Heartthrob

by Robin Bielman

  “You know what?” I say. “We can do this anywhere. It doesn’t have to be in your bedroom.” Do I sound nervous? God, I hope I don’t sound nervous because I’m in his bedroom. Where he does things. Probably super well. Whatever those things are. Not that I’m thinking about those things because that would be weird with him standing right here. Oh my God, Chloe, stop.

  “Where did Clemons do his?”

  I scrunch up my nose. “In bed.”

  “We should stay put then.” He stops in the middle of the room. Finn is a big guy, but he’s somehow swallowed inside these four walls, his superstar status brought down to earth. He likes this space, he’s comfortable. Which will translate into great pictures. You know what you’re doing, Chloe. Relax.

  “Okay.”

  The room is made up of cool grays and dark woods. The king-sized bed is unmade, white sheets ruffled under a gray down comforter, and I can already picture him lounging there, smiling for me. Only it’s not for me, it’s for the thousands of women about to fall in love with him. I look away and step toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that allow natural light to spill into the room. A cozy nook to my left includes a small couch, ottoman, and television. To my right, a bookshelf holds framed photographs and baseball memorabilia.

  Outside is a large terrace, beyond which is a perfect view of the ocean. I imagine on a clear day Finn can see Catalina Island.

  He comes to stand beside me. “On a clear day you can see for miles.”

  “I was just thinking that. Did you know the word ocean comes from the Greek word okeanos, which means great stream encircling the earth’s disk?”

  “I do now, Webster.”

  “Good, because there may be a pop quiz later.” I am such a dork.

  “Yeah, what do I get if I pass?”

  “What do you want?” I flirt back. I can’t help myself.

  “A date.”

  “Sorry, Charlie.” I turn away. My dating days are over. Not that I have any delusions about one date with Finn turning into something more, but even a single dinner would be too much with him. I like him. Which means he’s destined to break my heart. “I never date anyone who doesn’t make his bed.”

  “Ah, well see that excuse doesn’t work on me. Sylvie makes my bed and is slacking this morning.”

  I push him in the shoulder. “That’s worse, Mr. Spoiled.”

  He flinches. “Ow.”

  “Oh shit. I’m so sorry! Are you okay? What can I do?”

  “Keep two feet back?” he teases, but I still feel terrible. If only he’d kept the sling on, I wouldn’t have forgotten myself. “Also, I was joking about the bed. Normally I make it, but with the fracture, I’m taking it easy. I’m actually a little embarrassed you’re seeing it this way.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a neat freak.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you. But playing ball eight to nine months out of the year, you develop a routine and an order to things. Coach doesn’t stand for sloppy behavior on or off the field. Plus, my mom taught us it’s nicer and more inviting to get into a made bed rather than an unmade one.”

  “I highly doubt anyone would say no to getting into your bed, made or not.”

  He arches an eyebrow, setting off a flutter in my belly. Before he says something playful to poke at the waking butterflies, I add, “Let’s get you ready to get in it. Do you need help with your shirt?” It’s the least I can do after nudging his bad shoulder.

  “Sure.”

  I have the feeling he’d say yes to help whether he needed it or not. “Permission to approach?”

  “Permission granted,” he says, eyes shining.

  I step in front of him. He’s wearing black pajama bottoms and a light green cotton T-shirt and I love that he didn’t feel the need to change clothes before I arrived. It won’t always work in his favor, but it did this time. “Ready?”

  He nods.

  I help guide his good arm out of his sleeve first. His skin is warm, his biceps big. And hard. So hard. I think about all the baseballs he’s thrown with this arm, the incredible skill and talent. He’s won two Gold Glove awards for his superior fielding, a double honor few players achieve. What would it feel like to be tucked under this strong, accomplished arm? Amazing, I bet.

  Next, I lift up on my tiptoes to stretch the material over his head. He smells like man and lazy mornings, and I take a second whiff while his shirt covers his eyes. His soft, light brown hair springs back to its sexy, unruly state after I get the warm cotton off. Then I gently slide the shirt straight down his left arm, careful not to bump him in any way.

