Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Mia
Standing outside my apartment, I breathed in the balmy air.
The evening sky was purple and threatening off to the east, but no way was I canceling this night with Tate.
We’d made plans for that walk along the Charles River I’d had in mind.
It was already Thursday and I’d put in late nights at work every night this week, but I still felt like I was stealing time from work.
We were going out to dinner with Gabe and Denise tomorrow night.
But I wanted a chance to feel more comfortable with Tate before then, feel more like his date than an awkward third wheel to Gabe and Denise.
A car pulled up and he got out. He was still using Uber to get around since he hadn’t got his car relocated yet.
When Tate called me last night, at first I’d expected the call to be from Gabe and was shamefully disappointed when it wasn’t.
But then Tate’s irreverent sense of humor got to me and I was happy to arrange a meeting, if not exactly a date.
He seemed pleased with my idea for a walk along the Charles.
He’d wanted to have a chance for us to get to know each other without a crowd as much as I did.
Coming toward me where I stood leaning against an old-fashioned lamppost, he let out a whistle. I laughed.
“You look insanely good, like a picture. I hate to admit it, but Wyatt was right.”
“I know I shouldn’t ask, but what was he right about?” My pulse quickened because I was pathetically thirsty to hear anything from Gabe about me, desperate for the acknowledgment that I wasn’t the only one trapped by an impossible crush.
“He told me you could have been a supermodel.” He grinned, reached out a hand and touched my face, lightly but intimately, drawing a finger along my jaw to the tip of my chin, holding my eyes until I shivered. Then he stuffed his hand into his pocket.
“Lead on. Where is this infamous Charles River—or dirty water, as the song goes.”
“Only a couple of blocks away. It might be crowded on such a warm night. Did you bring a baseball cap for anonymity?
He laughed. “You must be mistaking me for someone famous—like Wyatt.” He shook his head and took my hand as we walked. “I’m not so famous. Or at least my face isn’t. My stats are famous to football junkies, true fans. But that’s about it.”
“A true fan like me, you mean? You had twenty-nine and a half sacks last year, fourteen disruptions and two interceptions. You’re easily the best inside linebacker in the league and that’s why you made first-team all-star.”
He stopped walking as we reached the curb on the corner of Charles Street to cross over to the river and he looked at me seriously.
“Will you marry me?” He cracked a grin. “That’s damn impressive that you know my stats. Pardon my French.”
I laughed and we crossed the street where the breeze picked up, making the heavy, scented air refreshing.
“So you’re a marrying kind of guy?” It was a bold question, but somehow I felt at ease enough with Tate to ask it without fear of alienating him. He was easygoing in a way that I didn’t realize I needed after all the tension with Gabe.
“Eventually. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s where I come from. The usual middle-class family with two point five kids and a dog. My mom drove a minivan but she took us to football instead of soccer. Me and my brother were too big for soccer.”
We walked along the path closest to the river, navigating the others strolling or jogging or standing and watching the boats.
“There must be more sailboats out there than ducks,” I said.
“You sail?”
“No time. About the only hobby I’ve managed to keep over the years besides reading and football is cooking. I love it. Love to eat.”
His eyes lit up so much I had to laugh.
“So it is true,” I said.”the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He put an arm around me then and I leaned in. We walked in comfortable silence, taking in the sights. Until the unmistakable rumble of thunder split the air and raindrops began to fall. Slowly at first.
“Shit,” he said, and we both looked around for a place to go, as did everyone else.
“Let’s head back to my house. Maybe if we run—”
The sky opened up and the rain came in sheets as he took my hand and dashed, pulling me along faster than I was used to, across the street and into an alley until we found ourselves down the block from my house.
Panting slightly because although I was in decent shape, I wasn’t used to the speed, he slowed down and huddled me into his side.
“Sorry for the rush. Which way is your building?”
“Over there.” I pointed to the brownstone across the street and we dashed the last yards. I got out my key as we went up the stairs. I don’t know if I’d intended to have him inside when I agreed to the date, but all bets were off now. No way would I leave him on the street in the rain.
