A Wild Card Kiss

by Lauren Blakely

  “That is a maddeningly adorable date,” Shane says.

  “And it will probably also give you shredded abs if it’s your second workout of the day,” I add.

  Jason wiggles his brow as he switches to free weights. “Shredded is the way to go. But that’s not why I do workout dates.”

  Cooper turns to Jason. “This is a thing now? Workout dates?”

  The young guy laughs. “Dude, yes.”

  “Like, for everyone?”

  Another laugh. “Yes, for everyone,” Jason says.

  I clap Cooper’s shoulder, shaking my head in amusement. “Even I knew that.”

  “Yeah, because you’re single,” Cooper points out.

  “And because I’m not out of touch! Also, please don’t tell me you’re one of those lame-ass married dudes who can’t be bothered to take his wife on a date.”

  “I take Violet on dates. We go to coffee shops, and we like karaoke,” he says a little defensively as he grabs some weights.

  “I like karaoke too, but workout dates are fun. It gives you something to do other than twiddling your thumbs over a cup of joe,” Jason puts in.

  Shane nods sagely. “Exactly. Coffee is so last century. But I prefer concerts and clubs.”

  Cooper turns to me. “And do you, Mister So in Touch, have plans for a date tonight?”

  “I sure do,” I say with a grin, sliding into lunges to stretch my hammies some more.

  “Bet Harlan nicks your idea, Jay, and brings her here to hit the Stairmaster,” Shane deadpans.

  “Yes, that’s me. I have zero creativity,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But it’s not a workout date, so don’t worry, Jason. I won’t be stealing your plans.”

  “By all means, steal them. Workout dates are awesome,” he says.

  “I’m gonna take your word on that, duckling. I’m more of a get-out-of-the-gym type of guy.”

  Jason stops his biceps curls and sets down the weights. “One hundred bucks says you wind up doing workout dates sooner rather than later, Harlan.”

  “Ooh. The kid throws down,” Cooper hoots. “You in, King of the Jungle?”

  It’s not in my nature to turn down a challenge. I cross the distance and shake with Jason. “You’re on.”

  “I can’t wait for you to say you were right,” he says as we place our bets.

  “So young. So cocky,” I muse.

  Cooper chuckles. “We’ll take the blame for that. Now, back to you. Who is she, tonight’s non-workout date?”

  I’m stoked to tell them; I’ve been hoping for another chance with Katie for a while. Timing has been all wrong—but now, it’s just right. Third time’s a charm.

  “Someone I’ve been wanting to see for a long while. So don’t wait up for this old man,” I say with a wink. “Because I can go all night long, and we don’t need a workout date for that to happen. Take that, little ducklings.”

  When we’re done, I head to the stadium with the other Renegades, counting down the hours till I see Katie again.

  I’ve got a good feeling about this date.

  13

  Katie

  I blast The Go-Go’s as I zoom around my place, getting ready to kick ass and take names.

  I down my green tea, singing along to Belinda Carlisle in between sips and bites of my vegan breakfast sausage.

  The music is getting me in the mood to see that man tonight, taking me back to our unexpected evening four months ago.

  Not that getting in the mood for Harlan is hard, but I like the reminder of our last night together.

  And I’d like to have another night very soon.

  When I finish my breakfast, I brush my teeth, cinch my hair in a ponytail, and text Emerson.

  Katie: Breakfast of champions! Watched your show and tried one of those vegan sausages you recommended.

  * * *

  Emerson: You’ve always loved sausage.

  * * *

  Katie: Pot. Kettle.

  * * *

  Emerson: Absolutely. Also, yay for vegan sausage, but tonight I hope you get the non-vegan kind.

  * * *

  Katie: How can you be adorable and gross at the same time?

  * * *

  Emerson: It’s a talent.

  * * *

  Katie: Love ya! I’m off to meet a new client. Zachary is killing it with deal-making. He’s sending me to work with a venture company to do a stress-release workshop.

  * * *

  Emerson: Go be a badass yoga babe.

  * * *

  Katie: Always.

  On that note, I grab my bright red purse, tuck my phone inside it, and bound down the steps of my building to the waiting car.

  “Hey, Saul,” I say to the driver.

  “Hello, Miss Madigan. You’re looking spirited this morning. But then, you often are.”

  “Only way to be.” I flash him a grin. He’s my regular guy—I like to use a driver when I have a ton of meetings, and today is one of those days. This way I can work as I zip around the Bay Area.

  I slide into the back of the car right as my phone buzzes.

  Grabbing it from my bag, I glance at the screen, and a giddy smile takes over my face. A message from the man of the day blinks at me.

  Harlan: Question—would a foosball/ice cream shop work for tonight’s date? After dinner, of course.

  * * *

  Katie: Two of my favorite things. Three, if you count dinner. But does the shop have a good name? I require a clever name.

  * * *

  Harlan: Darn. The only place I found that offers two of life’s greatest treats is called . . . wait for it . . . Ye Olde Ice Cream Shoppe.

