by Jen Doyle
But that wasn’t true. Fitz did keep secrets from him. Some majorly big ones apparently.
“Hon,” Peggy said, her hands back on him, as she looked up. “You certainly aren’t acting okay.”
He looked down at her as if he were watching from somewhere far above, not quite understanding his reactions. He liked having a woman’s hands on him. He liked women stepping up close and whispering suggestive things in his ear, especially when it was a woman as talented as Peggy Miller. He’d even liked Peggy, up until about ten hours ago.
He grabbed her hands again and pulled them away from his chest and his back—back being a euphemism for ass, of course—realizing belatedly he had no clue how to turn a woman away. He was an expert at deflecting when he wasn’t interested, and even better at making sure any woman he was with knew he was in it for the sex, period. But beyond that, not so much.
“Not right now,” he said, referring to whatever it was Peggy had just been saying. Something about, well, his cock.
“Seriously, Deke,” she snapped, taking a step back. “Being a dick isn’t a good look for you.”
Oh. Maybe that’s what she was saying. He honestly wasn’t paying much attention.
Really—who the hell was Doug?
Clearly realizing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere, Peggy switched tactics. “Okay, well, I realize you don’t exactly have a packed schedule...” He looked down at her sharply. Seriously? “But I’m busy with this weekend’s tournament,” she continued, “so it’s not like I have the time right now anyway.” With a huff, she looked over at Fitz. “Will you tell her to call me when she gets off the phone? We have a billion things to go over.”
And that almost made Deke laugh. The last thing he was going to tell Fitz was to call Peggy. “Probably not.” When Peggy’s head came up, he shrugged. “You should probably just call her when you can.”
“Call who when who can?” Fitz suddenly asked from right behind him, and parts of Deke snapped to attention in a highly uncomfortable way. Before he could respond, however, Peggy gave a thirteen-year-old worthy sigh, and from out of a huge leather bag she withdrew a planner stuffed with papers. “You. Call me. To make sure you’ve done everything on your list.”
“Really?” Fitz said, the slight snap in her voice the closest Deke had ever heard her to being irritated with anyone outside their circle of friends.
He usually loved it when she got agitated. It was like a little slice of Fitz that only the inner circle got to see and why he took such pleasure in teasing her. Of course, now he was aware there was a part of her he apparently wasn’t inner circle enough to know, it held less appeal. So, rather than protest when Peggy put her hand on Fitz’s arm and turned her toward Jules’s café, or be put off by the fact that Fitz didn’t seem to be in any more hurry to talk to him than he was to talk to her, he watched the women as they began to walk away from him.
He should’ve gone into his bar. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Fitz.”
Both women stopped and turned, irritation in Peggy’s eyes, wariness in Fitz’s.
“A minute?” he asked.
She hesitated before nodding, mumbling something that must’ve been for Peggy to go ahead, since Peggy headed towards Jules’s. Fitz’s look turned warier as he neared. As it should have, since this should have been the moment where he said what they both needed him to say. That whatever had been going through his head yesterday was gone, the kiss had been a fluke, and all of his circuits were back to functioning normally.
But when he got to her, all he could think about was how good she smelled.
“Your morning going okay?” he asked, for reasons he couldn’t begin to say.
The guardedness on her face disappeared, replaced by downright amusement. “It’s going just fine,” she answered, her eyes laughing at him. “And yours?”
He took a step closer, getting right up in her personal space for no good reason other than that it meant her hair brushed his arm in the morning breeze.
On his shoulder, his little devil friend was chanting, Tear the Band-Aid off. Tear the Band-Aid off. On his other shoulder, his Angel friend joined in, whispering, It’s four little words, my friend. ‘We need to talk.’ Just four words.
Ignoring both, he reached out and twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. How could it be so damn soft?
Band-Aid, he heard in one ear.
Four little words, he heard in the other.
And then out of nowhere, a tiny little cherub dropped out of the sky and, Jeremy Renner-style, zapped the devil first and then the angel with his arrows. All yours, he said, before disappearing into thin air.
Deke tugged a little on her hair, knowing he was essentially acting like a kid on the playground, crushing on the cute girl in pigtails. Except he was not crushing on Fitz. It was just some weirdly misplaced lust. That was all. And the fact that his blood was racing to places it had no business being was a purely physical reaction to the way her eyes widened and her breath hitched when he tugged a little more and her head tilted slightly back.
