by Gina Drayer
“Are you happy Cooper won or were you hoping Ben Lobos would be the highest bidder?”
The reporter continued to ask questions, but Cooper expertly shut them down. And before I knew what was happening, he led us out of the ballroom and into a mostly empty hallway.
“Those people never know when to quit,” Cooper whispered softly. It was the first time he spoke to me directly.
“I don’t know how you deal with that all the time,” I murmured. As a matter of fact, I was still so flustered that I didn’t notice that Cooper had lead me straight into a dark, empty supply closet.
“Did you plan this with Ben? Was it his idea or yours?” he asked. All the warmth was gone from his voice.
“Who’s Ben?” I asked, stepping back, fully aware that we were now alone for the first time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t plan anything.”
“So you’d have me believe that Ben Lobos developed a conscience and suddenly wanted to donate a shit ton of money to a homeless shelter?” he asked and took a step closer. “How long have you two been working on this?”
“What are you talking about?” I said, backing up until I hit the wall. “Cooper, you’re being ridiculous.”
Panic was starting to well up in my chest. No one saw us come in here. And what did I really know about this man? The press said he had a temper. The room felt like it was closing in on us.
“Am I?” he asked, just inches away now. His voice lowered. “I know you don’t like me, but do you find me so repulsive that you had to sneak behind my back to get out of our arrangement?”
“I don’t hate you…” My eyes dropped to his lips, remembering how he’d smiled at me earlier tonight. I didn’t find him repulsive. Even now, with my heart racing from fear, a small part of me wanted him to kiss me. And that scared me more than anything else. “I don’t even know you.”
The only thing I really knew about the man was that he made my skin prick with heat every time he was near. I took a deep breath and tried to calm him down. Unfortunately, instead of sounding assured, my voice came out breathy. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You could have stopped bidding at any time.”
“I believe you,” he said with a predatory smile. “You couldn’t have planned this with Ben. He would have known that it would have never worked because he hates to lose as much as I do. And tonight, I won the prize.”
Before I could reply, he pressed his lips to mine.
10
Cooper
I hadn’t planned on kissing her. At least, not tonight.
All I wanted to do was find a private place to ask a few questions. When I caught Ben talking to her after the auction, I was pissed. I wouldn’t put it past my old teammate to pull a stunt like this. Ben knew sexy women, and high stakes competitions were two of my weaknesses.
But Emily was genuinely surprised by my accusations, and I was willing to believe her. I would have let the subject drop and rejoined the party, but I hadn’t expected her reaction. The soft, breathy tone of her voice, the pretty blush high on her cheeks—and the one that drove me over the edge—the way her eyes kept drifting to my lips as if she was willing me to kiss her.
Not one to disappoint a lady, I was happy to oblige. It wasn’t the soft, chaste kiss we’d agreed on. No this was a fierce, demanding kiss. One that broadcasts my intentions loud and clear.
I waited for the inevitable protest, but much to my surprise, she kissed me back with as much passion, tilting her head a little to the side to give me better access. I lowered one hand to her back, pulling her closer, and buried the other one in her soft curls. I just wanted a kiss and intended on pulling away without taking it any further, but her tongue slid inside my mouth, and all bets were off.
It wasn’t the first time I’d made out in closet, but this room was less than ideal for all the things I wanted to do to her. A bitter, chemical smell permeated the air, and I kept bumping into a wet mop head. There wasn’t much room for me to work. We needed to stop. We needed to stop now before things went too far and both of us regretted it.
Reluctantly, I pulled away and stared down at her, trying to figure out what just happened. I never would have expected that kind of passion from such a stuffy woman. I could still feel the sting of her nails, and it was all I could do not to push her against the wall and bury myself between her legs.
“Wow. I did not expect that,” Emily said breathlessly, resting her hand on my chest. Could she feel how hard my heart was pounding?
“Neither did I,” I said, honestly.
I couldn’t believe what was happening, in a supply closet of all places. I hadn’t wanted to come to this stupid event. I figured tonight would be about posing for a lot of pictures with her. Making nice for the press. I definitely hadn’t been planning on kissing her.
Funny how things worked out.
I’d been so sure no one would believe a guy like me would suddenly fall head over heels in love with a straight-laced woman who ran a family shelter. A woman who wasn’t even a fan of baseball. Yet here I was—not in love for sure—but lust. I wanted to spend some quality time getting to know Emily Oliver, preferably with a lot less clothing between the two of us.
Maybe, if I turned on the charm just right, I could talk her into having that sleepover tonight.
I slid my hands down her arms to her wrists, bowing my head so that our foreheads touched. In her heels, she was just a few inches shorter than me.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot” I whispered close to her ear.
“Maybe we did,” she agreed. “Maybe we could start over?”
“I’d like that,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Emily Oliver. I hear you run a Shelter.”
She laughed and pulled back. “I didn’t mean, literally start over.”
“Why not?” I asked. “It’s hard to forget first impressions, so let’s just pretend we met tonight. That’s what the press thinks anyways.”
