Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Hunter
The front seat of her red Mustang was small for me, but that would be the least of my discomfort on this ride. As far as tortures went, I could think of few things that would pain me more than being enclosed in a car alone with Cat, the most unavailable and most desirable woman I’d ever met.
“Who the hell is Jason?” I let the anger loose though I had no right. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of us for me to keep it bottled up.
“Relax, he’s an old college friend, an actor. He’s playing a role. My casual boyfriend to deflect any gossip about us.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him there was nothing going on between you and me.” She looked more annoyed than contrite or reassuring. With her attention on driving, she said, “I told him that because I’m your handler we’re spending time together and people might talk.”
“And he bought that crap?” I could see the answer in her eyes.
She’d make the worst poker player in history.
If she had any money, I could take her for everything.
But as much as I needed money, like a bleeding man needed an infusion, money wasn’t what I wanted from Cat.
Any poker we played would have her losing her clothes, not her money.
“It doesn’t matter. He isn’t a problem. He’s a long-time trusted friend.” She paused, her eyes flashing. I felt her hissing with anger.
It turned me on. Because I was a sick bastard and everything about her turned me on.
I knew how Adam felt about Eve, part hate and part lust. That’s all I’d admit to even as my conscience revolted.
My need to remain honest with myself was strong, but I couldn’t afford any of it—not honesty or conscience right now.
She added, “He’s gay.”
I raised a brow. “Then he’s a good actor. I can usually tell.”
A self-satisfied smile, like the Cheshire cat she was, lit her face.
I decided not to ruin the picture by wondering out loud why she felt a need to make sure I knew this.
I also didn’t want to explore the spark of jealousy I’d felt as soon as I laid eyes on them together, before I could stamp it down.
“Next order of business will be getting you a car of your own. The organization policy is to pay only one week on your rental. We can work on getting you a car starting Monday.” She watched the road as we drove through the maze of Logan airport. She seemed to know her way around.
“I’m not ready to buy a car. I can hitch a ride with Wyatt to practice, games. We’re going the same place.”
“Why don’t you call him Gabe like everyone else?”
“We’re not on a first-name basis. I like it that way.”
“Stop being such a hard-ass for a minute. Gabe’s been very decent to you.”
“Sure he has. In his words, he needs to keep his new top receiver happy.”
She gave me a quelling look. We both knew Gabe meant the words as a tease. That was his way. I shrugged. Then I clammed up.
“Any thoughts about what kind of car you want? Unless you’re having a car shipped from LA?”
“What? No. I sold it.” Truth was I’d had my sister, Leyla, a senior at Syracuse, retrieve it for me and bring it home to our mother.
I figured I’d live in the city here and wouldn’t have much use for a car.
“And I told you, I’ll get rides from . .
. Wyatt.” I almost said Gabe in deference to her comment, but caught myself.
I didn’t want her having any influence on me.
It was an irrational overreaction and I knew it, knew I was being an ass, but I had to keep it up, part of the fence between us.
“And when I need to, I can get an Uber.”
“No damn way you’re taking Uber. That gossip would be all over the place. They’d start gossiping, speculating that you lost your license for a DUI faster than—”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture.” I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d taken an Uber to practice today, that I’d left the rental at the field last night and had Wyatt drop me off at the hotel.
I didn’t tell her that I couldn’t give a f—ck what the fans would think.
There was nothing I could do about the fact that I was notorious, recognizable now that my photo had been splashed everywhere as a coach-punching thug, except play my A-game on Sunday.
In the meantime, I wouldn’t be surprised to find my photo on post office walls.
Trying for a deep breath to loosen the muscles squeezing my chest, I let out a strangled oath.
She put a hand on my thigh. I almost jumped as if her hand were a ball of fire.
“I’m sorry, Hunter. You’re famous. People who recognize you will talk about you, photograph you, maybe speculate about you.”
“I get it.” I gritted my teeth. Awareness of her hand on my thigh grew to such proportions that it seemed there was no room in my mind for anything else.
