Game On

by Kelly Jamieson

  I nodded. “That’s commendable.”

  She smiled. “That’s not the word my parents used when I told them.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m serious about my organization though. I went back to school to get a master’s degree to learn how to run a nonprofit before I started it. That was when I went to California.”

  Okay, I had the feeling she was more than just “well off.” But she didn’t come across as a spoiled princess.

  “I convinced my best friend to come work for me,” she went on. “At first it was just the two of us, but as we grew, we had to hire more people. I want to keep growing, obviously, and get our programs out to as many schools as we can. It takes a lot of work to find contributors, but it also takes a lot of work to keep them engaged, to cultivate donations and support in the future. I believe in our mission, but we have to sell that to other people, and work to keep our business model sustainable.” She gave me a look up from beneath her eyelashes as she played with her cutlery again. “Something we’ve been working on is trying to get a high-profile spokesperson to work with us.”

  “Oh yeah?” I nodded.

  Our server arrived with the paella and poured more wine into our glasses. We dug in to the steaming rice and seafood.

  “This is so good.” Olivia picked up her wineglass.

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway.” She tossed her long hair back. “You’d be a perfect spokesperson for our organization.”

  “I would?” I smiled.

  “Yes.” She held my gaze. “Would you be interested in working with us?”

  I blinked. Hmmm. This was interesting for a variety of reasons, number one of which was that I’d have to see Olivia again. And I needed to win this bet. No way was I washing a bunch of sweaty shorts for the rest of the year. Plus, I just didn’t lose.

  And her organization did sound interesting. It was a simple concept—get kids running.

  But I’d learned a lesson the hard way when I’d committed myself to showing up for a fundraiser that turned out to be at a strip club. Pictures of me with topless dancers that had surfaced online had not made the hockey club management happy. My agent had hit the ceiling and told me to never ever commit to anything like that without running it past him. Now I did work with the Aces Community Foundation, which raised money in a variety of ways to get kids in less affluent neighborhoods playing hockey, and Ken carefully screened the endorsement offers I got.

  Olivia drew in a breath and flashed a taut smile. “Sorry to put you on the spot. I understand if you’re not interested. We haven’t had much luck attracting star power, especially someone at your level.”

  “It’s not that I’m not interested,” I protested. “I am. But I’d have to talk to my agent about it. He’s all concerned about image and brand.”

  “Oh. Of course you have an agent. I didn’t even think about that. I guess I should have gone through him.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll run it past him. What kind of time commitment do you envision? My schedule’s kinda crazy.”

  “I’m sure it is. It wouldn’t have to be a big commitment. That would be up to you. And we would definitely work around your schedule. We have a run coming up for St. Patrick’s Day, and then a longer fun run in June. Maybe we could involve you in one of those. That would really get participation up.”

  “Depending on my schedule, that could work.”

  She set down her wineglass and reached for her purse. She pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “Here’s my card. Our website is on there. Your agent can check it out, and I’d be happy to speak to him.”

  Suddenly this had turned into a business meeting, her tone all professional as she handed me her card.

  I took the card and glanced down at it, nodding. “Thanks.” I tucked it into my shirt pocket. Okay, this could work out just fine.

  “Where do you run?” I asked her.

  “Oh, all over. Sometimes on the treadmill at the gym, depending on the weather, or along the lake or the Riverwalk. There’s a golf course near where I live.” She bit her lip briefly. “Do you run?”

  “Yeah. Usually on the treadmill. We have a great workout facility at the arena, so I do a lot of different things.”

  “Oh, me too.”

  We started talking about lifts and core exercises and stretches. She was really into it, which was kind of cool. “Why’d you say you aren’t an athlete? Clearly you are.”

  “Phht. Not even close. I’m as coordinated as a newborn calf on ice.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Right.”

  “Seriously.” She leaned forward. “I had to quit badminton because I kept hitting myself with my racquet. I couldn’t even watch football, because I got hurt falling down the bleachers. And there was no way I could play basketball or volleyball…anything involving a ball. My hands just can’t hold balls.”

  My eyes widened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She got my joke in a split second and burst out laughing, falling back in her chair. “Oh my God. Okay, not all balls.”

  “Whew.” I smirked, swiping a hand across my forehead. “Because your hands on my balls would probably feel pretty damn good.”

  “Perv.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  The air around us became charged as we eyed each other across the table in the candlelight. At the same moment we reached for our wineglasses, lifted them and drank without taking our eyes off each other.

  Now I was thinking about her touching my balls, and my dick was getting ideas about having sex on the first date, which I was told not to do. I gulped more wine, then dug in to my paella again.

  “Anyway.” She focused on her food. “That’s why I took up running. It seemed like something I could do. And then I got into strength training, although I’ll admit to a few mishaps. I broke a toe when I dropped a weight on my foot. And the first time I ever used a treadmill should have been recorded for America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

  Her self-deprecating humor was funny because of her obvious confidence.

