Chapter 13 Connor
CONNOR
Achill like a sharp icicle picks away at the truth and makes me pull on my hoodie.
“Mr. Wolfe, Mr. Wolfe,” Cateline repeats, drawing me from what feels like a trance. “Are you all like this? If so, we have our work cut out for us.” She muffles a huff of frustration, breaking out of character again.
With newfound clarity, I understand how exhausting it is to go back and forth—boomeranging between personalities. I’ve been doing it for going on a decade. Sometimes I’m on—all fire and bravado, and others I just want to rest. To fire up the Crock-Pot. But I can’t let myself, otherwise, I’ll lose.
Life has taught me to keep up the hustle, just as my father taught me that it isn’t fair. My brother, too.
Once more, Cateline breaks into my thoughts. What do they put in the water here? Truth serum? Then again, she did say she only tells the truth.
“Trust me, consistently adhering to etiquette will give you a competitive edge. You’re capable, strong, and hard-working. Dedicated to your sport. Discipline says a lot about a person. You just need a bit of refinement.”
Was she paying me a backhanded compliment? And if so, why did it make me feel effervescent like the sparkling water at my place setting? More importantly, why do I care?
A voice of warning in a deep Appalachian accent replaces Cateline’s.
I can’t let myself care. Pushing past all this introspection, my inner wolf bursts forth and blurts, “I like to think of myself as the total package.” That was an underhanded pitch.
I couldn’t resist pointing that out to her, especially because she isn’t interested.
At least, that’s her claim. But there was no denying how warm her palm felt against my bicep earlier.
Cateline lifts an eyebrow, which I’ve learned is one of her signature moves to mean she doesn’t agree or is questioning something I say. “The total package? No, something is missing.”
Her accent has an enticing quality to it. Maybe it’s because she speaks the truth, but not one I want to hear. Furthermore, that’s not what I expected to hear. However, I’m not going to give in and ask her what she thinks is missing.
“Mr. Wolfe, the root of the word manners comes from Latin. It means of the hand. You may think of it this way, manners teach us how to handle life. We do this with grace and courtesy. To make others feel comfortable and welcome in any given situation. I might add that doesn’t mean we lie or deny the truth and pretend, or are hypocrites.
No, the truth always comes first, but because we’ve built trust, it’s delivered and accepted with what you might call elegant ease. ”
I adjust my hoodie, the neck suddenly constricting, because if I’ve learned anything in the last hour, it’s that I’m not entirely comfortable in my skin.
Don’t know why.
Don’t want to think about it.
Don’t want to tell her either.
I only wish I hadn’t mooned Campos so things could go back to the way they were.
Easy.
Normal.
Comfortable.
When I find my voice, I say, “Are you suggesting you’re not comfortable with me? If that’s the case, I can help with that.”
She levels me with a dark-eyed gaze.
Again, it’s as though she knows the exact thoughts that intruded earlier. Talk about rude.
I never considered myself a man of strong faith, but Declan and Chase have rubbed off on me over the years.
On top of that, with every fiber of my being, I’m certain that something other than grit helped me survive my childhood.
I’m also certain Cateline can’t read my mind, yet she somehow sees my gears turning and gets the gist from all the grist in my internal mill.
“Mr. Wolfe, I’m suggesting you’re uncomfortable with emotions.”
“Is this some kind of therapy session?” I blurt.
“Not at all, but I’ve been studying your behavior for the last two hours. You know how to conduct yourself. But I don’t understand why you don’t choose to do so consistently.”
“Because I don’t want to.” My tone is all brat, no brawn.
She’s gotten under my skin and she’s right. It makes me feel—exposed and vulnerable.
I shove up from the table, rattling the flatware and plates. “I’m done here.”
“No, we’re not done just yet. I ordered dessert. I think you will enjoy it.” The way she says it so simply is like a promise. One I don’t want her to keep.
I toss my napkin down in response.
Cateline rises to her feet and squares off in front of me, toe to toe. She has to crane her neck to meet my eyes, but she does so fearlessly.
I roll my shoulders.
“Do I need to get a whistle? Train you like a dog? This is my turf. You will listen. You will be tested and I only produce winning results.”
My jaw twitches. “You’re already testing me.”
“I have never had a failure leave through the doors at Blancbourg during my time as headmistress. It’s up to me to inform Coach Hammer that you passed and I intend to do so in thirty days.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest, meaning to put some space between us, but she doesn’t shuffle back. As slender as she is, Cateline holds her ground.
And I’m suddenly warm in this hoodie. I tear it off, pushing it into her hands. The hem of my shirt catches and she glances at my abs. Her cheeks are the color of raspberries and she sucks in a breath.
Looking at her is like gazing into a mirror, only the reflection isn’t of appearance, but everything beneath. She’s as stubborn and determined as me.
“What if I don’t care?” I ask.
“In order for you to avoid the penalties from your commissioner, you’d better find it in yourself to care.”
She’s right and I should back off, but I lean down, my face hovering over hers—eyebrows crossed, nostrils flared, lips pinched. She wears an identical expression but on a smaller scale.
“You will find it in yourself to care for yourself, for your future, and your team,” she adds.
We lock eyes, unrelenting. Both experts in the art of war. For the first time ever, I’ve met a worthy adversary. But she has a weapon that I do not. Beauty. Grace.
Endurance won’t help me now. I’m going on hope alone that I can resist it.
Her breath whispers across the skin on my arms.
It’s as though we’re caught in a desert wind with sand buffeting between us, rubbing us raw in some places and polishing us elsewhere like glass. But there’s dry heat too, warming us to the point of incineration.
My pulse quickens.
She drags in a breath.
My head dips closer to hers.
Cateline’s lips part and finishing her thought, she adds, “And you will abide by the rules of the playbook.”
The spell breaks. The comment sends me reeling backward. “How do you know about that?”
“I know everything.”
She knows too much.
“Which one of the guys told you?”
Her head shifts left and right. “You told me.”
My inner wolf reminds me that I won’t win by playing her game. Once more, I’m at odds with myself.
She clasps her hands as though pleased by holding this knowledge over my head.
I gaze at the flickering flame of the candlelight on the table, considering my next move. Give up because she’s right. Or live by the Boston Bruiser’s motto, It ain’t over ‘til we’ve won.
I straighten and resume my position in front of Cateline. In a low voice, I say, “My father once told me an old story about a captain who sails ashore to wage war. Instead of anchoring the ships, he orders the crew to burn them.”
She inclines her head as though curious why anyone would do something so insane—that had been my question too. My father burned the boats, that’s for sure.
I explain, “Retreating is only a choice when you have the option. If you burn the boats, there is no going back. You have no choice but to fight. To win.”
Understanding ripples across her features. “That’s how you live your life. Burn through everything in your way, never mind the wreckage in your wake.”
“Never look back. There is only one way and it is onward.”
“That means you don’t look within.”
My muscles tense. Never have I met someone so perceptive, fearless, right, and so dangerous.
Cateline wags her hand between us, accidentally brushing her finger across my arm. It sends a surge through me, like a fuse lighting a keg of adrenaline.
“You burned the boats.”
“Aye.” I stop short of offering a salute.
“This is war, then?” she asks.
I give a sharp nod.
“Very well. Let the battle resume tomorrow. Seven a.m. sharp.”
A tremor works through me because I’ve never faced off with a woman like her and fear it will destroy me.