Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Cat
“Your father is already seated at the table with your guests, Ms. Marini,” the ma?tre d’ said, as if he knew me, which he didn’t. When I glanced at Hunter, he rolled his eyes with irreverence. If I thought he’d be intimidated by the clubby elite atmosphere of this place, I was wrong—and glad.
“What are your aunt and uncle’s names?” he asked under his breath as we walked toward the table.
“Hildie and Ted Grimaldi.”
“Shit, there’s a lot of people staring at you, Cat. A couple at the fifty-yard line opposite side of the field is aiming their camera. You should have dressed in something flashier than that funeral suit.”
I turned to him and wished I could get away with flipping him the finger, but I smiled. “This funeral suit was a special request from my father designed to protect me from your ardor.”
He laughed and I wasn’t sure if he thought I was kidding, but we were at the table and my dad and uncle, who were super old-fashioned, both stood. I gave them each a hug in greeting and leaned over to hug my aunt Hildie. Then I took a breath and we all sat as I introduced Hunter.
“This young man needs no introduction,” Uncle Ted said. “Great game out there today. How’s the leg?”
I turned to Hunter, panic rising. Leg? I definitely missed something while I was taking care of the social media war between the good and evil Hunters.
So far it was neck and neck. We’d need some good photos of him here with Coach to turn the tide.
Maybe I could get him to pose with Aunt Hildie, and bill him as being nice to old ladies.
She wasn’t that old, but she did have gray hair and a flower print blouse with a navy skirt.
“Thank you for asking, Mr. Grimaldi. My thigh is a little bruised but it’s all in a day’s work in the NFL.
I’ll be fine with a little ice.” Hunter sat and nodded a greeting at my aunt, who beamed.
I couldn’t tell if he was full of crap with his reassurances about his thigh and made a mental note to talk to him about it later.
“You’re as polite as you are handsome, young man, aren’t you?” Hildie said.
“I hope you all don’t mind if we have the waiter take a photo of us for my scrapbook?
” I prayed Hunter wouldn’t call me out on the fictional scrapbook because he knew very well the photo was for social media.
“We’ll wait for Penny to get here. Did you call her, Dad?
” He glared at me, but slipped his phone from his pocket, stabbed one finger at the screen, and put the phone to his ear.
“Penny, where the hell are you? We just sat down to eat.” He paused, presumably while Penny gave him an earful because I knew she wouldn’t put up with Dad’s gruffness. Aunt Hildie shook her head and clucked her tongue. Uncle Ted grinned tolerantly. He’d known my dad a long time. Longer than I had.
Dipping my head to watch Hunter surreptitiously, I noticed he was looking around the room and I realized he probably felt like a fish in a bowl. I put my hand on his arm, reflexively, and spoke under my breath, leaning in.
“Don’t look at them. Pretend there’s no one there, that we’re alone in the restaurant, that this is the only table in the place. That’s the only way to handle the stares, trust me.”
“I know how to handle it,” he said. “I’ve been out before. This is my third season in the NFL. Don’t treat me like a rookie.”
Not bothering to argue, I recognized a defensive attitude when I saw one and squeezed his arm. My dad finished his call in a more discreet voice, so I wasn’t sure how it turned out. I was pulling for Penny.
“She’ll be here in a few. Let’s start with a drink while we wait.”
As if they’d been listening in, two servers descended on our table, taking orders for drinks and appetizers. Dad was in a mood to show off, probably for Hunter, ordering caviar. Hunter ordered ginger ale.
When Uncle Ted raised his brows in surprise, Hunter said, “I’m in training.”
Dad laughed. “You don’t need to abstain on my account, son. You’re off the clock now.” He paused a beat, then doubled down on his stare. My heart leapt. I knew that look.
“Don’t think of me as Coach. You can think of me as Cat’s father.”
I sucked in a breath that I’d hoped wasn’t audible as Dad gave Hunter his shark smile. To his credit, Hunter didn’t flinch, not even a tiny tic of one muscle. He smiled mildly.
