Chapter 15 #2
“Looks like you need to get all this loot inside. Any chance you need a couple of big strong men to help?”
“Sorry, Evan.” I put my hand over the phone. “That would be great. Empty it all out and then I’ll get going.”
“You’re not staying?” Gabe asked while he handed a large box of footballs to Hunter and then stacked another box on top.
Shaking my head, I would have returned to my phone call, but I saw a man step outside the back door with a phone to his ear. Evan. He cracked a smile and came to me with an outstretched hand.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the gifts. Let’s get this all inside—thanks guys.” He nodded at Gabe and Wyatt as they hauled boxes inside the door Evan had propped open.
With the four of us, it only took two more trips to get all the footballs, team gear, and food inside.
I’d dressed for the occasion in jeans, Uggs and my old suede jacket.
Heading back outside, I knew I should say something like goodbye to Evan, but I knew he’d try and talk me into staying again, so I slipped from the kitchen where the action was getting underway and down the back hall to the exit.
I took only two steps before a voice called me on my escape.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Gabe, the perennial instigator, at it again.
Evan joined in and rushed to me, taking my hand, leading me back inside, insisting I needed to meet some of the guys, that I’d enjoy it.
“It’s for a good cause,” he said. I darted a glance at Hunter.
He said nothing and turned away, paying attention to chopping some vegetables and throwing them on the grill like he knew what he was doing.
I’d noticed he was limping slightly, favoring that thigh.
I’d heard around the office that when he took that hit he’d landed on the defender’s cleat, making the bruising worse.
Inside they handed out the hats, jerseys, and footballs.
We helped with food prep while Hunter took over the cooking of the steak tips, chicken, and burgers we’d brought.
I helped dish out food and found I was smiling more than I had in a while, true happy smiling.
Everyone was impressed with Hunter’s cooking skills.
He impressed me when the last thing I wanted to be was impressed.
Hunter
Standing behind a grill shouldn’t be a problem, shouldn’t make my damn thigh throb like a bullfrog’s throat.
Not after the abuse dished out at practice all week, the pounding, the crashing to the ground, the running, the squats.
But there I was aching to the point of limping while I handed out steak and hats.
No way was I going to crap out on these guys. They were heroes, had sacrificed too much and deserved my best. Finally, when it was time to clean up, I snuck into the freezer and found a chunk of ice, wrapped it in a towel and sat on a stool holding the ice on my thigh.
That’s where I was when Cat came along, smiling and naughty-looking in her tight jeans and leather jacket.
“What do we have here? An injury?” Her smile faded and, concern, unadorned and unabashed, clouded her face. I wondered how she was so brave to show so much emotion.
“I’ll live. Ice is a miracle cure for everything.”
“If you say so. Not much of an ice pack.”
She stood watching me, within reach, and I realized I couldn’t do anything about it even if I wanted to, my throbbing thigh saw to that.
Then I realized, I didn’t want to. The ice, the throbbing, maybe pure emotional and physical exhaustion all piled together to quell my normally ever-present desire for her, muffled the excitement to manageable proportions.
I wasn’t fooled into thinking my problem was solved, that I was over wanting her, but I was glad for the reprieve in the tension.
Wyatt came into the kitchen with an entourage that included teammates, cheerleaders, and one of the veterans who worked at the shelter.
“We’re all going out dancing. You in?”
“Are you blind?” Cat answered him. “He can barely walk, let alone dance.”
“You answering for Hunter? Oh yeah, that’s right, I forgot you’re his handler.”
I wanted to smack Wyatt for that. Taunting Cat was my territory and I didn’t much like interlopers.
“She’s right. You are blind. And dumb as a rock if you think I’m going dancing tonight. I need ice and rest. You all knock yourselves out. But save some gas for game day.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Wyatt saluted me on his way out and winked at Cat. “I trust you’ll give Quintanna a ride home?”
She drew a blank so I kicked him in the ass to shoo him out the door.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “Looks like I’m driving you home.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m in no shape for dancing or . . . anything else.” Although I felt a stir turning me into a liar, I ignored it and slid the makeshift ice pack higher on my thigh to keep things in check.
“Whenever you’re ready,” she said.
“Now.” I tossed the ice into the sink and stood, slow and sore. Damn. With a pronounced limp, I walked with her to the van.
“You’re really bad,” she said as I climbed into the seat awkwardly, nothing like the world-class athlete I was supposed to be. I didn’t bother responding. My condition was obvious.
“Hey, I have an idea if you don’t mind—if you trust me not to take advantage of you in your vulnerable injured state.”
I flashed her a look to check for teasing, for the catch. “Shoot.”
“I have some brochures and information—and a legitimate ice pack—back at my place and I’m only a few blocks away.
Why don’t we stop there and you can put your leg up and ice it properly for a while and we can talk about these new charities I found.
I think you’ll be really excited about them.
This is for a bigger commitment and involvement, not just one-off events like you’ve been doing up until now.
You need to focus on something and make it yours. ”
I watched her talk, animated and excited, while she drove.
