by Ava McKnight
“The right thing,” I said as I ducked into his bathroom. Though it took all the willpower I possessed, I not only tamped down my tears, I quickly freshened up and slipped into my clothes and peek-a-boos. He was heading into the bathroom as I was coming out and I jumped back, miraculously not stumbling.
With his arms folded over his expansive chest, he demanded, “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I said, though that one little word made my stomach plummet to my knees.
“What happened to the ‘one night’ part of our one-night stand?”
“It’s a figurative term, Carter.”
He shook his head. “No. I want you to stay.”
“Why?” I asked. “You said it yourself. We’ve just made our lives hell.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you to run off.”
“I’m not running off,” I insisted. “I just realized—as did you—prolonging the inevitable will only hurt us more in the end.”
The tension in his shoulders lessened and he uncrossed his arms, instead clasping my waist in his large hands. “Cherish, I don’t want you to go. Stay the night, please.”
“What would be the point?” I asked, though it killed me to think of leaving his hotel room. Ever.
“We have an arrangement. We both agreed. And I don’t want to end our evening together. Especially not like this.”
“It’s going to end badly, Carter, no matter what. It’s a fool’s deal. A bargain you’d make with the devil. It can’t be rescinded now, but it can’t progress either.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I can change my mind. I am allowed.”
“No, you can’t,” I insisted. “As much as I want you to—as much as I want you to tell me kissing me and touching me and making love with me has convinced you we should try to be together—I can’t follow through with that. Not after what you told me earlier.”
I pushed past him and stalked into the dining room to retrieve my things. Tears burned my eyes and it was a bitch keeping them at bay. My bottom lip quivered, but I wouldn’t cave. When Carter had made his dismal announcement about the complication we’d created by making love, I’d suddenly realized how grave the situation was.
He was right behind me, saying, “Cherish, I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you.”
Turning back to him, I said, “And for me, it’s always been you. And, yes, I wished in the back of my head that you would make love to me and suddenly decide you wanted to give us a try.” The admission choked me up, but I continued. “However, consider this. If your season tanks, for any reason, or your surgery or rehab don’t work, you’ll resent me for breaking your concentration and I’ll never forgive myself for disrupting your life and your career. I can’t live with any of that, Carter. It’d be even worse than living without you, because I can at least walk out this door tonight and know you still want me.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face as agitation and frustration flashed in his eyes. Finally he said, “At the very least, we should sit and talk this through.”
“I really can’t take that either. I’m sorry.” I whirled around and yanked the door open, slipping out quickly. He couldn’t follow me, given his state of undress. I rushed down the walkway and to the valet, not making eye contact as I handed over my ticket.
I impatiently tapped my toe on the cobblestones as I waited for my car. When it arrived, I slid into the driver’s seat, tipped the valet and sped off, needing some distance between myself and the most incredible night of my life.
I also needed the privacy of my bedroom, where I cried myself to sleep.
* * * * *
“You look horrible,” Taylor said as I shuffled in the next morning.
Dropping my bag on my desk, I said, “Thanks. That’s what a girl likes to hear.”
Pushing herself out of her chair, my friend sauntered over and propped a hip against the corner of my desk. “Please tell me I was wrong about the quarterback. He didn’t make a move on you, did he?”
I cringed. I’d been humiliated enough the previous evening. It sucked that the mortification had to continue. “No, he didn’t make a move. I did.”
“Whoa, Cherish,” she said, clearly taken aback. “What happened?”
There was no point in beating around the bush. Taylor had a way of dragging things out of people. And she was my best friend, after all.
Slumping into my chair, I spilled, since there was no one currently around to listen in on our conversation. “I am hopelessly and disastrously in love with Carter.” Tears sprang to my eyes and I absently swiped at them as I told her, “He is everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more. And apparently, the feeling’s mutual.”
This brought on a serious bout of waterworks. I folded my arms over my leather blotter and dropped my forehead to the backs of my stacked hands as body-racking sobs ensued.
Taylor reached over and placed a hand on the back of my head, smoothing my hair the way Carter had the night before.
“Oh, Cherish,” she said on a sigh. “I have no idea what’s going on, but come on. Honey, it can’t be all that bad if you’re both crazy about each other.”
“Yes, it can,” I wailed, the words barely enunciated.
She moved around the desk and knelt beside me as she rubbed my back. “Okay, let it all out and then tell me what’s going on.”
I lifted my head and wiped my face with my hands. I hadn’t bothered with much makeup this morning, because I’d suspected I’d be in misery all day.
Droplets continued to roll down my flushed cheeks as I said, “He wants his sole attention on his career. He told me that up front. And then I came on to him and propositioned him with a brief affair, and Oh my God… We were spectacular together. So much so…he changed his mind.”
Taylor stared at me as though I’d grown a third eye. “But, isn’t that what you’d want?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. Then quickly added, “But no.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to keep up here. I’m just really confused.”
“Yeah, so am I.” I dropped my forehead to my hands again. Rolling my head back and forth, I mumbled, “He has a really good reason for wanting no distractions. And I’m a huge one, according to him. If I cause him to get off track, he’ll hate me for it. I’ll hate myself. I can’t do that to him. To us.”