  * * *

  Katie: I’m so sad thinking about all the missed opportunities there. They could have called it Poles and Cones.

  * * *

  Harlan: Ah, good one. I was thinking Sweet Cheeks and Sticks for my future foosball/ice cream joint.

  * * *

  Katie: And will you serve Libido cones and cups of Desire?

  * * *

  Harlan: Both. All night long. That combo is on the house for you, sweetheart.

  The bubble inside me cannot be burst. It’s growing bigger and glowing brighter. I clutch the phone, delighting in the messages from him. Taking time to get to know someone is going to be a blast. Bring it on, dating. Come to me, flirting. I am ready to enjoy every step of my brand-new, slow-down-and-smell-the-roses path.

  I’m tapping out a reply when my phone trills.

  Zachary’s name flashes across the screen. “Oh, fabulous dealmaker. Tell me things,” I say as Saul slides the car into traffic, heading south on our way to Palo Alto.

  “Change of plans,” Zachary says, all cheery and caffeinated. “I called Michelle just now. She wasn’t scheduled for a class today, but I want to send her to the venture firm instead of you. Because I need to send you to a new last-minute client. Came in earlier this week and specifically requested the yoga empress.”

  I adjust my imaginary tiara. “It’s good to be the queen.”

  “I’m sure it is, your majesty,” he quips, then continues. “I’ve been sorting through the paperwork. The deal isn’t done yet, but they’ve seen your online videos and researched you, and Lacey—she’s the contact—was raving about the class you did last year in Los Angeles for the elite marathoners. The new client is high-profile.”

  A smidgen of worry digs in, and I hope my plans for tonight aren’t about to get completely derailed. “Just tell me they aren’t in Los Angeles,” I say. Literally nothing can ruin my day except the cancellation of my long-awaited date with the man I’ve had the most chemistry with ever.

  Huh.

  That’s how it is with Harlan.

  We have chemistry, in bed and out of it. Our attraction burns hot, and our compatibility seems off the charts.

  Zachary laughs loudly. “Nope. The new client is in the city, so you actually don’t have as far to go. You’re welcome. It’s Wilder Enterprises.” A fire truck blare
s its sirens, and I don’t hear what Zachary says next, then sirens blast louder.

  When they fade for a second, I shout, “Just text me the info.”

  The volume climbs again, and Zachary booms, “I’ll send it to your driver’s GPS.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and when we hang up, my phone flashes with the new email icon.

  I scan the pertinent details from my VP. The class I’ll be teaching is Ouch! I Can’t Reach My Toes—Yoga for Flexibility.

  Ah, that class is so fun. And the deal could lead to more partnerships with other high-profile businesses, Zachary writes.

  Sounds good to me.

  I tap back a reply.

  Katie: On my way.

  Then I return to the text thread with Harlan, smiling at the message about his pretend ice cream joint. It’s my turn, so I write back.

  Katie: Glad to hear your fictional ice cream shop won’t charge me. For the record, I am all over a foosball and sweet shop.

  * * *

  Harlan: Someone needs to make that happen. My mouth is watering now just thinking of it. By the way, are you in the mood for sushi, Thai, Italian, Vietnamese, or some other fantastic cuisine tonight? The only thing off-limits is a new boba place in Hayes Valley because my bud Jason is taking a date there, and if we show up too, I’d look like I have no creativity. So don’t say boba in Hayes Valley, pretty please.

  * * *

  Katie: Darn. I love boba tea!

  * * *

  Harlan: Ha. Me too. And trying new boba shops is fun.

  We text back and forth, picking a location for sushi as the car zips through the city.

  “Almost there, Miss Madigan,” Saul calls out.

  “Thank you for the heads up,” I say, but I don’t glance away from my phone because talking to Harlan is too fun.

  Harlan: Fair warning. I plan on kissing the breath out of you as soon as I see you tonight. Miss those lips of yours, sweetheart.

  My stomach flips. Warmth winds through me.

  Katie: I definitely volunteer as tribute for that.

  * * *

  Harlan: Excellent. Now, I need to turn my phone off. We have game film today, and my Lyft just dropped me off at the training facility.

  * * *

  Katie: We just drove past the stadium. Have fun!

  Only, instead of going by the stadium, Saul pulls into the parking lot behind it. That’s odd. Why are we here?

  But Saul doesn’t know. The email says to go to the South Entrance of Wilder Enterprises, so I do, even though it looks suspiciously like the training facility for the San Francisco Renegades.

  Before I can knock on the door, it swings open, and a woman greets me. She’s petite and peppy, full of energy. “I’m Lacey, and we’re excited to have you here. Your online video on how to balance a crow pose in ten days? Changed. My. Life.” The tiny brunette brims with enthusiasm as she escorts me to an exercise room. I quickly get the room set up with mats and Lacey turns to me and says, “And here is our Super Bowl-winning team.”

  My head spins.

  No effing way.

  My new client is the San Francisco Renegades.

  Which means I’ll be teaching downward-facing dog to my date.

