Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Cat
The practice field lights were still on. I waited as long as I could in my office. Everyone else was gone and the ball boy had just called to tell me Hunter was still out there with the QB, Gabriel Wyatt, doing reps. Vertical drills.
Sighing, I put my hand to my tummy. No one would blame me for going down to the field to hurry things along at this hour.
It was late for apartment hunting, but I’d explained the situation to the realtor.
Coach would never let Hunter out of practice early for something so mundane.
The realtor was totally on board, but there were limits.
I was starving. To solve that problem, I would insist we go to my place to eat before looking at more apartments.
Surely he wouldn’t object to that. My laptop told me it was eight o’clock.
Shutting it down, I went to the door and grabbed my coat and bag from the hook and headed for the stairs.
Down on the field, I watched five reps before walking out onto the fifty-yard line to stand in front of Gabriel Wyatt as he pulled his arm back to throw the ball.
“Don’t make me sack you to stop you from throwing that ball again.”
“What the hell?” He laughed and lowered his arm. “What are you doing out here, Cat?” He smiled, showing a dimple, making him look younger than me, though he was three years older. Hunter was four years older than me. But we all qualified as young.
Shaking my head, I turned and stuck two fingers in my mouth and let out a loud whistle, waving my other hand at Hunter to bring it in.
“You calling our practice?” Gabe said. “Since when are you in charge of the stadium?” His smile never faltered.
I ought to have a crush on him instead of Hunter.
But then what I felt for Hunter wasn’t exactly a schoolgirl crush.
Maybe not even a crush at all. It felt far bigger, more serious.
Not that I was the most experienced in the romance department, having spent far too much of my romance capital on one misguided relationship.
It had taught me a lesson, though, which was at least part of the reason I was so intrigued by Hunter.
He trotted toward me and Gabe, where we were still standing on the fifty-yard line.
My heart leapt around like a gymnast in heat.
He wasn’t smiling. He was about as opposite from Gabe as a guy could get.
Except that they were both tall and built like Mister America contestants. And they were both supreme athletes.
That left a surprising amount of ground for differences.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We have an appointment,” I half lied. I’d made a tentative appointment to see a studio apartment in a building near mine.
Not the one in Chelsea. It was a sublet and I only found out about it after calling in a favor from yet another sorority sister.
Connections mattered a lot in life, and I was a pro at using the old sorority girls’ network, an impressive rival to the old boys’ network.
When one corner of his mouth flicked up, I knew it meant trouble.
The expression held more devilry than pleasantry.
Heart still hammering, I resisted putting my hand to my chest to slow it down, struggled to act normal.
As if we’d never masturbated together last night over the phone. Stop thinking about that.
“What kind of appointment?” His voice was neutral, though I could see the tension in his jaw, a small tic on the left side near his ear. That didn’t make me feel one bit better, but I forged on.
“To see an apartment.”
“No need. I already have a place to live.” He started walking past me then. I darted a look at Gabe to see him frown.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me—” Gabe started.
Hunter spun around. “Nothing to tell, Wyatt.” He shrugged. “Catalina was just doing her job, helping me find a place. Now I have one. Job done.” He turned again and started walking. She and Gabe went after him. She scrambled to keep up, her heels getting stuck in the turf every other step.
“Wait a sec. I’ll need the address. I’ll need to approve it.”
They’d reached the sidelines and Hunter stopped, his face unreadable.
“Go ahead inside, Wyatt. I have some business with—”
“Cat. Call me Cat. I hate the name Catalina.”
“See you in a few,” Gabe said. He gave me a salute and exchanged an odd look with Hunter.
It was one of those indecipherable exchanges between men that reminded me of being on the sidelines when I was a girl, trying to understand the exchanges between the coaches and players, the endless calls made in that purposely indecipherable code they used.
Hunter had me pinned with his stare while Gabe trotted inside the tunnel.
For once I kept silent, waiting for him to tell me what was going on.
Because I knew there was something. Besides the fact that he hadn’t liked the idea that I had to approve of where he lived.
That wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t entirely false either.
When Hunter finally spoke, his voice was quiet, as if he were simmering and afraid to boil over. I felt his anger all the same.