“I’ll do my best, sir, but you’ll always be Coach to me. Besides, I don’t drink much during the season. Not a good habit to be in.”
“Learned that from experience, did you?” Uncle Ted said with a genial smile.
I could have kicked him even though I knew he meant nothing by it.
Hunter had gotten into a bar brawl along with a couple of teammates his first year in the league.
The press dragged the incident to the forefront amidst the coverage of his infamous coach-punching incident to create more controversy and a darker picture than was necessary.
He might still be sensitive about the subject. I was.
“Now Ted, leave the boy alone,” Aunt Hildie said. “Can’t you see he’s the picture of politeness? An All-American young man if I ever saw one.”
I was smiling and thinking what a perfect thing for her to say, when she turned to me and said, “Cat, you’re so lucky to have such a nice young man—”
“No,” Dad said.
“We’re not—” Hunter said at the same time.
They couldn’t jump in fast enough, and a little too loudly, to disabuse Aunt Hildie—and anyone else who was listening—of any notion that Hunter and I were together.
I would have said something to smooth it over, but our drinks arrived and I didn’t want to give the wait staff anything to gossip about.
Or any more to gossip about. Looking toward the window as if it were a mirror, I noticed a woman a few tables over snapping a picture.
I willed her to post it on Instagram with the Boston Militia hashtag.
Taking a long sip of my Steel Magnolia, I let the perfect dose of well-disguised tequila do its work. At least my taste buds were relaxed. Aunt Hildie thanked the server and I thanked God that she dropped the subject of me and Hunter with no more than a sly smile.
Like any good superhero, Penny breezed in then, and I jumped from my chair to welcome her.
Dad and Uncle Ted rose from their chairs and Hunter only missed one beat before following suit.
After apologizing unnecessarily for holding us up, Penny took the empty seat, filling the gaping void between Dad and Hunter.
Our server hurried back over to our table to get her drink order and we ordered food too.
Before the server disappeared, I made sure he got a picture of us all, squeezed to one side of the round table, using my phone.
With my nerves on edge, I resorted to professional mode and did a quality control check of the photo before letting the server get back to his job.
Then, with the phone on my lap, I posted the photo on Instagram with all my usual hashtags and a comment about Hunter being Coach’s guest at this welcome-to-the-team dinner, adding that the reward of good steak was the least he deserved after his stunning catch-and-run touchdown.
“Cat, you’re not on your phone, are you? Put that thing away,” Dad said as if I were twelve years old.
“Of course. No more work for tonight.” I lifted my glass and made a cheesy toast to friends and family.
After two drinks and more Wagyu steak than I thought I could eat, we were ready to go.
I’d lost track of the number of photos taken by patrons, apologies from the staff, stares and, most of all, saucy smiles aimed at Hunter by gorgeous women of all ages, whether accompanied by dates or not.
As for Hunter, he spoke as little as possible and then only about football. Penny helped run interference when Aunt Hildie tried to ask him about his family. We both sensed some unnamed tragedy there, one of the ongoing research projects I needed to focus on.
When it was finally time to leave, and everyone gave everyone else hugs or handshakes, I found myself leaving last with Hunter at my side. It slammed me like a wave of heat from a fire that I’d be driving him home, alone in my car.
He gave me a look as if he’d read my mind, followed by a scowl telling me he wasn’t happy about it.
I couldn’t decide if I was scared or excited.
Nerves made me feel like I’d had a double shot of high-octane espresso, making my muscles twitchy.
Hoping I could speak without tripping over my words, I decided on a Hunter impression and remained silent as the valet brought my Mustang around.
After a quick automatic check for dents or scratches, I took the keys.
“Why don’t you let me drive? I counted your drinks,” Hunter said.
“Only three.” I hadn’t been drinking for very long, had only turned twenty-one eight months ago. I sighed and gave him the keys.