  I tried to keep my dirty mind away from comments about sex during the rest of our dinner. It was a challenge. We still flirted a little as we talked because, wow, there was some kind of crazy chemistry happening between us. Or maybe it was the Tempranillo. Our dinner stretched into over two hours, ending with Spanish coffees as our dessert, spiked with generous amounts of Galliano, brandy, and Cointreau.

  It was delicious, but my stomach gave a weird rumble, luckily more vibratory than auditory.

  “I hope you’re not driving,” Olivia commented, her smile loose and relaxed, which was just how I felt, other than the pesky semi I was dealing with.

  “Nope. You?”

  “No. I’ll take an Uber home.”

  “Where’s home for you?”

  “Lake View. I have a condo there.”

  “We’re practically neighbors.”

  “Oh?” One eyebrow rose.

  “I live on West Erie. Near the river.”

  “That’s not even close!”

  I grinned. “Close enough.”

  Amusement tipped up her lips. She leaned forward. “Just so you know, we can’t have sex tonight.”

  I already knew that. But her saying it made my spine straighten and my eyebrows snap together. “What? Why not?”

  “I didn’t shave my legs.”

  My eyes flew open wide. “Seriously?” I sat back in my chair like I’d been punched.

  She eyed me. “Why is that so bad?”

  “Well apart from the obvious, if you didn’t shave your legs that means you didn’t think it was remotely possible that we’d sleep together tonight. I’m just…well, I’m kind of hurt.”

  “Oh my God. Your poor bruised ego
.”

  “Damn right.” I shook my head. I knew I couldn’t fuck her tonight, but it wounded that she hadn’t even thought it was a possibility. I grew up with three sisters, and I knew they shaved their legs before a date even if they had no intention of sleeping with the guy, because, hey, you never knew what might happen and there was no way a girl was going to end up in a spontaneous mattress dance with stubbly legs.

  My stomach cramped up. And not in a good way. What the hell?

  “Excuse me.” I pushed back the chair. “Gotta visit the men’s room.”

  She nodded, and I made my way through the tables and past the bar to a hall with a sign for restrooms. My gut wasn’t feeling quite right.

  I wasn’t feeling much better when I returned. I plastered on a smile though and kept up the light banter as we finished our Spanish coffees.

  I took care of the bill, and we started to wind things up, which was maybe a good thing, because it was becoming more of an effort to stay cheerful, the way I was feeling. My belly was rock hard.

  Olivia pressed a hand to her abdomen as she rose from the table, making a face.

  I glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

  She winced. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I haven’t been feeling well for a while.”

  I blinked. I didn’t want to tell her I wasn’t feeling well either, trying to maintain a manly image. “I’ll call an Uber and take you home.”

  “You don’t have to come with me.” She pulled out her phone, but she’d gone pale. She swallowed. “I’ll see if one’s close.”

  “No, let me. If you’re not feeling well, I’m not putting you in an Uber alone.” I found a car and made the request and we put on our jackets and stepped into the temporary heated entrance the restaurant had put up for the cold winter months.

  Olivia leaned against a post. “Wow, I’m really sorry.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Not a good way to end the evening.”

  My gut spasmed again. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I tried to casually swipe it away. I had to stay strong to look after her.

  Our car arrived, and we slid into the back. Olivia gave the driver her address, and we set off toward North Lake Shore. I told our driver that we’d drop her off and then come back to my place.

  I shifted to face her, concern shifting in my chest, which was different than the shifting contents of my stomach. “Okay, beautiful?”

  “Mmm. Not sure.” She attempted a weak smile. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m faking it so we don’t have sex.”

  I chuckled. “You already told me that was off the table due to the bushy legs issue.”

  She choked out a little laugh. “Bushy! Oh my God, they’re not that bad. And the truth is…” She peeked at me sideways through her eyelashes. “I did shave.”

  “Ah.” Satisfaction swelled inside me. “I knew it.”

  “You did not! You were totally offended!”

  I gave a puny grin, the best I could do, and patted her thigh, wishing I could put more effort into seducing her.

  We pulled up in front of her condo building and unbuckled our seatbelts. I slid out first onto the sidewalk and reached in to help her. We faced each other on the sidewalk. I wanted to be smooth and sophisticated and make plans to see her again. I also wanted to kiss her good night. But as I opened my mouth, my stomach heaved. I closed my mouth. God no. Saliva accumulated in my mouth. I swallowed a few times rapidly, gritting my teeth. My stomach heaved again, and I knew it was happening.

  I turned away from Olivia, took a few steps, and barfed my guts up into the shrubs outside her building.

  Chapter 6

  Olivia

  “Cam!” I covered my mouth with a hand, watching him being sick. My own stomach roiled, and I pressed a hand there. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”

  He lifted a hand behind his back as if to assure me he was, then leaned against the brick wall of my condo building, his head down.