But she mercifully removed it before it melted through my ironclad defenses.
I was laughable. And I’d better watch it.
I couldn’t afford to be around her, not alone.
Hell, I couldn’t even afford to talk to her on the phone unless I had a chaperone.
It had scared me when I watched Jason kiss her goodbye, the way it made me feel even now, knowing he was a fake boyfriend. That fact hadn’t stopped the sizzle of raving mad jealousy from taking hold for a frightening second before reason asserted itself.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could charm her out of her panties and I wanted to. Badly. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that that would be the stupidest thing I could ever do. The single most destructive thing I could do to end my career.
Because no matter how charmed Cat might be, I knew damn well that Coach would not be charmed at all. He’d be f—cking out-of-his-mind furious. And unforgiving. Hell, I would be if I were him.
As we reached Wyatt’s block, I went back to keeping my mouth shut.
I saw her disappointment and couldn’t afford to care.
She was young, she’d bounce back. Maybe date Jason for real—since I suspected he wasn’t gay.
Whatever thing she had for me was probably an infatuation.
I was the bad-boy football star she wanted to save.
She didn’t know me, didn’t know what I was about.
For my part, the connection I felt was purely physical. Had to be since I knew nothing about her—except that she was off-limits. I could damn well find another more mature woman with no strings or trouble attached to her.
She pulled into the driveway, shut down the car, and turned to me. Everything in me stiffened in anticipation. Including my damn cock. I wanted to grab her by the hair and pull her over into my lap at the least hint of invitation. I waited for it, wanted it, dreaded it.
Instead, she put her hand on the door handle, pushed it open, and said, “Do you mind if I come inside a minute with you?”
“Why do you bother to ask when you know I don’t have a goddamn choice?” Resentment was back, agitating me, but keeping me safe. For the moment.
We walked to the back door. I glanced over at the Ducati still sitting in the back yard taunting me, but I kept going.
Feeling like a guest, like I didn’t really live here, I gave a quick rap on the door before I took out my keys to open it up.
Cat followed me upstairs and Gabe opened the door to the second-floor suite before we got there, welcoming us inside as if we were long-lost family.
“Welcome, come on inside. You know you don’t need to knock, Quintanna. You live here now.”
“A guy can’t be too careful.”
“Don’t worry. If I want some privacy, I’ll give you a heads-up. Besides, it’s not likely. I told you, my girl—supposed fiancée—left town for the duration. I’m officially conducting a long-distance relationship now.”
“There’s always phone sex,” I said. I flicked a glance at Cat who looked away from me. I wanted her to start thinking of me as an asshole, push me away.
Wyatt laughed and shook a finger at me. “I’m cooking dinner. Cat, I hope you can stay and join us.”
“She can’t.”
“I’d love to,” she said. “Smells delicious.”
“Reheated chicken parm. My mom sent it. She doesn’t want me eating out all the time.”
“Reheating? That’s what you call cooking?” I said and snorted.
“Why, Hunter?” Cat challenged. “You can do better?”
F—ck me and my mouth. This wasn’t about me and Cat exchanging factoids about ourselves, getting to know each other.
“Never mind. Take your house tour.”
“Of course, let me show you around, Cat,” Wyatt said, giving me the evil eye over his shoulder as they left the kitchen.
I needed a breather from her, from the tension between us, but as soon as she was gone I didn’t feel right. I stamped up the stairs to my third-floor bedroom. Maybe I could stay there until she left. She and her ridiculous sensuality were turning me into a coward.
In my room, which was larger than three bedrooms put together in my mother’s house, I pulled off my shirt and pants and headed into my f—cking private bathroom to turn on the shower. When I came out, Wyatt and Cat walked in.
“And this is Quintanna’s room,” Wyatt said.
I stood like a statue in my boxers and hoped to hell my cock stayed put, didn’t betray me. My heart sped up as I realized she must be embarrassed so I gave her another evil smile. She’d hate me before the night was over if I could manage it.
