I looked down at Tatum's running shoes, which were clearly soaked.
"Rinse them with fresh water when you get home. They'll be okay."
We focused on Charlie for a long minute, and when he'd had enough of molesting me and returned his interest to the surf rolling enticingly in and out, Tatum turned to me. "How are you?"
Suddenly, it was awkward. I didn't know what to say. "Yeah, good."
We'd already agreed to meet at the office Monday, so I doubted she was going to be working today. I'd planned to just go work the tournament and try not to think about her until then. But here she was, right in front of me, and it was taking everything in me not to touch her.
"What are you up to today?" she asked, watching Charlie play. She'd finally dropped the leash and he was dancing in and out of the little waves.
"There's a women's charity tournament in Oceanside," I said, contemplating the invitation that I knew was on the tip of my tongue.
"I think that was in the paper. You playing?"
"Just a little exhibition match," I told her. "Mostly just going up to man the booths and help out. Wanna come?" The invitation had fallen from my lips before I'd even really thought about it.
Tate didn't say anything for a minute, dropping her eyes to the sand. "I'm supposed to say no. I decided last night that we would just keep this professional." Her voice didn't match the words. Her body was so close, I could smell the vanilla scent of her, feel the warmth of her shoulder next to mine.
I reached out and took her hand, and a second later she was pressed against me. "Are you saying no?" I asked her.
"I should." She looked up at me. "I really should."
Our lips met in a rush, the kiss was demanding at first and then we both backed off slightly, enjoying the touch, the slide, the slick, and the release of being together again. "Or maybe not," I said, moving my mouth from hers but holding her against me. I was supposed to have decided the same thing. That this wasn't a good idea. Had low odds of being anything real. Tate was here temporarily.
Despite the three thousand reasons I'd told myself to remain distant, be professional, here we were again. And I didn't care about any of that.
"Max," Tate laughed. "You're soaking wet."
I released her immediately. "Oh yeah, sorry. Long run day."
She stepped away slowly, laughing. "I'm covered in sweat and dog fur anyway."
For a moment we were both quiet, looking at each other and around us at the beach, the dog, the tourists. I needed her to say yes. I wanted to be close to her. I didn’t care about all the reasons it was wrong. "You haven't really answered," I reminded her.
She nodded. "I'm going to say yes," she said, her words slow and careful. "But Max. This thing we're doing ..." she trailed off and shook her head.
"I know."
"On paper," she said, "you know—logically—it's all wrong. I should be able to walk away, to just say no."
"But ..." She was right, but I knew exactly what she meant. Maybe logic couldn’t explain everything? Maybe everything I thought I knew wasn’t quite right.
Her next words were a pained whisper. "I can't." Her shoulders hunched as if she'd admitted some immense weakness, something to apologize for.
I hated that she felt like wanting to be with me was a weakness, a failure.
"Tate." I waited until she looked at me again, her eyes barely visible beneath the sunglasses she wore. "I don't want to do anything that's going to hurt you. If you need me to stop this thing for both of us, I will. Just say the word." I pushed out these words against the resistance I felt and uttered a silent prayer that she wouldn't take me up on it.
She was silent, and my heart pounded inside my chest.
"What time do I need to be ready for the tournament?" she asked.
Relief poured through me, a physical visceral reaction to her words, her acceptance of this undeniable connection between us. Maybe it wasn't logical, maybe it wasn't love or math or even right—but it would be hard to stop at this point. "I'll pick you up at noon."
She stepped up close and kissed me again, softly, and then she turned back to the water, laughing at the huge dog who was rolling in the sand at the water's edge. "Oh Charlie, you're a mess."
Charlie leapt to his feet, doggy grinning at us, and loped over. When he was a couple feet away he paused, braced his feet, and shook mightily, spewing sand and salty water in every direction and covering us both.
"Oh God!" Tate cried, backing a few steps away.
I laughed and jumped back too late. "I needed a shower anyway."
"Charlie, you're impossible."