“I’ll probably regret it later, but you have me curious.”
The drive was shorter than she’d predicted with no traffic, no one out in Boston at nine p.m. on a cold night.
“What if I’d wanted to go with them tonight? What would you have done?”
She gave me that quelling look, with a pointed stare at my sore leg. “I’d have said dancing is the last thing you need. Besides, you still need to keep a low profile. I’m posting pics of tonight which should gain you points, but—”
“Don’t tell me. I have a long way to go up from the gutter.”
She stood on the opposite side of the elevator on the ride up to her floor.
Since the pain had me distracted, I was amused by her.
She was playing with fire and skittish at the same time.
An odd, irresistible combination of angel and devil.
When I was at closer to 100% than I was tonight, this would be a risk I wouldn’t take.
Now? The only throbbing I felt was in my goddamn bruised leg.
I hobbled inside her apartment, my eyes going to the spot where we’d kissed, my mind and body both going where they shouldn’t.
A minute ago I would have sworn I wouldn’t be tempted.
Cat wasted no time producing an ice pack from her freezer and had me lounging on her couch with my leg spread out.
The ice on my thigh and all my aches and pains would be a sufficient deterrent to seduction.
My confidence held even when Cat sat on the other end of the couch, slipping her shoes off and tucking her feet up underneath her as if we always spent evenings relaxing like this. Well, not exactly relaxing.
She showed me some photos and marketing brochures from a nonprofit organization based in my hometown. I was impressed with her resourcefulness. Then, of all things, we ended up talking about Coach while we sat like that. Normal. Tension free. Up to a point.
Cat
He asked, “So tell me what made you want to work for the Militia? With your dad? Why you’re willing to put up with the shit, people giving you a hard time, assuming you got the job because of your father?”
I laughed. “Because it’s true. I did get the job because of my father. I have no shame.”
It burned me because I could hear what he didn’t say, that I ought to have some pride, that I ought to make it on my own merits. But I had nothing to prove to him.
But, no, that wasn’t right. I didn’t want him to think the worst. I wanted him to give me credit where credit was due. But without me begging for it.
He slitted his eyes. “There’s a lot you’re not saying.”
“You think I owe you an explanation?”
He shrugged. Then he moved to rise, slowed by his recent bruises, the massive hit he’d taken in the last game no doubt causing him all manner of aches and pains. I reached out and put a hand on his arm to keep him where he was.
“I wanted to work with my father.”
He eased back into the couch cushions and looked at me.
“I don’t blame you. He’s a brilliant coach and a fair man.”
The same-old, same-old praise spoken like a refrain synonymous with my father’s name rankled me, kicked up a spark of resentment.
He’d given everything to his team, treated his players like family.
While I sat at home waiting for a couple of minutes of his distracted attention.
Even when he’d come home and lift me into a hug and swing me around making me feel like a princess, I’d wait in dread for the interruption, the one he’d always give in to. And I never had to wait long.
That little-girl-longing feeling had never left me. I should have gotten over it by now, but it was my weakness, my Achilles’ heel, the one thing, the big challenge I had to overcome. There was no way I could make Hunter—or anyone outside the family—understand it.
I closed my eyes for a couple of beats to gather myself, to say something appropriate that would be true and authentic because I had to be myself with Hunter. I knew he couldn’t stand pretense. And neither could I. Though some, like my father, called it bluntness in my case.
When I opened my eyes, whatever Hunter saw in them sparked a response.
For a fleeting moment I could see that he was affected.
Then I knew he’d seen the little-girl-longing and I felt the embarrassment, felt the heat creeping up, appalled that I’d revealed too much to someone who couldn’t possibly understand.
Hunter spoke in a quiet, almost gentle voice. “I suppose what makes him a great coach, his dedication to his team, must have made him a shitty father.”
His eyes were deep and dark and filled with understanding and true empathy. He moved his hand so it touched mine where it lay on the couch in between us. A small whisper of a touch, but it impacted me, his words melted me, everything about this connection I felt between us overwhelmed me.
The heat took over my face and every other part of my body, turning me into a furnace, but not from embarrassment, from intense gratitude quickly followed by a ravaging desire.
This man understood, without ever being told.
Truly understood, wasn’t just giving lip service.
I searched my searing mind for what I knew about his father but with his compelling eyes on me, my mind wasn’t working.
Feelings from my most primitive depths took hold of me, controlled my response to him.
Made me lean forward, nearer to him, close.
His scent wrapped around me. When I realized how close I was, how close my face had come to his, I feared he would rear back, retreat, but he didn’t.
I saw the bob of his Adam’s apple and knew he felt the same tension I felt, the same thing that pulled me even closer.
I took in that heady male smell of him, soap and outdoors and a hint of sweat combining to make my heart go wild, urging me on.
The throbbing in my veins reached my panties in full force and that made me stop.
With only a bare whisper of space between our lips, everything in me humming and vibrating with need, I waited.
I held my breath, suspending myself, giving him the choice.
It would be up to him to move forward, to kiss me. Or to retreat.