by Elise Faber
Nice.
“But that being said—” Bernard leaned forward in his chair “—I’m proud of you, son. Proud that you got your shit together last season and proud that you’re thinking of the team enough to come to me with this.”
The words hit him straight in the gut.
Or hell, if he was getting sappy, right in the heart.
Which was an organ he’d thought totally decimated. But between Sara and Coach going all Hallmark-moment and his girl-talk with Stefan, the little blood-pumper was making a comeback.
Bernard picked up his iPad, dismissing them as effectively as his words. “Why are you still here?”
They bolted, closing the door behind them.
“So you worked things out?” Stefan asked as they walked to the visitors’ locker room.
“Yeah.” Mike sighed. “Or as much as I could before I had to go. She’s at least willing to give me a shot.”
“That’s something.” Stefan stopped outside the locker room entrance. “I hesitate to suggest this, given what happened after I told you to use your charm, but you’ve got to woo her, bud. Show her how good it could be between you two. Help her understand that the notoriety she’s risking dating you will be worth it, ‘cuz you’re so awesome.”
“Woo her? What is this, 1840?”
“No. If it was, you’d have compromised her and already be married.” He put his hands up when Mike just stared at him, mouth agape. “Look, I may have read a few of Brit’s historical romance books.”
Mike chortled then didn’t — couldn’t — hold back. He burst out laughing. “Whipped, man. You’re so fucking whipped.”
“Hey, I’m also the one getting sex every night, so suck on that.”
“No, thanks. You’re not my type.”
Stefan huffed. “I liked it better when you were a surly S.O.B. who didn’t talk.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Fine,” Stefan said. “Forget about the wooing, just don’t fuck it up. How about that?”
Mike sobered, straightened, and tapped his captain on the shoulder. “That is pretty much the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”
Shaking his head, Stefan turned and walked into the locker room. “You’re insane, Stewart. Totally certifiable.”
Mike followed him, and later, after the game was over and he was slipping back into his suit, he noticed something poking out of the corner of his messenger bag.
Fucking Max. Probably one of those goddamned graphic novels he was spouting about on the plane. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d tried to convert Mike over to the fine religion of nerdom.
Except it wasn’t a graphic novel.
Or, at least, not the type that Max read.
On this book’s cover were a man and woman. The man was shirtless, and he held the woman, who was wearing a huge, bright-purple dress (that conveniently appeared to be falling off) close to his chest.
The title talked about seducing a viscount, whatever that was.
A foot nudged his shoe. A feminine foot.
“For inspiration,” Brit murmured. “Make sure you read Chapter Twenty.”
And with that gem of advice, she walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MOONLIGHT AND CLEAR skies. The lake called to her, and Sara sketched furiously to capture the image in front of her, to order it with the snapshots in her mind and create art on the paper.
Her hand cramped, the one damaged by frostbite all those years before, and she set her pencil down for a second to stretch it.
Then her hip, which was apparently aching too. And now that her body was on full revolt, her back joined the party.
The muscle spasms took her breath away.
Her bubble — the one that had ensconced her in just the paper and pencil and scene before her eyes — burst. She descended back into reality.
From the outside, it surely looked as though she’d been merely taking a break, stretching those stiff limbs. But on the inside, her mind came down to Earth kicking and screaming.
It wanted to stay lost in her drawing, to be swept along with the softly moving water, to understand its place in a strictly black and white world.
She snorted at her inner idiocy and lay carefully back, trying to get those contracting muscles to relax.
Sara wasn’t one of those eccentric artist types; she understood the real world.
She sometimes just didn’t want to interact with it.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her fully out of her artist’s fog — mental, not literal. It took a moment — those stiff fingers again — to tug it out of her pocket.
Mike.
She smiled; her stomach went all gooey. She swiped. “Hey there, Hot Shot.”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
The angry words shocked her and as such, it took her a moment to gather her words.
In the meantime, Mike was having a conversation with himself. “Shit. I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’ve just been worried. I called when we landed, and you didn’t answer. And then I went to your apartment, and you didn’t respond to the knock. I uh… went in, and you weren’t there—”
“You broke into my apartment?”
“I didn’t break anything.”
“Oh. So you just entered my apartment without a key?”
“You need a better lock.” He sounded like such a little petulant child that Sara had to smile.
“Mike.”
His sigh rattled through the speaker of her phone. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a little bad that she’d scared him, but also touched that he so obviously cared.
It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to worry about her whereabouts.
“Where are you?”
She sat up and tucked her things into her backpack. “Drawing.”
“Where?”
“At the Palace of Fine Arts. I’m done now though. Want me to come over?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” A clicking sound, the beep of a horn, and she had to wonder if he was single-handedly screwing with the traffic patterns of San Francisco again.
“Want me to let you drive?”
A pause, then, “I love your voice, Sara.”
The L-word made her breath catch. “Oh?”