“How about this,” he said as he got in the driver’s side and I let the valet open the passenger door for me. “I drive you home and take your car. You take an Uber to work tomorrow and the car will be at the stadium waiting for you.”
“Smart idea,” I said. It was. And then I realized he was taking care of me and I melted into the seat, wanting to climb onto his lap and make him mine in the seconds before driving away.
But the moment passed and I found I was a little tipsy and warned myself against making any rash moves.
Instead I closed my eyes and let myself feel warm and fuzzy. And taken care of.
“You don’t have much drinking experience, do you?”
Opening my eyes, I gave him an I-adore-you smile. “How’d you guess?”
He smiled back and let out a deep breath. “You are so lucky I’m not into taking advantage of beautiful young tipsy women.” Then he added half under his breath, “Even if it kills me.”
His words sent a scintillating shudder through me, making me sit up and lean in, making the throbbing in me insistent, pronounced. I would have gone all the way to kiss him then, but he rudely made a sharp turn, throwing me back. Facing me, he scowled, deep and menacing.
“Watch out, Cat. Making any unnecessary moves can be dangerous.”
It was a not-so-cryptic message for me to back off. I hadn’t drunk enough to miss his hands-off signal. But apparently, I had drunk enough to be confused by it. Why was he taking care of me when he wanted no part of me? I knew there was a reason he was hands off.
Oh yeah. It was my dad. That nasty warning tonight.
I said, “Don’t let my dad intimidate you. What’s he going to do to you if we,” I waved a hand, not sure what to call it and decided to stay safe, “have a little fun? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right?” I was right. I knew I was right. It was perfectly logical. But it felt all wrong.
“You’re drunk, Cat.” His words hit me, not because they were harsh or accusing, but because they weren’t, because they were kind and understanding.
I wanted to weep at the caring nature of this untouchable man, weep at the fact that I couldn’t have him for more than a friend—no, not even a friend.
That we were destined to be cold coworkers or, worse and most probably, cold enemies, before we were through.
If I kept messing up by throwing myself at him, he’d end up hating me for sure, for putting him and his career in danger.
“F—ck,” I said. It wasn’t something I said lightly.
Hunter snapped his head around to look at me. The dark shadowy night and tequila made his face unreadable. I hadn’t been paying attention and was surprised when he pulled the car into the valet drive in front of my building where people were picked up and dropped off.
“Don’t worry, Cat. I won’t be on the team forever. I’ll make sure the nightmare ends sooner than later.” His words sounded gentle and scarily fatalistic. The notion of the end made me want to cry. But because of the damn tequila, I did cry.
“I’m sorry.” I swiped at my tears, trying to laugh at myself, but that only made it worse. “I need to go.” I reached for the door.
He put a hand on my arm, freezing me in place, and I turned back to him, heart pounding fast. “Don’t cry, Sugar Cat. There are better men than me out there who’ll be lucky to have you.”
I couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t true and I knew it.
He thought what I felt was a schoolgirl crush, but I knew for certain how much more than that it was in that moment.
He had a heart of gold and strength of character like I’d never seen before.
I might be young, but I’d been around a lot of people in my life, had the privilege of meeting many accomplished men and women, and I knew extraordinary strength and kindness when I saw it.
I lunged toward him, doing what I’d sworn—hoped—I wouldn’t do, throwing my arms around his neck. I kissed him, felt his perfect cool cushiony lips against mine, felt the moistness of his mouth as it parted and I devoured him, took what I could of him before I never had the chance again.
After an intense but too brief kiss, he pulled away, unwrapping my arms from around him. Even with his mouth in a stern line, his eyes told a different story. In them I could see the longing mirroring mine, and the pain. I wanted to, but I didn’t cry.
“You have to go, Cat. Please.”
Without waiting another beat, I pushed the door open and scrambled out of the car before I lost it. It would be unspeakably selfish of me to push him any further because we both knew he would break if I did.