“I don’t need you to approve where I live. You don’t own me. I haven’t sold my soul. Not yet.” He stopped. I waited a beat for him to tell me where he was living, but he only stared me down, still and tense. The discomfort was only marginally outweighed by my need to know. So I dared ask again.
“Where are you living, Hunter? The address.”
“You have a lot of nerve. I’ll give you that.” He turned to go.
Without thinking, I grabbed hold of his arm to stop him.
“You need to tell me where you’re living. If you don’t, I’ll see that you’re fined.”
I don’t know what stopped him, made him snap, my hand on his arm or my words. His eyes went from my hand to my eyes and the rawness I saw made me take my hand back, take a step back.
“You little bitch. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Calling me names isn’t going to help your cause, Hunter. Grow up. Deal with the situation. You know I’m not your enemy. We’re in this together. Think of me as a teammate.”
He snorted and took a step toward me.
“Teammate? Really? You’re a damn distraction.” He pushed his hand through his hair, frustration oozing from him, his sensual energy unleashed so that I could feel it now that it was no longer harnessed by his anger or indifference.
And I felt it. Oh boy, did I. I wanted to throw myself into his arms, hug him, kiss him, run my hands through his hair.
Do everything I dreamed of doing last night.
Console him. Give him . . . whatever the hell he wanted to make him feel better.
God, I was pathetic. I reined it in and pulled up my big-girl business-lady pants, cleared my throat.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
He shook his head. “I’m living in East Boston. With Wyatt. He offered to let me room with him. It’s a good deal. He’s a decent guy.”
Finally, for only the second time since I’d met him, he sounded genuine, like himself, real and not holding back.
“You’re right. Gabe is a decent guy. Sounds like a good situation for you. Good for your budget.”
He flinched when I mentioned his budget, his demeanor instantly changing back to guarded.
“Glad you approve. Job done.” He turned to go.
“Wait. Hunter, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened to fine you. That was unnecessary of me. A low blow. I know you’re sensitive about money.”
“What the hell do you know about it?” His look was angry and something else too. Pained.
“Nothing. Not really. Except that you didn’t want to spend a lot of money on your apartment, so I—”
“Exactly how much license do you think your job as my handler gives you?”
I shook my head, wanted to back down, but that was the girl with a crush in me talking. And this was the time for the businesswoman to be in charge. Squaring my shoulders, I met his steely stare head-on.
“Only as much as I need to keep you out of trouble—out of the press. To protect you from bad publicity, to—”
He held up a hand. “I get the picture. You need to keep the notorious bad boy in line.”
“You’re no more a bad boy than I am an innocent.”
The instant the words were out of my mouth, I heated up, scalding with the meaning of what I’d said.
Not that it was news to him, but I knew damn well my innocence or lack thereof was a taboo subject.
He narrowed his eyes at me, stepped close so that I could smell his sweat, felt the headiness of his body heat.
“Don’t play with fire, Cat.” His words were a growl. “You’ll get burned. You’ll burn down the both of us.”
He turned and walked down the tunnel to the locker room and I knew if I called his name, this time he wouldn’t stop. Or I hoped he wouldn’t, hoped he had enough good sense for the both of us. Because heaven help me, I’d run out of good sense and the willpower to resist him.
A long cold shower and a lecture from my conscience was what I needed tonight.
Hunter
The locker room door bounced off the wall when I shoved it open, nearly clipping my elbow on the rebound. Hell, I deserved it. I couldn’t believe how out of control I was, how much I’d let her get under my skin.
I headed straight for the shower, because I wanted no part of any conversation with Wyatt right now.
Or anytime soon, if I was being honest. I wanted—no, needed—to keep my business to myself.
Especially the nonbusiness shit between Cat and me.
No way was I letting that loose. Stripping my shirt and pads off with gusto, I got myself down to skin and slipped into the shower before I embarrassed myself with my half-mast dick calling me out on my total lack of cool.
I pulled the curtain across the shower with violence and pushed the handle to drown my foolishness in cool bracing water. That cured me of the most immediate problem, but I wasn’t sure how to get Cat out of my head.
“Hey, bro. Don’t take all day in there,” Wyatt called. “I’ll have you follow me over to my place so you can check it out tonight.”