“Okay.” She bit back a smile and said, “As a matter of fact, I do indeed run a shelter. And I want to thank you for your generous donation.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I said, tracing her jawline with my finger. “If that kiss was any indication, I’m sure I’ll get my money’s worth.”
Emily jerked away from my touch, frowning. “You disgusting, pig-headed creep!” She slapped me without warning and pushed me back into the wet mop. “I’m not a whore, and you did not just buy me. I wouldn’t sleep with you for all the money in the world.”
“Emily, I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean that I’m attracted to you, and the money was worth it. I was happy to give more.” I knew that didn’t sound any better. Fuck, what was wrong with me. I was usually much smoother than this.
“Save it for the press,” she said, fumbling for the door. “You were right the first time, first impressions are hard to forget. That’s because they are usually right.” As she yanked the door open, she tripped on a roll of toilet paper that had fallen off the shelf. I reached out and caught her arm before she fell flat on her face.
“Keep your hands off me,” she hissed.
Light flooded into the room. It was just my luck that there was an elderly couple passing by as Emily stormed out of the room. The woman stepped aside and grabbed onto the man’s elbow with both hands. She glared at me like I was a perverted predator.
At least, they weren’t taking pictures. Emily smoothed her hair the best she could and leaned against the green damask wallpaper just outside the supply closet to adjust the strap of her heels, kicking back one shapely leg and then the other. I thought about telling her that her lipstick was smeared to her chin, but thought better of it.
I touched a hand to my lips, still smiling.
I said the wrong things tonight, but she wouldn’t have gotten so upset if she hadn’t felt the same heat. She might come off meek and innocent on the outside, but Emily was a firecracker.
And I couldn’t wait to light her fuse again.
; Star New York
Who’s That Girl?
The fifteenth annual New Yorker Society auction ended with a bang last night after a bidding war between New York’s third baseman Cooper Reynolds and Real Estate mogul Ben Lobos. Reynolds entered the winning bid of two hundred thousand dollar. So what were the men fighting over? A date with the lovely Emily Oliver, pictured above, Executive Director of the Oliver Family Shelter.
After the exciting event of the night, many people where left asking, who is Emily Oliver?
A native New Yorker, Ms. Oliver has devoted her time and money helping those less fortunate. After the tragic death of her parents, Oliver invested most of her inheritance in a trust set up to run the Oliver Family shelter. Her tireless effort to provide…
11
Cooper
A persistent buzzing yanked me out of a rather pleasant dream involving a certain sexy brunette in a gold dress. Groaning, I rolled over and checked the clock. The ass crack of dawn was still at least an hour away.
My phone continued to buzz, but it wasn’t a number I recognized, so I hit ignore and rolled back over.
Before I even closed my eyes, the phone started going off again.
The same number flashed on the screen. I was going to have to kill whoever was calling me at this hour.
“This better be good,” I growled into the receiver.
“Congratulations, Cooper. You really outdid yourself.” An oddly familiar woman’s voice came from the speaker.
“Who’s this?” I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the number again.
“While it wasn’t quite what we discussed, I do approve,” the woman went on instead of answering my question. “You actually made the front page with that generous donated. The photo of you two leaving the ballroom hand in hand was the money shot. Everyone is hungry to hear more about Cooper Reynolds’ mystery woman in the gold dress.”
Sighing, I sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Of course, no one but Naomi would dare call me this early.
“I’m so glad my personal life is selling papers but did that stunt last night get me any closer to a new contract?”
There was no going back to sleep now. I needed a cup of coffee or ten. I sat up and tossed the covers off.
“Manny called a few minutes ago to let me know that an email was waiting for him this morning from the team manager. They want a meeting.”
That stopped me short. Was a large donation all it took to change public perception? Hell, I’d donate another hundred thousand to the homeless shelter if it meant staying in New York.
“Does that mean they are resigning me? If they were going to make a trade, they wouldn’t want to talk, right?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said. “It’s a good sign, but not unexpected. Just stick to the plan.”
“Fine,” I said, reluctantly. “I’m willing to go along with this a while longer.”
Especially if that meant seeing Emily again. We had some unfinished business.
“I’m glad to hear you’re on board,” she said. “I was worried you were going to miss your yoga class this morning. I was just calling to remind you.”
“My what?”
“The yoga class,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed. “It’s part of the anger management program the team is requiring you to participate in.”
“Now, hold on a damn minute. I don’t remember agreeing to that.” I vaguely remembered them talking about anger management, but I didn’t remember anything about yoga. “Did Manny sign off on this?”
“The class isn’t negotiable, and it starts in ninety minutes, so I suggest you hurry,” Naomi said. “Arrive at least fifteen minutes early to fill out the paperwork.”
What the fuck had I gotten myself into? A fake girlfriend, donations, yoga, what next?
“I’m not going.”
“I can’t make you,” she said, sounding almost bored. “But the way I see it, you can either do what your coach wants or start looking for a real estate agent. That is if another team will even sign you.”