  I toss the shirt onto the bench at the foot of his bed.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Where do you want me?” he asks.

  I think Finn just spoke, but let’s be real here. I’m busy inspecting the goods. It’s part of my job, and I always give 100 percent to my assignments.

  His pajama bottoms hang low on his hips. Low enough for me to see the top of his Adonis belt. The V-shaped muscle is sexy as hell.

  And low enough for me to count that yes, he does have a six-pack. His waist is a couple inches narrower than his shoulders. His pecs are cut, his nipples brown and flat. There’s no obvious sign of his fracture, his collarbone unmarked. His forearms are corded with muscle. His hands big, his fingers long. I’ve never seen such a flawless specimen in person before and I have the insane desire to lick him all over. I’ve never had the urge to do that before.

  “Ahem,” he clears his throat.

  Shit. I’ve been staring at his body like an unprofessional, infatuated perv. “Sorry, just uh, thinking about how to pose you.”

  “I don’t think that’s all you were thinking.”

  I ignore his flirty tone of voice. Also? I don’t think he’s wearing any underwear. Also, also? I’m starting to sweat. “Is it hot in here?” I pull on the neck of my hoodie. I’d take it off, but I’m only wearing a bra underneath. Note to self: always wear an undershirt around Finn. “Don’t answer that. Oh hey, we forgot the coffee mug. I’ll go grab it. Be right back!”

  I hurry out of the room and race downstairs, grateful for a minute to gather my wits and regain my composure. I’m being ridiculous. Baseball players don’t ruffle me. I’ve been around them forever, and I’ve had several crushes, but I’ve never felt the need for a cold shower before. Finn is just an anomaly I didn’t expect.

  As I pour a little more coffee into the mug, my phone chimes with a text. I pull it out of my pocket. At seeing Leo’s name, a sharp ache flares in my chest. He’s texted me twice since we broke up to make sure I’m okay, but I’ve yet to respond. It doesn’t take a genius to know that I’m not, so what does he want from me?

  Hi Chloe. Me again. Could we meet for coffee? I promise I’ll stop bugging you after that. LMK.

  I swallow the baseball-sized lump in my throat. How the heck am I supposed to respond? How does a girl talk to the boy who engineered the final barricade around her heart in under two minutes? It’s not like we were fighting or didn’t get along or had doubts about our relationship. We’d made love the night before he left. I kissed him the next morning, wished him a good trip, and told him I loved him. It was a Tuesday. Ten days later he returns and tells me he’s found someone he loves better. Who does that?

  My boyfriends, that’s who.

  Love at first sight bites. Me in particular. In the ass.

  Speaking of asses, there is a fine one upstairs. I push Leo out of my mind. He can wait. Today is about Finn. I return to his bedroom and find him looking out the window. My view is so far out of the ordinary that I take a sec to appreciate it. Finn’s backside is glorious. A piece of art that should be bronzed and placed in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

  He must sense my presence because he turns before I tell him I’m here. “C’mere, quick. There’re whales.”

  I put the coffee on his bedside table and jog over to him.

  “Riiight…there,” he says.

/>   “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  “Scan slowly from left to right and back again, fairly close to the shore, and watch for a break in the surface of the water or a puff of smoke on the horizon.”

  “Okay.” Finn and I are both quiet, like our silence will make it easier to see the cetaceans. I’m not sure which one of us moves first, but our sides touch, and I find myself leaning against him. He doesn’t seem to mind, maintaining our closeness, so I relax. “Oh! Thar, she blows!” I declare, seeing a plume of water rise above the surface. I have seen whales along the coast before, but it never gets old.

  Finn laughs. “Keep watching. There’s a second one.”

  “Those are blue whales, right?”

  “At this time of year, blue or humpback.”

  “I could stand here all day and watch for them. Growing up, I wanted to be an oceanographer.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Too much math and not enough writing. One day I hope to write a children’s book with ocean animals as my main characters, though. I think that will satisfy the tiny part of my brain that wishes I’d stuck with science.”

