of them. Tank tops, protein shakes, cologne, and entitlement.

At first, they were just loud. Obnoxious. One of them said something about her "teasing people online." Another said she "owed it to her fans."

Then one of them grabbed her wrist.

Before Riley could flinch, Chase was there.

"Back the fuck off," he said, his voice low and sharp as a blade.

The one who had grabbed her snorted. "Relax, bro. Just saying hi."

Chase didn't reply. He shoved the guy backward, hard enough that he stumbled. The second gym bro moved in, and Chase didn't hesitate—fist to gut, elbow to the side of the head, then a clean sweep to take him down.

It was fast. Brutal. Clean.

The third guy raised his hands and backed off as three gym employees rushed over to separate everyone.

"Enough! Take it outside or I'll call the cops!" one of the staff shouted.

The scuffle ended as quickly as it had begun.

Riley was breathless, staring at Chase with wide, glossy eyes. "You—oh my God. You didn't have to—"

"I did," Chase said, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm not letting guys like that near you."

She melted into his chest. "You're my hero," she murmured, her voice muffled against his pecs. "You make me feel so safe." Her arms curled tight around his waist, and she didn't let go.

He rubbed her back gently. "You're okay now."

They stood there like that for a long moment, surrounded by murmurs and stares.

Then, Riley tilted her face up to him. "Can I thank you properly?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe… make you dinner tonight?"

Chase blinked. Then smiled.

"I'd love that."