Taylor stood. I straightened and settled in my chair as she sank into the one in front of my desk. “Yet you really like each other.”
“I’m in love with him,” I told her while reaching for a tissue from the box sitting on the corner. “No doubt about it. And he definitely feels things for me. I just have the shittiest timing in the world and I adamantly refuse to cause him any problems with his career.”And then I suddenly thought of mine. “Oh crap.” I groaned.
Taylor’s brow jerked up. “What?”
“I still have to interview him.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples as a throbbing headache built. Giving her an imploring look, I asked, “Would you consider taking the story back?”
“No.” Her tone was decisive. “I’ve immersed myself in baseball, damn it. I am not going to let that be a wasted effort. Besides, you need to work out whatever this is with your loverboy.” She stood and added, “Cherish Westerly, I’ve never seen you back down from a story, and you’re not going to do it now. Nor are you going to ruin what sounds to be a match made in heaven. Shit!”
She threw her arms up in the air and stalked off. I jumped up and followed her.
“What is your problem?” I demanded. “Why are you so pissed at me?”
Whirling back around, I saw something in Taylor Whitney’s vibrant blue eyes I’d never seen before. Pain and lonesomeness. It was excruciating to witness.
She said, “Ever since we started these sports articles, I’ve watched Claire fall in love with The Perfect Millionaire, Giselle run off with Mr.-Mechanic-Turned-Championship-Trophy-Truck-Driver, and you fall for The Hometown Hero. Meanwhile, I’m just drifting along
, with no Mr. Right in sight.”
Tears pooled in her eyes and I suddenly felt two-feet tall for having unloaded all of my drama on her.
“Taylor,” I said as I put my arms around her. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but she let me hold her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she sniffled. “Just don’t be stupid. Recognize what you have and go after it, Cherish. At least you have a shred of hope. I have…nothing.”
This choked me up even more. “You don’t have nothing. You have me.”
Her embrace tightened. “I know.” A few seconds more and she pulled away. “I’m being melodramatic. Damn PMS.”
With that, she turned away and walked back over to her desk. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen her expend. I was a little concerned, but I knew Taylor well enough to let it lie. She only talked about her feelings when she wanted to.
Returning to her chair, she gave me one last word of advice. “Don’t give up so easily, Cherish. You’ll regret it.” Her gaze fell on her keyboard and she went back to her work. I was smart enough not to pursue her outburst.
Several hours later, a courier arrived with an envelope for me. It was Royal Palms’ stationary, rather than Rattlers’, but I knew what was inside. Lifting the flap I found two tickets to Saturday’s game. And a note.
I stared at the folded piece of paper, terrified to open it and read whatever it was Carter felt compelled to say to me.
I was already dying on the inside. Last night, I’d held in my arms the dream of a lifetime. It had come to fruition and had been everything I’d hoped for and more. Yet being infatuated with Carter and actually being in love with him were two very different animals. The latter meant I would never do anything to create strife in his life.
I’d never been in love with anyone else, true, but I did know this was sacred and special and significant. A gift to be treasured, not abused. And if I jacked his program because of what I wanted, that would definitely be abusing everything that existed between us.
Naturally, I wasn’t the least bit thrilled to take the high road. But it seemed crucial in this situation. So I put the letter and the tickets back in their envelope.
As I slipped the packet into my purse, I asked Taylor, “Will you go with me to the Rattlers’ game on Saturday? I need to interview Carter afterward.”
“Strength in numbers?”
I nodded.
“Of course I’ll go. But you’re going to the Diamondbacks’ game with me on Sunday.”
“Deal. I’ll teach you about stats.”
“Huge relief. Thanks.”
My dad and two brothers had played years of baseball, so I knew quite a bit about the sport. For that very reason, I’d volunteered to take it on as a story when we’d brainstormed features. Too bad I’d let my heart and my libido convince me to sway Taylor to swap assignments.
But what was done was done. And as far as Carter and I were concerned, I had to take a step back from it and let it simmer. He had a game to win and I had work to focus on as well. Following the arena football story, I’d need to get right on another feature. Since I didn’t have any ideas in the hopper, I decided to get out and about, see what was happening around Scottsdale in hopes of gaining some inspiration. And motivation. I needed my mind off Carter and his scorching-hot kisses and hunky body.
It was a beautiful day, not too hot for this time of year, so I put the top down on my car and drove around the city, thinking it was too late to write about the Arabian Horse Show that had been in town a couple months ago, and the PGA tournament had come and gone as well. There were no culinary or wine festivals in the coming weeks, nor were there any ritzy car auctions taking place. The most noteworthy thing happening on the scene was the sudden closing of McCormick and Schmick’s, one of my favorite restaurants. But that wasn’t going to bring in readers, and it was old news anyway.
With a sigh, I realized my creativity waned severely. I typically had my finger on the pulse of Scottsdale events and activities, but I couldn’t conjure anything exciting currently happening. Rather, my mind was on football. And naked limbs twined together.