  14

  Harlan

  Coach Greenhaven clicks off the big screen, takes a deep breath, then says to the team, “And that’s what you need to know about the Seattle secondary. They are as ruthless as Baltimore’s.”

  “My right thigh will vouch for Baltimore,” I say, patting my leg. A collision with that team’s cornerback last month led to a strained hamstring, but thankfully, it didn’t put me out of commission.

  With a stern look in his gray eyes, the head coach turns his gaze to me then nods to the rest of the 53-man roster, parked in leather chairs scattered around the room. “And that’s why I took Harlan out of the last game there at the end. Don’t want that thigh to turn into an injury for him and if anyone else sustained a similar injury, I’d do the same.” Coach takes a beat, surveys the team. “And that’s also why we’re implementing some new protocols. Our team trainers are on top of the latest sports medicine research and exercise. Studies have shown that athletes heal faster from injuries and have fewer injuries too if they practice yoga regularly.”

  I sit up straighter, my interest piqued by the mention of yoga. Katie’s profession. Maybe I’ll learn an interesting tidbit to share with her tonight. Bet she’d dig that.

  “It improves strength, balance, and flexibility, and it’s proven to help top athletes speed up their recovery time and stay off the injured list. Something you all want to do, I presume?”

  Nods and grunts of agreement echo in the spacious room. I sit on the edge of my chair, eager for more info.

  “And starting today, you’ll all be taking yoga classes,” he says.

  Some of the noises of agreement become groans and whines.

  I turn around, giving the guys a c’mon look. “You all just said you wanted fewer injuries. Now you don’t want to do yoga? Man up, Renegades.”

  “Yoga is for girls,” someone mutters.

  “Yoga won’t help me tackle.”

  “Yoga is weird.”

  I roll my eyes. “You wish you played as well as a girl.” I will defend girls till my dying day.

  Probably from the grave too.

  Coach lifts his hands to settle down the naysayers. “Enough. You’re doing yoga from now until the end of the season. No griping. You want a nice, long, healthy career? You’ll practice warrior pose, tree pose, and whatever else the teacher says. This is not optional, Renegades. This concludes the meeting.” He points to the door. “Head to Exercise Room Three and get into child’s pose. Which ought to come easy to some of you.”

  Oh, this is even better. I’ll have so much juicy goodness to share with Katie tonight.

  I head out of the film room with Cooper. “I love yoga,” he says. “Violet took me to a class last year, and it was awesome.”

  “So, you did do a workout date,” I say as we stroll down the corridor.

  He scratches his jaw, seems to consider this. “Huh. I guess that was a workout date. Damn good one too. Guess Jason is onto something.”

  “Seems he is, but I’m still opting for dinner and foosball tonight instead,” I say, as we near the exercise room. But I switch gears away from dating as I point to my hamstring, nerves in my voice. “I could use something to help with this old leg here. I don’t want to pull a muscle and be out of commission.”

  Maybe yoga will be my savior. Maybe it’ll help keep me at the top of my game in this critical season.

  Critical, as I figure out what the hell to do with my football future.

  Cooper claps me on the back. “Dude, I need you on the field. You’re one of my favorite targets.”

  “And I want to keep being one,” I say, intensely. Since that’s the goal, no matter what. I still don’t know what happens at the end of the season. But whether this is my final year or whether I try to get an epic deal in free agency, the last thing I want is to be down for the count. At all.

  Stats, games, and playing ball—that’s what I want to do.

  I draw a soldiering breath, point to the door and the room beyond. Ready to handle whatever the team throws at us. “If yoga helps me, I will be Namaste-ing day and—”

  I stop in the doorway.

  Whoa.

  A smile spreads at the gorgeous sight.

  Who knew I’d be getting an early preview of my date tonight? She’s the last person I expect to see, but damn, it is good to set eyes on Katie.

  Lucky me to get a sneak peek.

  Except.

  Wait.

  Hold on.

  What the hell is she doing here in the exercise room? With mats spread out on the floor, and yoga straps and stuff?

  Plus, she’s in her yoga clothes, and she’s talking to Lacey, one of the team trainers.

  Well, shit.

  The answer comes in a flash, and it sucks.

&
nbsp; She can’t be our new yoga teacher.

  And yet, I’m sure she is.

  I groan inside. Pretty sure, too, that a date with Katie will violate the team’s no fraternization policy—no dates or hookups with personnel like team trainers, team docs, team managers, or team anythings.

  Katie swings her gaze to me. For a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with excitement, but resignation quickly replaces it.

  Frustration swirls in my gut. I try not to let things get me down, but I am more than bummed.

  I am seriously disappointed.

  All these years, all this time, and now this twist of fate before what was supposed to be our third time lucky?

  Jaw tight, I grab a mat, flop down, and listen to our new yoga instructor for the next fifty minutes as she guides us through a series of poses.

  These are the poses I want to do with her.

  Only, I can’t.

  When class ends, the guys filter out, but Lacey calls me over to the front of the room.

  What’s that all about? Does she know I already have a thing with Katie? Are we going to be put on some kind of notice?