Charlie didn't seem to mind this declaration. He closed the distance between him and Tate and rubbed himself against her leg as she picked up his leash. "I'll see you soon, Max."
I watched as the big dog and the woman I couldn't seem to stop thinking about jogged off down the beach.
For a few minutes longer I stood there, staring after them, my insides at war. Tate was right—there was no logic here and a lot of reasons we should be cutting things off right now.
Still, I couldn't wait to see her again. A couple hours felt like an eternity.
I had never felt this way before—except once, something close to it with Bendy Samantha—but it hadn’t been quite the same. I winced, thinking about that and how it had gone wrong. There was every chance this would go just as badly, so why couldn't I seem to pull back?
Chapter 23
The Tale of Mr. Peps, the Humpy Poodle
Tatum
When Max had appeared on the beach, it was as if my desires had materialized there in front of me, like the power of my wanting to see him summoned him before me. And when we'd kissed again, with the surf beating just beyond and the cool morning air blowing around us, it was hard to remember all the reasons this wasn't right.
I'd been thinking about what my mother had said, and also thinking about what I knew of women who'd gotten involved with clients, and I still hadn't come to a solid decision about what to do. But every second I spent with Max made it that much harder to pull back. And when he invited me to the tournament, my agreement had fallen from my lips long before my brain had even engaged.
"What are you planning for today?" Mom asked as I emerged from the bathroom after blow-drying my hair. I was probably just going to put it up again and would most likely be wearing a hat if we were going to be out in the sun all day, but the thought of leaving it sweaty just didn't work if I was going to be with Max.
"I'm actually going to go with Max to a charity tournament for the women's soccer team up in Oceanside," I said.
Mom's face fell a bit. "Oh, okay."
I was surprised to see Mom looking disappointed. I figured she’d have plans with Peter or Raaaaj. "Did you want to come?"
She shook her head. "No, I thought maybe we could do some shopping or something."
"We can. I'll just text Max and tell him." I was surprised at the way disappointment made me feel suddenly heavy and slow.
"No, no, don't do that," Mom said. "Charlie and I will find something to do."
"You sure Mom?"
"Of course," she said, moving off into the kitchen. "You have fun with Max," she called back to me.
I considered cancelling, but when I heard her on the phone—with Peter, I thought—I changed my mind.
Max and I were in his car fifteen minutes later, headed up north.
"Cat wanted to come too," he told me. "Do you mind if we pick her up?"
"Your sister?" I asked. A tiny part of me was sad to have to share Max, but then I realized he'd been planning to go the tournament before he asked me to come along. He had probably already had plans with his sister. And meeting her could offer an interesting perspective on Max. "Sure. I'd love to meet her. I take it you guys are close?"
"She's nosey and pushy," he said, the smile never leaving his face. "And probably my best friend."
"That's nice," I said as we left the freeway to pick up Cat. I wondered ho
w much Cat knew about Max and me, whether she was going to be judging me, or if she might be a potential friend. "I wish I had siblings. I've always been envious of that kind of relationship."
"It is kind of nice," he agreed. "But then there's the other side—you get someone in your business all the time." I wondered if Cat knew about the torn curtains at Max’s house.
We pulled up in front of a small tidy house, and before Max could stop the engine, a tall pretty woman with a dark bob emerged, smiling. She slid into the back seat and then leaned forward. "You must be Tatum," she said, and her smile told me that she definitely knew there was more between Max and me than business.
"Nice to meet you," I told her as a flush of embarrassment crept up my neck.
"You too," she said. "How are you liking San Diego so far? You're here from the Bay area, right?"
"Yes, Palo Alto," I said. "I love it here. My mom came with me—"
"And she brought a bear," Max threw in.
"Yes, my mom and a bear named Charlie."
"A bear?" Cat laughed.
"He's a Newfie, actually. Really just a puppy, but he's giant. Max met him this morning on the beach. I'm not sure Charlie put his best foot forward since he was covered with sand."