“Oh, sorry about that, man.” Wyatt grinned, looking anything but sorry. It would be tough to out-evil my new roommate.
Cat rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I grew up around locker rooms filled with football players all my life. Ho-hum.” She turned and walked out the door.
“You’re a bastard, Wyatt. Watch out—because I know where you live.”
He laughed and left me alone. After taking a long shower, hoping dinner would be over by the time I’d finished, I went down to the kitchen drawn by an admittedly appetizing smell.
The dining area table was set and Cat was putting sliced garlic bread into a basket in the center.
I couldn’t remember the last time I sat down to a legitimate home-cooked meal.
It had been years. Since before my father died.
Mom hadn’t done a lot of cooking since then.
Lots of take-out and convenient frozen food.
Wyatt put a steaming dish on the hot mat and announced it was time to dig in. The food had me distracted enough to keep me from worrying about Cat. She carried on a conversation with Wyatt about his family while I kept my mouth filled with chicken parm.
“You made it through your first week on the team, Hunter,” Cat said. “How do you feel about the game Sunday?” She looked at me, unguarded, beguiling, innocent, waiting for me to give her an answer. As if I would.
I shrugged.
“Man of few words,” Wyatt said. I went on ignoring them both, or tried to.
“What are you doing after the game?” she asked Wyatt.
“I’m going to a family party. If you want to—”
“No.” She spoke at the same time as I did and I flashed her a glance.
She said, “I’m having dinner with Coach and my aunt and uncle.” She turned to me. I tensed, instinct to fight or flee on high alert. “We’d like to have you join us, Hunter.”
“No way in hell.”
“Hey, is that—?” Wyatt started.
“Keep out of this,” I said. I turned my stare on Cat, fully loaded with intimidation.
She pushed it anyway. “If you’re not doing anything else, and I know you’re not,” she said, no sign of being disconcerted or thrown off her game, “the invitation isn’t optional.
Having dinner with Coach and his family is a good first step to gaining you respectability.
It’s our vote of confidence. We’re sending a message. ”
“Not if it includes you.” I simmered, held her with my stare.
She didn’t flinch. She was getting brave, a tough little cupcake.
Sweet on the outside and made of nails on the inside.
That made my heart stutter and my cock twitch.
I turned my eyes away. It wasn’t like me to blink first. Hated that she’d reduced me to this.
“There will be six of us. I won’t bite.”
Wyatt snickered. I gave him a nasty look and he grinned.
“Who will you be with? Your dad or me?” I had no idea why I asked the question. It was nasty.
“What the hell?” Wyatt spoke up.
“I’ll be with everyone. I told you it’s a family dinner and you’ll be our guest of honor. No one will be with anyone.” She glared at me and then turned to Wyatt, nodding with a smile, acknowledging the asshole’s perfect gentleman act, coming to her defense. Protecting her from the likes of me.
I knew there were sparks between us, knew she felt them, saw how she looked at me, wanted me. But I also knew she was a young na?ve innocent. I’d been innocent once, though never sweet and giving like her. That was long ago. Now I was thoroughly disillusioned and cynical. I’d grown up.
Letting my frustration simmer and boil into anger, I would use it in Sunday’s game.
I would block my ass off, bulldoze anyone and everyone in my way, God help the poor bastards.
With any luck, I’d be too battered and bruised to care about all the eyes on me at dinner with the Marinis, on display like a wild animal forced to behave for the audience.
I was growing to hate Catalina Marini. That should be a good thing, should douse the fire in my belly to have her, but it didn’t. It made the need worse. I was also growing to respect the little witch. Jesus. I couldn’t even accuse her of being a bitch inside my own head.
If I ever thought I’d gone through torture before, self-denial all those years of having nothing when my grandparents, aunts and uncles had so much, when I tried desperately since the age of twelve to make up for my father’s absences to my mother and siblings, to work and make up for the lack of money, then I’d been sadly mistaken.
Because this version of hell I was experiencing was far more painful. And I feared it would never end.