  “Did you know a blue whale’s tongue can weigh as much as an elephant?”

  “Wow. I did not know that. Are you trying to out pop quiz me? Because then game on. There are a lot of flashcard facts in my head. My dad Brain Quested me to death while we flew to games when I was younger.”

  Finn turns, his mouthwatering chest at eye level yet somehow, I manage to keep my attention on his questioning eyes.

  “Brain Quest was an educational question and answer game,” I clarify. “After my mom died, my dad homeschooled me and so I traveled with him during the season.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Yes and no. Yes, because I didn’t have normal experiences like dances and pep rallies and cafeteria food. No, because being with my dad gave me the security I needed to do well in my studies. Not to mention I got to see so much of our country. Field Trip Fancy Pants right here.”

  “You learned on the road,” he says, sounding almost envious.

  “Mostly in hotel rooms and baseball stadiums. Anyway, we’ve gotten completely sidetracked and your coffee is probably cold now.”

  “Your dad’s a good guy.” Finn’s voice is low, deep, steadfast. His sincerity so intense it’s almost tangible.

  “He’s the best,” I manage to say, appreciative of Finn’s kind words. I’m pretty sure he’s referring to on and off the field, and his opinion means something to me. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  “Is my nakedness bothering you?”

  “Not in the least,” I toss over my shoulder on my way to his bed. I wonder if his mattress is hard or soft. I wonder which side he sleeps on since there’s no obvious sign. Maybe he sleeps in the middle.

  “Liar,” he whispers in my ear, making me jump.

  Grrr. He knows way too much about me. “Let’s start off with you sitting against the headboard, one leg bent with the bottom of your foot on the mattress and the other leg bent knee down with your ankles crossed, so your legs make an open triangle,” I instruct in my best managerial voice.

  Somehow, he follows that mouthful of direction, favoring his good side, and propping a pillow behind his back.

  “Here, let me help.” I shore up another pillow behind him. “Do you want to put your sling back on? It’s fine if you do.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay.” I scroll through my phone for Earth Wind & Fire’s “Shining Star” and hit play. My song selection earns me an unguarded smile that is as hot as it is genuine. I take his picture then hand him the coffee. “Hold this just under your chin like you’re about to take a sip, eyes on me. Perfect!” I snap a few shots. The natural lighting plays off Finn’s coloring beautifully. “Now bring the cup to your mouth and take a sip. That’s great.” My thumb continues to get a workout as I take a bunch more photos. Seeing fatigue settle on Finn’s handsome face, I stop to swipe through the pics and discern if we’re good.

  “Are you cool to do one more pose?” I ask, pushing my luck.

  “If you have to ask, what does that tell you?”

  “That you’re almost at your limit but you’ll take one more for the team.” I grin and hurry to position him. “Let me have you hold the cup on your leg here.” I carefully bring his arm to rest on his thigh. “Then cross your other arm over your abs and hold on to your elbow. Yes! Like that.” I take a step back and bring my camera phone back to my face. His biceps are bulging. It’s a heart-stopping thing.

  “Now instead of smiling, give me a neutral look like we’re strangers and you’ve just noticed me for the first time but I haven’t noticed you yet. Very good.” Despite Finn’s wish to be done already, he is immensely photogenic. “Lastly, keep your face forward while I walk around the bed to score different angles.”

  I capture a bunch more pictures, bopping to the music as I work. Once finished, I press stop on the song and sit at the foot of the bed. “That’s a wrap. Thank you. How about I buy you lunch for your troubles?” The Landsharks have given me a decent expense account to work with and I plan to use it.

  Finn slips off the bed. “How about you join me instead?”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

  I give him a what-are-you-talking-about look before I realize what I just did. “Wait. This isn’t a date. Just lunch.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

  He lifts his good shoulder. “I’ll shower and then we’ll go.”