Besides, I had to admit, I liked him. He was not the same as Gabe.
Gabe was more strategic and calculating, always gauging people.
Tate was a hundred percent transparent, fun and witty too.
He was serious about football, but not in the same way Gabe was.
No one was as intense about football as Gabe was.
I let us inside and took him upstairs to my second-floor apartment.
What the hell was I doing comparing Tate to Gabe?
As if Gabe was my standard? As if he was the one I was trying to get over instead of Paul.
As if I had a choice. I knew Gabe would never be a choice, whether or not Denise got her diamond, whether or not she got tired of waiting and ditched Gabe.
Because I knew Denise would never forgive me if I went for Gabe.
Even after she ditched him, he’d always be hands off.
That’s how Denise was. That’s how I was.
It was a specific rule among our circle of girlfriends, not just one of those nebulous unspoken rules.
“This is gorgeous,” Tate said, following me through the short corridor to the living room. “Like you.”
I laughed at his cheesy line.
The apartment was a spacious one-bedroom and although I’d only moved in a couple of weeks ago, I was proud of how homey it was. Proud of the fact that I could afford it on my own and in fact had refused money from my mother and hadn’t touched the trust fund my father had left me.
“Let me get us some towels,” I said. “Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll stand until I’m dried off,” he said.
Tate was handsome, more so than Gabe. He was built for defense and piled with muscles, round and solid as rocks, like a sculpture, especially noticeable now that his wet shirt clung to him as if he were naked.
He definitely had more muscle than Gabe, though he wasn’t as tall.
He was six two to Gabe’s six five—not a distinction worth noting even considering that I was five ten.
I could wear my tallest heels—I never wore them higher than three inches—and still not worry about towering over either of them.
Dragging my eyes from him, I headed down the hall to my linen closet to grab the towels, swearing at myself for continuing to compare Tate to Gabe.
It wasn’t fair. Gabe belonged to Denise.
I knew it, knew that whatever problems they had, they had a great sex life and that was likely enough to keep them together a long time, if not forever.
I often wondered how Denise managed at only five five to be with someone a foot taller than her, though she’d insisted it made no difference in bed.
She’d made a point to tell us, our circle of girlfriends, that they managed spectacularly.
Whenever she drank a few too many, which wasn’t often, admittedly, she would go into details, but I would find something else to pay attention to rather than listen.
I couldn’t bring myself to hear about it.
Didn’t want to know what I was missing, needed to stick to my late-night fantasies.
Bringing the two oversize bath towels out to the living room where Tate stood gazing out the window at the sheets of rain, I handed him one. He grinned.
“You should change out of those wet clothes,” he said. His voice held a vibration I hadn’t heard before, the kind caused by lusty tension.
I stood an arm’s length away, and he was soaked, but I could still feel his heat, the heat of his gaze, see him swallow as he watched me. I looked down, realizing now that my shirt clung to my body same as his did and that my nipples showed clearly though the fabric of my shirt and flimsy bra.
“Good idea. Be right back.” I took my towel and turned, not hurrying, but walking with more self-consciousness knowing he stared at my backside as I retreated. Hearing his soft chuckle hadn’t helped my poise. But dry clothes would.
I peeled off my shirt—an impossibly soft designer MK cotton-silk blend, a gift from my mother—and my jeans shorts, bra, and panties, tossing them all into the sink in my en suite.
In the interest of time, I pulled on panties and a cotton knit polo dress.
Sliding into some sandals, I combed my fingers through my wet hair as I went back to the living room.
Toweling off his own hair, Tate stood where I left him, his shirt slightly less clingy but still wet.
“Maybe you should go home and get into dry clothes yourself,” I said. “Not that I want you to leave, but I wouldn’t want you getting sick on my watch.”
He nodded, taking me in. “You’re right.” With a lopsided smile, he slipped his phone from his pocket and tapped on it, presumably calling up an Uber ride. “I can’t wait until I can get my car back. My brother said he’d drive it here for me, but not until next week.”
“Where is your family?”