“Talk to me, sweetheart. What are you working on?”
She slipped her arms into the straps of her backpack. “The lake again. Except this time, no one interrupted my light.”
One more glance at the space she’d been working in. Other than a few pencil shavings, which she pushed into the planter bed with her foot, there wasn’t any sign of her having been there at all.
Just the way she liked it.
Mike’s chuckle drew her focus back to the phone.
“Have I apologized for that?”
“No.”
Another chuckle.
Another flutter in her stomach.
“Well, I’m sorry I ruined your light.” She heard the clicking sound again, and he said, “I’m turning into the lot now.”
“I’m almost there too.”
And then she was on the sidewalk, and his car was pulling up next to her. She reached for the handle to let herself in… and heard it lock.
Her fingers tried it anyway. No. He’d really locked the door.
The car turned off. Mike slid from the driver’s seat with a sexy smile. “Hey.”
Three letters and she was mush.
He crossed in front of the hood, paused facing her. “I missed you.”
She pished. “You just saw me.”
“Too long,” he said and tugged her into his arms.
Being there was perfect. The embrace, her chest pressed against his, Mike’s warmth wrapped around her. “I missed you too.”
His laughter puffed by her ear. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Releasing her, he stepped back and pressed the key fob. The passenger door unlocked with a beep.
&nb
sp; He pulled the handle, helped her into the seat, and then took her breath away when he reached across her body to turn on the seat warmer.
“Missed you,” he murmured again, cupping her jaw for the slightest moment. His eyes were hot and liquid beneath the interior lights. His mouth was right… there.
Sara wanted him to kiss her. No. She needed his lips across hers, his tongue in her mouth, his cock—
But then he was closing her door and walking around the front of the car. Her heart raced, the space between her thighs ached, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Especially when Mike rested his hand on her leg, just inches from where she was desperate for it.
Sweat beaded on the back her neck.
She definitely did not need the seat warmer. Reaching forward to turn off the little dial, her eyes happened to flick over to Mike.
Or more specifically, Mike’s lap.
He didn’t need to be warmed up either, apparently.
A giggle snuck out of her.
Brown eyes flashed over. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He’d put the car into drive, but at her rebuff, he clicked it into park again and turned to face her.
In the smallest movement, he’d managed to surround her, one hand on the dash, the other on the back of her seat. “What?” he asked again.
“You’re frustrating. You know that?”
He smirked, raised a brow.
“Fine. I was just thinking that I didn’t need the seat warmer because you’ve gotten me so hot.”
“Fuck, Sara girl. You can’t say things like that here.” He nodded at the street in the distance, where even though it was the middle of the night, cars still regularly drove by. “Not when I can’t do anything about it.”
“Not my fault.” She put her hand on his thigh, brushed her fingers against the tip of his erection. He cursed again, and now it was her turn to smirk. “You did ask.”
“Sweet Christ, woman. I think you’re going to be the death of me.”
She started to laugh, but then his mouth was against hers, his tongue slipping in between her parted lips to intertwine with hers. He moved, there was a click, and suddenly she was in his lap, pressed between the hardness of his body and the unyielding steering wheel.
His hands were on her breasts, her hips, between her thighs, ramping her up and turning that need from before into frenzied desire.
He pressed his palm firmly against her clit. “Mike!” She bucked—
Honk!
They both jumped and…
“Ow!” she moaned as their heads clonked together.
“Sorry,” he muttered, one hand on his temple, the other steadying her on his lap.
“You did warn me—” her mouth twitched “—that this wasn’t the place.”
“Exactly.” He set her back in her seat then reached across and re-buckled her seatbelt. “But dang, sweetheart, do we have some chemistry.”
She couldn’t hold back her grin. “That we do. Now take me home so we can explore it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MIKE DROVE SARA back to her apartment, and despite all of the talk of exploring their chemistry, he walked her to her door, waited until she’d opened the lock, and then pulled her into his arms.
The kiss he gave her wasn’t the one he wanted, but it was the one she deserved.
Sweet and soft, tender lips and slow strokes, and when, finally, he managed to wrestle himself away, he cupped her cheek.
“Good night, Jumping Bean.”
Her brows pulled together into a frown that was both comical and wonderfully cute.
“Night?”
He tugged her bag from her shoulders — the cursed woman had insisted on carrying it herself — and pushed her gently across the threshold into her apartment.
“I have two days off,” he said. “Lunch tomorrow?” He glanced out the little window in her living room. The sky was already lightening, and it was nearly dawn. “Or rather, today?”
He’d landed after midnight then spent two of the longest hours of his life worried as hell for Sara.
“But—”
“Oh. Let me see your phone.” He plucked it from her back pocket. “What’s the code to unlock it?”
Her head was moving from side-to-side, a partial shake, confusion marring her brow.
“What’s the code, Sara girl?”