The arrows must’ve switched everything up because now the angel was flopping around, frantically crying Band-Aid! Band-Aid! And the devil was pulling himself up, groaning, For God’s sake, man—four little words. Four freaking words.
Hell, there were red lights flashing everywhere and someone shouting, Abort! Abort!
But all that did was make Deke’s voice extra rough as he said, “I really need to kiss you again.”
A chorus of groans went up around him as the angel, devil and Abort! guy all collapsed in exasperation.
Completely unaware of the chaos around her, Fitz gave a nervous little laugh. “Not right here, you don’t.”
Right. Because they were on Main Street and he was the town playboy and she was Nate Hawkins’s baby sister. She was practically Deke’s baby sister. And if he’d already blown his you-can’t-touch-her directive, the very least he could do was not do anything that would make people talk.
She hated it when people talked about her.
He forced himself to let the hair around his finger loosen; to take a step away. “Maybe we should have dinner tonight.”
Yes, he was on shift all night, but he could take twenty minutes for dinner.
Her eyes narrowed and she took her own step back. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Then again he wasn’t sure if “good sign” meant she’d have been on board with another kiss or the exact opposite. He was that turned around. Then she shook her head. “Dinner meeting tonight for the vendors.”
Of course. Because Little League was a Big Fucking Deal in Inspiration, and the tournament was a two day affair with teams coming in from all over the state. Since his Men’s League team would be closing it all out on Sunday afternoon, he’d be both a coach and player this weekend, so he’d be seeing her plenty over the next few days. They just wouldn’t have a chance to be alone. He took one more step back. That was probably a good thing. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.” She grinned.
Dude, the devil said.
Oh, fuck me.
He watched as she walked away, waiting until she disappeared inside to twist the brim of his hat back to the front and head into the bar.
Chapter Nine
The Little League tournament was the quintessential baseball and apple pie small town experience and the weather was perfect. Once upon a time, that wouldn’t have been a good thing; it was like the universe was piling one injustice on top of another. If Fitz couldn’t have her dad around, and she couldn’t even openly mourn him on Father’s Day, one of the few days per year when she allowed herself to forgive him just a little bit for not-insubstantial sins, then couldn’t it at least be miserable outside?
Today, though, ev
en if that hadn’t been the case, even if there were tornadoes bearing down from all sides, Fitz was pretty sure she’d still be smiling.
Yes, kissing Deke had been a bad idea. Yes, she knew it could never ever happen again. Hell, jumping out of his car and fleeing the other night, as cowardly as that was, might have been the smartest thing she’d done. But she couldn’t deny the happy, buzzy feeling she’d had all of yesterday. The way it spiked whenever their paths had crossed or when she’d feel his eyes on her. She’d mostly forced herself not to look his way. To just pretend she wasn’t aware. But every once in a while she’d sneak a peek and their eyes would meet and first he’d grin, then she would. It made it hard not to want to go there again.
With a sigh as big as the smile she couldn’t keep to herself, Fitz turned her attention back to the table of raffle tickets and pens in front of her, wishing she had last-minute details to distract her. But, no. Everything was completely under control, as always. Yesterday’s games had gone great. The vendors had all gotten up and running without too much trouble, and the weather was cooperating fully. She’d even taken pictures and drafted the report Doug had asked her to send along. It had been challenging, to say the least, to find photos of things that showed her off but wouldn’t completely scream Inspiration! if Nate was among those seeing them. Then again, Nate had bigger issues with Father’s Day than even Fitz did and he’d never actually been to the tournament, so maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.
“How much time until your break?” Dorie asked from across the tent in between bouts of people.
“Forty-two minutes,” Fitz answered, not that she was counting. She actually enjoyed events like this, with all the bustle and noise. She especially enjoyed knowing she’d had a large part in putting it together. It was just the part about people retelling the ironic story of Patrick Hawkins’s bastard daughter running the town’s Father’s Day Tournament that tended to get old. There’d been nine mentions this weekend so far, and that was just the ones said directly to her face. Not that she was counting that, either.
Turning to Dorie, who’d set up a satellite library for the weekend with a baseball theme, she asked, “Fried dough or bomb pop? I can’t decide which one to go for first.”
Dorie smiled as she straightened out the brochures on her table. “Bomb pop. My brothers are always on my case about those at home so I’m planning a major binge.”