“Ohio. My parents both work in our family business. A pizza place in Dayton. It’s tough for them to get away, but they have a big crowd for every game at the place and everyone in town comes to watch me play.
They send me videos of the party after the game.
” He shrugged, a half smile diminishing the loneliness I could tell was there.
“What about a special woman? It’s amazing that no one has snatched you up by now.”
He laughed. “I was snatched up twice already and let go. Things didn’t work out. But they will. Eventually.” He smiled and cleared his throat. “My mom says I’m too young to settle down yet.”
“What do you say?” I had no idea why I pushed him. I had no business getting this personal. I hardly knew him and I had half my heart still crushing on Gabe, forbidden fruit or not.
“I say let things happen as they’re meant to happen.”
I nodded. “I guess there’s no shortage of women to try out for the role of Tate Fontanna’s main squeeze.”
“Currently, only one. That I’m interested in.
” He closed in then, dropping the towel on a chair and sliding a cool, hard-muscled arm around me.
I shivered involuntarily and realized I wanted him to kiss me.
I needed to test him again, test our chemistry, and felt that drugging anticipation as he lowered his face to mine. His mouth was a breath away.
“I’d love to kiss you Mia.”
“I’d love you to kiss me, Tate.”
He lowered his mouth, his lips grazing mine in a soft brush at first and then settling in, finding a place to meet in a warm pillowy cushion of flesh against mine, pressing and clinging, slightly parted.
His tongue ran along the seam of my lips in a perfectly executed move, sensual and promising.
I parted my lips and touched his tongue with mine, felt that intimate moist warmth.
While he continued to press his mouth and nibble expertly, making me feel warm and desired, I concentrated on the sensations, pleasurable and enticing.
But I felt no spark, no heart-slamming excitement, no need to fist his shirt in my hands and drag him closer.
My hands safely rested against his shoulders without any itch to pull myself into him.
His hands caressed my back but didn’t wander to my backside, didn’t pull my hips in to feel whether or not I’d made him hard.
I wondered, and felt curious, but he broke the kiss off then, slipping the phone from his pocket.
“My ride is here.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.” He ran a rough finger down the line of my jaw and it caused me to shiver. His smirk before he turned away told me he’d thought he’d excited me, thought I was as hot for him as he was for me.
“Tomorrow night,” he said over his shoulder as I followed him to the door and he left.
But the shiver was about nerves and doubt. I wasn’t being fair. I had to give Tate a chance, maybe let him grow on me. Stop comparing him to Gabe.
I knew he had expectations for tomorrow night.
The kiss had been a promise of more to come.
But I was afraid that I’d need more time and hoped he had patience.
If he didn’t, I knew it would be the end of my escape from Gabe by way of a relationship with Tate.
And that would be a perfectly good waste of . . . everything.
This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. What was I holding back for? A hopeless crush?
To hell with that. I was better than this.
I’d find some nice young doctor—not much better than a football player in the time and attention department, but at least it would be away from that world.
There wouldn’t be the same obvious opportunity for comparisons to damn Gabriel Wyatt.
As if I had any experience with him to compare beyond flirting.
The man had never even kissed me. Except in my dreams.
Or maybe I should just join a knitting club and forget about men for a while.
Fat chance. I loved men and sex too much for that.
Which made it doubly ridiculous that I was hesitating about Tate.
He was prime man even whether or not he was permanent relationship material.
But I remembered what he’d told me from the beginning, how he wanted a relationship, not just sex, and that made me feel that unease again, like I might be leading him on if I took that step.
Taking a deep breath as I got under my covers, I’d stripped down to my panties with the AC blasting.
I vowed we’d have a talk before I invited him back.
I’d tell Tate how I felt—leaving out the part about Gabe—that I needed to get to know him better and maybe having sex wasn’t a guarantee of a relationship, but was something we needed to explore first.
He’d either jump at the chance or walk away thinking I was a cold psycho bitch.
Either way, there was no way I could explain that my crush on Gabe was standing in the way. Because, I had to admit to myself, it was.