  I continue to sit there, riveted to the hand on the waistband of his sleep plants. Adonis, Adonis, what oh what do you promise?

  “I don’t mind an audience, but I should warn you, you’ll be ruined for any other naked man.”

  I jump to my feet and then…I crack up. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since the curse reared her ugly head for the fourth time. I’m already ruined. Which means I should take him up on his offer. But I can’t stop laughing.

  Cannot stop.

  And from the look on Finn’s face, it pisses him off.

  Which only makes me laugh harder.

  Chapter Seven

  #SacrificeFly

  Finn

  As far as distractions go, Chloe is the worst.

  And the best.

  I sit back in my chair and watch the beauty that is my grandmother unfold. We’re seated at a round table in the middle of Ethan’s restaurant, Royal. It’s closed to the public on Mondays, so every Monday Grandma Rosemary has lunch here. She’s not big on crowds and Chef Louis adores her and is happy to come in on his day off and cook new things for her. She’s his guinea pig, which thrills her culinary cravings and scores points for Ethan from both of them. Today’s lunch was supposed to be the two of us, but I called ahead to make it three. My grandmother is loving, smart as a whip, and inquisitive doesn’t begin to cover her interest in her grandsons. Hence, a buffer is sometimes nice.

  “How about a punny LA birthday hashtag?” she says. Like my brothers, my grandma is intrigued by Chloe and has made it her mission for the past twenty minutes to find out everything a social media manager does. That my grandmother understands hashtags and used the word “punny” makes me grin.

  Chloe taps her chin in thought. “Hashtag Malibu Barbie—B-A-R-B-I-E—Q, for a barbecue-themed party in Malibu. Get it?”

  “Not only do I get it, I think you’ve just given me the best idea yet for my party next year.”

  “Aren’t you too old to have played with Barbies?” I ask. Nicely. I don’t think the toy has been around for eighty years.

  Grandma tries to glare at me. Tries because let’s just say she’s had some help to defy her age and her face doesn’t move all that much. “You, young man, can zip it.”

  Chloe giggles. “Is next year a big birthday?”

  “Yes. And we’re having a blowout. I’m not pri
vy to the planning, but I shall pass along the Barbie idea because I love the hashtag.”

  “Are you even on social media?” I ask.

  “Not yet, but now that I’ve met Chloe, I may want to hire her for my next decade.” She takes a sip of her Arnold Palmer.

  “You don’t have to hire me. I’m happy to get you started whenever you want.”

  I have the same blue eyes as my grandmother and right now hers are gleaming. She pulls her cell phone out of her handbag. “Put your digits in, would you?”

  Digits? My grandmother is a riot.

  “Absolutely.” Chloe quickly types in her name and number then hands the phone back.

  My buffer is working out better than I expected. Not that I should be surprised. Chloe is a natural people person. My grandmother can sniff out bullshit from a mile away and I could tell a minute after I introduced the two of them that she approved. Otherwise she’d be asking me all the questions.

  “What do you do when you’re not social media managing?”

  See? This is so much better than her hounding me about my personal life.

  “I like to hike, hang out with my best friend, go to the movies, and read.”

  “Have a boyfriend?”

  “Grandma.”

  She waves me off with her hand. “Chloe can fend for herself.”

  “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you?”

  “Girlie, I like the way you think. None of my grandsons ask me about my love life.”

  “And since one is sitting right here, we should change the subject.” Does my grandmother have a love life? Granted, she looks a good ten years younger than her driver’s license states, but that still makes her uh, older. She’s fiercely independent, has been since before my grandfather passed away, and I’ve always imagined her happy on her own. With her attention on Chloe it’s hard to gauge how serious she is.

  “To answer your question, I don’t either. I had one great love and that was enough for me.”

  “You’re lucky,” Chloe says. It’s impossible not to pick up on the reverence in her soft tone. Whoever hurt her did a good job. Recently, I’m guessing.

  “Luck had very little to do with it. More like respect, appreciation, and hot toddies. And I don’t mean the drink.”