Exasperated, I kept driving—right out of town. I took the Loop 101 to the I-17 and headed north, the breeze stirring my hair around my shoulders, though not blowing too badly because of the wind guard behind me. About and an hour and a half later, I was in a cooler climate, though it was still quite lovely and refreshing. I took the 89A exit and wound my way through the scenic Oak Creek Village and the red rock canyons of Sedona.
My mother lived on a golf course in the area, with breathtaking views of the unique red rocks rising up all around her house. Her back patio was the most relaxing place I’d ever been, even beating out a day at the spa. As I pulled into her intricately designed driveway, decorated with pavers, a small measure of my anxiety eased. I snatched my purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car. She was home, as I’d expected. My mother was a brilliant artist and spent most of her time in her home studio, which overlooked the backyard filled with lush foliage, vibrant flowers, ponds and tall, mature trees, all serving as a beautiful foreground to the canyon in which her upscale community sat.
She and my father had split up when I was in junior high, and my brothers and I had stayed in Scottsdale with our dad, since we didn’t want to attend new schools. But we spent the majority of the summers and other vacations in Sedona, with Mom. She knew all about my obsession with Carter, so she’d understand the hell I was in. Though, I didn’t really intend to tell her about my night with him. In the light of day, propositioning him the way I had seemed a bit tawdry. Not that I’d go back and change what I’d done, but still…
I rang the bell so as to not startle her by barging in. She wouldn’t be expecting me during the week.
“Bon jour, mon petit chou!”she said as she pulled open the ornate door with splashes of turquoise, bronze and copper on the raised wood design.
Did I mention my mother was eccentric?
I gave her a quick hug and said, “Someday you’ll stop calling me that, I’m sure of it.”
She laughed “Never!”
Mon petit chou meant “my little cabbage”. I’d had a large head as a child, until my body caught up—well, relatively speaking, since I was still short and compact. But my mother had never ditched the term of endearment. Worse, my brothers had always called me Shoe. They weren’t the least bit cultured and couldn’t speak French, so they didn’t know how to spell the word correctly. But Shoe, spelled incorrectly, had always been better than cabbage. Or Tinkerbell.
Stepping into the foyer, I asked, “Am I interrupting?”
With her long, button-down chambray shirt over her jeans and white tank top, I suspected she was painting. Landscapes were her specialty.
“Not at all. I was just sifting through some photos I’ve taken before I dive in. Let’s go out back.”
I followed her through the house to the patio. She had dark brown rattan furniture with thick sienna-colored cushions and colorful throw pillows scattered all over the deep green grass and decorative patio. A tall waterfall in the far corner emitted a comforting sound that mingled with the Classical music softly playing in the background.
After dropping my purse on a bistro table, I sank into the cozy sofa under the bushy Fremont Cottonwood. I slipped out of my sandals and curled my toes in the lush grass. My mother had disappeared into the kitchen and came back minutes later, carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, a bowl of lemon wedges and my favorite chocolate-swirl Madelines. The spongy French dessert was one she’d learned to make while studying cooking in Paris one fall, and she always kept a fresh batch on hand.
The comfort food was welcomed, though a lump of emotion instantly swelled in my throat, due to the impending subject matter. I’d come here for a reason.
She set the tray on the glass-covered rattan coffee table and then settled beside me, patting my leg in her maternal way.
“What brings you by?” she ask
ed.
My mother, Liz Westerly, was a striking redhead with bright green eyes and delicate features. She wasn’t much taller than me, but had a bit more substance to her. She stayed fit and active, and time had certainly been kind to her. I hoped like hell I’d age as gracefully as she had, because the fifty-four-year-old woman didn’t look a day over forty-five.
Pushing down the agony lodged in my throat, I said, “Just needed to clear my head. This is the best place to do it.”
She poured our tea and handed me a glass. “Tell me all about it.”
I sipped, then sighed. A full-on recap of my dilemma was really too depressing to face. “You remember Carter Davis, right?”
My mother let out a heavy, over-dramatic breath. “Do I ever. You were hopelessly in love with him. He was the only boy you ever talked about. Didn’t he take you to a dance?”
“No, but we did dance together once. At prom. Anyway, he’s been playing football since high school and just came back to Phoenix. We got together last night and it was incredible, but he has a lot of things on his mind and some serious issues with his career. I’m afraid I’ll screw him up if I continue to see him.” He’d said himself I’d derailed him, after all.
Following a sip of her tea, my mom asked, “Are you still in love with him?”
“That wasn’t love in high school. That was a mad crush.”
I shook my head at my own misery as I contemplated how my infatuation had never died. And how easily it had transcended adolescence and blossomed into something much more substantial with our reunion.
“My feelings for him never changed, never dimmed,” I said. “And when I saw him again… Oh, yeah. This is definitely love. He’s wonderful, Mom. In so many ways.”
She gave my words their due consideration, then played devil’s advocate, as she was prone to do. “Ten years is a long time to have feelings for someone you’ve never really dated.”
“I know. But I’ve always felt strongly about him. It’s relentless.”
“And how does he feel about you?”
One of the last things he’d said to me sprang to mind.