"He didn't put a foot forward," Max said. "He put about four hundred pounds of hairy wet dog forward. He greeted me with a hug."
I laughed, remembering the way Charlie had put his paws up on Max's shoulders, and warmth bloomed in my stomach at the memory.
Cat turned to Max. "You hate dogs," she said. "Did you freak?"
"You hate dogs?" I asked, surprised.
"Hate is a strong word," Max told us, talking as he drove, his eyes on the freeway.
"Max has a canine history I'm sure he didn't mention to you," Cat said, smiling.
Max sighed. "We don't need to go into that."
My interest was piqued. "Maybe we do, actually," I said. "Tell me." I grinned at Cat encouragingly.
"Well," Cat began. "When Max was about seven, he told all his friends we'd gotten a puppy. But we hadn't. The neighbors had."
Max groaned and I smiled encouragingly at Cat, who went on with a smile and flash of her eyes.
"So he asked his teacher if Mr. Peps might come with him to school for show and tell, and the teacher said it would be okay. He talked the neighbor into letting him take their puppy for the morning, and convinced Mom to provide transportation to make it all happen. By the time he had it all lined up, it was possibly the most elaborately detailed lie ever orchestrated by a first grader. He'd made up an origin story about how he'd found Mr. Peps in the road and valiantly tried to find his home, but how Mr. Peps had taken to him so completely and immediately he couldn't imagine giving him up.
"Mom brought the dog at the appointed hour, and I was with her since I hadn't started school yet, and when it was Max's turn for show and tell, she delivered him up to Max at the front of the class. Max was trying to tell the story he'd made up about how we'd come to own Mr. Peps, about how the dog couldn't stand to be apart from him ..." Cat had to trail off here, because she was giggling.
"The end," Max said.
"What happened?" I asked. I was enjoying this, and I smiled encouragingly at Cat, hanging on her words.
"Well, Mr. Peps did love Max. He especially loved his leg, if you know what I mean. So while Max was telling this story about his heroic rescue of the puppy and how the bond between boy and dog was so super strong and everything, Mr. Peps was furiously humping Max's leg. Max kept pulling him off and trying to go on with his story, but the kids were screaming with laughter and Max couldn't even finish."
"Mr. Peps turned out to be an extremely horny dog," Max said, a smile in his voice though he was trying to sound annoyed.
"Mom finally had to go up and pull him off of Max, and we returned him to the neighbor, who apologized profusely. From then on, any time the dog saw Max, he started getting excited and if Max got close enough, he'd attack him with his humpy love."
I was giggling by now, though I thought maybe I kind of knew where Mr. Peps was coming from. Max was pretty hot. "What kind of dog was it?"
"A horny mutt," Max said.
"I think it was a poodle mix. It wasn't very big. Only up to Max's seven-year old thigh on the hump meter," Cat said, smiling.
"That's hilarious," I said. "Have you found that you're especially attractive to any other dogs since then, Max?" I asked.
"I've avoided dogs since then," he said. "Until Charlie."
"If Charlie wanted to have his way with you, you'd be in trouble." I laughed, thinking how Charlie had hugged him earlier. If Charlie was feeling romantic, Max would have been on the ground.
"I'm glad Charlie seemed content to be just friends," he said.
A few minutes later we were pulling into a grassy field where cars were parked in long lines and men were directing the traffic. "Lots of people here," Max said.
"Good, right?" Cat asked, hopping out as we parked.
"Yep. Glad to see it." Max opened the door for me and we headed for the fields on the other side of the parking area. There was music playing and a huge balloon arch swaying in the wind. There was a carnival-style row of booths set up, and a huge banner over them that read "Oceanside Stars and the March of Dimes." People were everywhere, milling around, eating, laughing, and generally enjoying themselves.
The sun had just begun to emerge from the marine layer that had hugged the coast all morning, and I was glad I'd brought a hat.
Max and I walked side by side, and at one point he took my hand and a little thrill went through me at his touch. Cat noticed the move and a little smile flickered across her face. But when we reached the registration table for the tournament, Max let me go, greeting a small woman with a high ponytail and a boisterous voice.