“11-14”
His breath hitched and a long, slow grin curved his mouth. “Really?”
“So what?” she snapped, abruptly defensive. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Except it did.
“Yeah?” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Guess what my code is?”
Blue eyes flew up, collided with his. “Really?”
Mike put the code in on his phone, showed her when it unlocked. “Really.”
“Oh.”
The numbers were their respective birthdays. “You were on my mind a lot.”
Sara swallowed then wrapped her arms around his waist. “You too.”
“Okay,” he said, when she pulled back. “I’m not going to comment on the late-night exploits and you being too distracted to take your own safety seriously.” He stopped, fixed her with a glare. “At some point, we will discuss that.”
Her chin lifted for a moment, but then she sighed. “I want to argue with you when you’re being all dictatorial. Unfortunately, in this, you’re probably right.”
“No probably about it.”
Her mouth opened, and he touched his thumb to her lower lip.
“Let’s argue about it later. For now, I want to download the Find My Friends app to your phone. So I can see where you are if you’re distracted, not to keep tabs,” he rushed to add. “You can put it on my phone too. It’s not some crazy abusive boyfriend thing, just the easiest solution—”
Soft fingers grabbed her phone from his hand. In a moment, she had the app store open, and it was downloading. “Now you.”
He did the same, and they each took a few minutes to get their accounts set up and synced. Seeing their dots next to each other on the home screen felt right.
“Until later, Jumping Bean.” Mike pressed a soft kiss to her lips, restrained himself like a grown-ass man so it didn’t turn into something way more heated, then started for the stairs.
“I need more nicknames for you, Hot Shot,” she said. “The single one I’ve got can’t compete.”
He laughed and paused on the top step. “You can call me anything you want.” A raised brow. “Or God. That works too.”
Her reply was tart, and he loved her all the more for it. “Or Jackass, yeah? That always works well.”
“True.” He pointed to her apartment. “Now close and lock that door, honey.”
She sighed, probably at the endearment. But he couldn’t help it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth seemed to need to show her exactly how much she meant to him. Especially since it was way too soon to say the three most important words in his vocabulary.
And contrary to popular belief, those three words were not shit, mother, and fucker.
Though those were definitely his second favorite set.
“Night, Mike.” He watched the door shut, the deadbolt slide home.
“Night, Sara girl.”
WHOEVER HAD COME up with the concept of wooing was a giant asshole.
Mike had Sara exactly where he wanted her. They’d both slept late, and he’d called her mid-afternoon to take her to a late lunch on the waterfront.
Since it was crab season, they’d had their choice of the freshly cooked crustacean before picking up a loaf of sourdough from Boudin’s and walking down the backside of Pier 39.
The sea lions were in full force, barking and flopping around on the floating platforms as kids looked on laughing.
They’d found a relatively quiet corner to eat their lunch before heading back to his place to sack out and binge on Game of Thrones.
She’d never seen it, and he wa
s tired of Max bugging him about the “best-show-in-the-history-of-all-shows,” so they took the plunge together.
Three episodes and they were still going strong.
What was also going strong was his erection.
That particular part of his anatomy could rival those granite statues in Italy.
Sara was curled up against his chest in the media room, cuddled close even though his couch was huge. Not that he minded, except that he’d read the book from Brit on the flight back to the city, finished it after he’d returned home the previous night.
And falling into bed too soon had been the theme of Chapter Twenty.
The main scene in which Brit had underlined repeatedly, writing a giant No! in the margin of one page and Romance! in the other.
Both of which he’d screwed the pooch on.
Game of Thrones wasn’t particularly romantic, now was it? And the sex part… Shit, he’d fucked — literally — that up as well.
Though the sea lions had been a nice touch, he thought.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Mike blinked. “What?”
“You’re all stiff and formal.” She popped him on the chest. “When a girl is lying here, she likes to be held. Yes?”
He hadn’t even realized that his hands were at his sides instead of around her. He quickly remedied that. “I’m sorry, I just—”
And he shut up because what was he going to say? He’d read a romance novel to try and win her over?
Yeah, not happening.
Sara shifted so she was straddling his lap. The television backlit her body, highlighting the blond of her hair, the pale ivory of her skin.
She was so fucking beautiful.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” she asked, soft, but there was a layer of steel beneath the words.
No way would she let this go without a straight answer.
And didn’t she deserve that much?
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Her lips parted, breath hiccupping as it slid through. “I want to do this right, and I’m fucking it all up.”
“Okay, overthinker,” she said, “I thought we agreed to give this our best shot. So tell me how you’re fucking it up. The romantic walk by the bay? The ice cream and sketchpad? The way you’ve held my hand, touched my back, stroked my cheek?” She smiled and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “You’ve been romancing me, and I appreciate it. I love it.” Her brows pulled down. “What I don’t appreciate, however, is you being more in your mind than with me.”