  I didn’t know whether to rush over to help him or give him space or…throw up myself. I felt hot and sweaty and dizzy. I started unsteadily toward him. “Come in,” I said. “I’m about to throw up too.”

  “I’m okay.” He bowed his head, his shoulders slumped.

  “No, you’re not.” Taking a deep breath and fighting back the nausea, I walked back to the car and leaned inside. “Okay, he’s staying here, we’re, um, good. Thanks!”

  The driver shot me a look laced with alarm and nodded. “Good plan!”

  I’d barely shut the door before he peeled off. Cam’s Uber rating might be a bit damaged.

  I trudged back to Cam. “Too late. He’s gone. Come in.”

  He didn’t protest. I wasn’t worried that he was trying to get into my panties, because he was clearly unwell. And I was moments away from horking up everything I’d eaten.

  We rode the elevator to my fourth flour condo, both of us leaning on the wall. Cam’s face had lost most of its color, and his upper lip gleamed with perspiration. He was still insanely attractive, but my mind was noting this in a distant way because my body was fighting being sick all over the elevator floor.

  I entered the code for my unit, one of only two on the top floor, and pushed inside, Cam behind me. “Follow me,” I choked out. “I have two bathrooms.”

  We headed straight past the living room and kitchen and down the hall. I gestured at the smaller bathroom, and he disappeared inside. I continued into my bedroom where there was an en suite bathroom and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet.

  I’ll spare the details of the next couple of hours.

  A long time later, I rinsed my mouth out and, on shaky legs, went to find Cam. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and he was asleep on the floor. I touched my hand to my lips. Those stone tiles couldn’t be comfortable.

  I stepped in and crouched down to nudge him. “Cam. Wake up.”

  His eyes flickered, and he groaned. “Am I in heaven?” he mumbled. “Or hell? ’Cause I’m pretty sure I died.”

  I sat on the floor beside him and leaned my head against the tiled wall, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I know the feeling.”

  He cracked one eye open. “You okay, gorgeous?”

  “I think I’ll live. Maybe. This can’t be comfortable. There’s a guest room across the hall. The bed will be better.”

  He pushed his big body up to sit and scrubbed at his face. “Will you be there with me?”

  “No. I’m going to my own bed. You don’t want me puking all over you.”

  “Likewise. Jesus. How sad is it that I’m not even going to try to convince you to sleep with me?”

  I stood as he did too. We were close enough to touch in the small space, but he backed away. “Don’t come close. I’m sure I stink.”

  “I probably can’t smell it because I’m the same.” Lovely. This was just lovely.

  I showed him the guest room. “Help yourself to anything you need in the bathroom. There are some extra toothbrushes in there.”

  He pulled his sweater over his head, leaving him in a white T-shirt and jeans. “Thanks. Jesus, this is awful.”

  “I know.” My stomach seized up again. “Gotta go.”

  A while later, I dragged myself into my walk-in closet to change into pajamas, grabbing the first ones I found. I collapsed onto my bed, hoping Cam was okay. Hoping I was okay. God, my stomach had to be completely empty now. I pictured us going to the hospital tomorrow together if we weren’t better. Super fun.

  I drifted into sleep, waking up once in the night with my stomach cramping painfully. I dashed to the bathroom, then returned gratefully to the soft comfort of my bed when the cramps had eased, and went back to a dead sleep.

  * * *

  — />
  “What the hell happened to us?”

  I handed Cam a glass of water the next morning. “I’m guessing food poisoning.”

  We both leaned on the small island in my kitchen.

  “Christ. The seafood maybe?”

  “I don’t know. It happened so fast…maybe it was what we ate at Play?”

  “Had to be one of those, since we were both so violently sick at the same time.” He rubbed his forehead. “I haven’t been that sick in years.”

  “Same. I’m glad we’re both feeling better this morning. I’d hate our date to end at the hospital.”

  His lips quirked. “I know how to create a memorable first date, huh?”

  “I truly will never forget this.” I had to smile too though.

  “How do you manage to look so gorgeous despite being deathly ill?”

  “Ha.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I can only imagine how I look. I need a shower.”

  “You look amazing.” His gaze wandered down over my body, taking in the thin, loose T-shirt, and pink and white polka dotted cotton pajama pants.

  My nipples tightened reflexively. I knew he saw that too, by the way one corner of his mouth lifted. I resisted the urge to cross my arms.

  “I need a shower too.”

  “Luckily, I have two,” I replied dryly.

  “That’s no fun.”

  “I don’t think either of us are in shape for any ‘fun’ right now.”

  “Sadly, you’re right.”

  He looked gorgeous too, despite the shadows under his eyes, pale skin, and wildly tousled hair. He wore the T-shirt and jeans, which sat low on his lean hips, his feet bare.

  “I do still need to check out your belly button,” he added. “To confirm it’s an innie.”

  I gave a soft snort and sipped my own water. “Go have a shower. I’m not sure if you’ll feel like eating after, but I can make us breakfast.”

  “I think I really just want more sleep.”