"Max! You made it! I'm so glad." She actually sprinted around the table and leapt onto him, hugging him hard. When she dismounted, she turned to me and Cat. "Cat! Hey," she said, hugging Cat slightly less enthusiastically. "And hi you," she said to me, grinning. "I'm Tallulah."
"I'm Tatum," I told her.
"Awesome. Cool. Well, I'm glad you guys are here. The exhibition match is in about an hour. A couple of the other Sharks have popped by," she turned to Max to explain how the match would work. "But until then, the Sharks have the dunk tank."
"The dunk ..." Max sounded worried.
"Yep," Tallulah grinned. "Don't worry, most of these kids have terrible aim." She skipped back around the table after pinning badges to our shirts, and waved as we walked toward the booths.
Cat was laughing as we approached a huge booth full of water with a seat suspended above, behind a Plexiglas wall that had a target board centered on it. Max looked less excited.
Inside the dunk booth, sitting on the chair and grinning maniacally was one of the Sharks players I recognized from watching games with Dad. "Is that Trace Johnson?"
Max nodded and gave Trace a thumbs up. "You look dry so far," he called.
"Not for long," a woman said. We turned to where the beanbags were being distributed to people in exchange for tickets by another player I recognized, Hamish MacEvoy. The woman holding a pile of bags was petite, with curly dark hair, and her words had carried a French accent. "I'm going to drop him," she said. "Hello Max, Cat. Hi," she said to me. Then she wound up and let a bag fly. It missed the mark, but not by much. A second later, she had another one in hand, and she released it with more force than I would have thought her capable of. It hit its target, and Trace's face was comical as the seat pulled out from beneath him. He screamed as he fell into the tank and emerged a second later, sputtering and still looking surprised.
"Ha!" The French woman raised a fist in victory as Trace climbed back to the seat.
"You'll pay for that later," he called to her.
"I look forward to it," she smiled.
"Tate, this is Magalie, Trace's fiancée." Max said, introducing us as a small boy took his place at the line to throw at Trace. "M
agalie, Tatum."
"Hi," I said, and watched Magalie look between Max and I, clearly wondering what the relationship might be. Max didn't offer more, and then Cat was hugging the woman, so any questions she might have asked were left unanswered.
We stayed at the booth for a little while, chatting with Hamish, Magalie and some of the other Sharks who ambled up soon after we got there. Trace went in two more times while we watched, and then he climbed out of the booth and took Max's shoulders, pushing him toward the tall contraption.
"No thanks," Max protested, but Trace already had him halfway to the booth. "I'm good," he complained.
"Take your shoes off," Trace said. "That's my best advice."
I laughed as Max climbed up into the booth, grumbling and frowning, and Cat went to the table to pay for beanbags. She was laughing in an evil way as she came back to the throwing line, and she handed half the bags to me. "Maybe you haven't known him long enough to want to dunk him yet, but if you do it now, it'll bring you happy memories later when he's driving you nuts." The way Cat clearly accepted whatever relationship Max and I had made me happy, and I found myself liking her very much.
I smiled at Max, who looked a little nervous sitting up there behind the Plexiglas. Nervous, but still so ridiculously handsome. The sun lighting his dark hair reminded me of the way he'd looked sprawled across his bed with the rays of light streaming through the window where we'd accidentally pulled down the curtains. The memory made me a little giddy, but it also sent a dark feeling rolling through me. No matter how much I liked Max, what we were doing was a bad idea. I pushed that thought away. I'd had a chance to turn down the invitation today, but here I was anyway. No point dwelling now.
Cat didn't hit the target, and she stepped aside, waving me onto the line.
"Tatum," Max said, his voice wary as I lined up. "Be nice."
I gave him a thumbs up and called out, “Don’t worry!” I'd been called many things over the years. Nice was not one of them. I squinted at the target and released the bag.
Chapter 24
Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4 Page 16