Fuck. I hate that she’s right. I don’t really have a choice. If the team wanted me in a stupid anger management program, I was going to have to do it. Even if it meant doing yoga with a bunch of soccer moms.
“So where’s this place?”
“It’s not far from your flat,” she said. “A car will be waiting for you at a quarter to six.”
I hung up the phone and got ready. And just as promised, a black sedan was waiting on the curb. The sight of it pissed me off. It was one thing to call with a reminder, but to send a car like I was a child was another.
I glanced down the still empty sidewalk. The studio was just a few blocks away. Instead of jumping into the town car, I pulled my wool hat over my ears and started off down towards the park.
As I walked, I caught sight of today's paper. Naomi hadn’t been lying. There I was with Emily on the front page. If another ball player had donated two hundred thousand dollars for a date with a beautiful woman, it wouldn’t be news. But the papers loved to write about me. And the photo with Emily by my side was fantastic.
A smile teased my lips as I remembered how Emily looked last night on stage and the way that gold dress had clung to her curves. The girl cleaned up nice. I would have bid on her even without our agreement. She was intriguing. And when Ben had made a bid on her—something I couldn’t quite identify coursed through me. Anger? Possessiveness? I was supposed to be dating Emily. The last thing I wanted was Ben screwing this up.
The yoga studio was tucked into the basement of a building on Tenth. As soon as I walked in, the young girl at the front desk handed me a clipboard with yet another document to sign, and a mug of green tea. I took both, trying not to roll my eyes. I filled out the papers, wishing there was coffee in the mug instead of tea, but at least the warmth was nice after my chilly walk.
Everything about the place made me uncomfortable. It reminded me of a doctor's office. The entire studio was white—all the furniture, the pencil holder, the staff’s uniforms. There was even an abstract painting on the wall in various shades of white.
I finished filling out all the requisite information and handed the papers back to the receptionist, along with the still full mug of tea.
“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.” She smiled and blushed, diverting her eyes with a flutter of eyelashes.
She was wearing loose white pants and a tight, long-sleeved top that showed off her perky breasts. And while she was cute, with freckles across her nose and dark curls framing her round innocent face, she too young for my taste. I preferred women over girls.
“Coop, my man. You’re going to like this class,” a very familiar voice called out behind me.
I turned around to see Kevin coming through the door, a blue mat cradled underneath his arm. The big man was wearing an unfortunate pair of black spandex shorts that showed a bit too much of his package.
“Class? I just came in here for the tea and of course, the company.” I couldn’t resist giving the girl at the front desk a wink. Her cheeks flamed a darker shade of red.
“I heard a rumor you were joining. It really is a great class,” Kevin said, slapping my back. “I’ve been doing it for about a year. My balance has improved. Even my back feels better. It’s really improved my game. I can’t believe I didn’t start sooner.“
“Good to know,” I said, relaxing a little.
I could bench twice as much as Kevin in the gym, so if he was good at yoga, I’d be fine.
With a little more confidence, I followed Kevin through the sterile white doors into the gym and tried to ignore everyone that turned around to stare. I was going to have to get something else besides my running gear if I was going to keep coming.
No surprise, the ridiculous white theme carried over into the workout space. The floors were white and large curtains made of gauzy white fabric lined the walls. The only spots of color were the broad-leafed potted plants in the corners.
“Since you don’t have a mat, you can borrow one over there,” Kevin said, pointing to the stack of black mats in the corner of the room. “Don’t forget to take off your socks.”
I grabbed a mat from the stack and unrolled it next to Kevin. At least we were in the back of the room. The class was mostly women, and the view would be nice. I sat down and peeled off my socks. Kevin was already sitting with his legs crossed on the mat. I tried to mimic the pose. It was a bit of a struggle to fold my legs. I was fit, but limber I was not. After trying a few times, I settled into a position that was close enough.
The yoga instructor was a thin woman named Evelyn. She spoke very slowly in a soft voice, but that didn’t make her any easier to understand. It was almost like she was speaking in a different language.
“Bend forward into padangusthasana,” she said, walking between the mats. “And don’t forget your ujjayi breathing.”
I tried to keep up, but couldn’t seem to match the moments of any of the other people in the room. I constantly had to adjust my body into a position that that wasn’t natural.
“Is this exercise or a form of torture?” I whispered to Kevin after the instructor asked us to balance on one leg while stretching an arm up to the ceiling.
“Stretching is good for you,” Kevin whispered. “Trust me. It will improve your game.”
“I stretch. You should have seen the stretching I did with the cute barista at the stadium coffee shop.”
The pose shifted again, and I almost fell on my ass.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed under my breath.
When the instructor shushed me, I almost got up and walked out. This wasn’t helping my anger issues. If anything, it was just pissing me off even more. The only thing that kept me on that stupid mat was Naomi’s warnings.
Mentally giving the instructor the finger, I tried to wrap one leg over the other while squatting. I promptly fell. Lying flat on my back now, I shot a glance over at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes since we started.