“Why would your brothers care about your eating a bomb pop?” Fitz asked. Dorie’s brothers never ceased to amaze her. At least Nate wasn’t that bad.
Rolling her eyes, Dorie frowned. “Popsicles of all kinds. Because I apparently lick them too slow.”
Seriously? The thing was red, white and blue. “I’m beyond fascinated by how your brothers manage to make everything about sex.”
With a jab of her finger toward Fitz’s direction, Dorie said, “This is exactly why I needed to leave Boston. At least here there are people who talk sense.” She turned back to her brochures.
But of course now Fitz was thinking about it—sex, not bomb pops, although she really did want one of those ASAP—and her thoughts turned back to Deke.
With a groan she barely managed to keep to herself, Fitz let her head fall to the table in front of her. She needed to just stop thinking, period. Easier said than done.
Careful to keep her head turned away from Dorie, Fitz let her gaze travel across the walkway to the Deacon’s Bar & Grille tent where Lola and her parents were transitioning from the breakfast rush into the lunch setup while the boys played nearby. It was already close to eleven, which meant Deke would be here any minute now. Fitz assumed it also meant that Peggy, who hadn’t been around yet today, would be here soon, too.
She did momentarily wonder if Deke had ended up spending Friday night at Peggy’s after all. She didn’t think so. He’d clearly been thrown by the whole conversation with Jules. At the same time, other than her coming out and saying Peggy was a bitch, no details had been revealed, thank goodness. Plus he hadn’t exactly been Flash Gordon when Peggy tried to maul him on the sidewalk. So, no. It wasn’t impossible to think that he and Peggy might have hooked up again this weekend even if he’d kissed Fitz on Thursday night. Fitz could easily name several times he’d happily kissed one woman and then spent that very night with another entirely.
Straightening back up, Fitz went about reshuffling the pens and postcards on her table. Maybe him going back to Peggy wouldn’t be the worst thing. Then she and Deke could go back to being she and Deke and all would be right with the world. Then again, Peggy had been far too crabby yesterday to have had great sex the night before. Any sex. Plus Peggy would have taken every possible opportunity to ensure Fitz heard about it.
Realizing there was a ten-year-old boy and his parents patiently waiting to ask a question, Fitz turned her attention to her actual job and did it swimmingly for the next half hour, managing to mostly keep her focus on the people coming by the tent rather than any wayward thoughts about getting down and dirty with too-sexy-for-their-own-good play—
Damn it. She’d just knocked all of her perfectly arranged pens to the ground and had to practically crawl under the table to pick them up.
“Hey, Dorie,” she heard from above her. “Do you know where Fitz wants these bottles of water?”
Speak of the devil. Fitz brought her head up a little too suddenly, banging it on the underside of the table. “Ouch!” She came up frowning and clutching the back of her head.
Oh, God, had he been this gorgeous before? Had he always smelled amazing?
Doing everything she could to keep herself immune to his physical charms, she spun on her heel. “Back here.”
She put all her efforts into acting exactly as she always did around him. Except she suddenly couldn’t quite remember how that was. Did she flirt with him? Did she flat out ignore him? Did she generally just go around in a state of low-level irritation? Because right now she had absolutely no clue.
She had even less of a clue as she bent down to open up the cooler and he crouched down next to her, his head so close all he’d need to do was turn it slightly to the left and his mouth would be on her breast.
Oh, hell no, her nipples had not just hardened. She slapped her arms over her chest.
Because they had. And Deke, with his superhero sex god extra sensory perception, had definitely noticed. He at least had the decency to look down at the ground as he grinned.
“It’s the cold,” Fitz snapped. “From the cooler.”
Pushing the bottles down into the ice, Deke just answered, “You’d be amazed at all the bits and pieces I can warm up with my tongue.”
And now there was zinging. Little lightning bolts flashed their way down from the tips of her breasts to the juncture of her thighs. For heaven’s sake. Fitz dropped down to her knees on the ground next to Deke. “You can’t say things like that to me,” she whispered, intending it to come out as a declaration but realizing it sounded like a plea instead.
If he’d said something flippant she would have been irritated. If he’d gone with bold, she would have laughed and that would be that. But she didn’t know what to do with the look in his eyes as he glanced over at her with a flash of what appeared to be yearning. Or with the set of his jaw as he looked back down at the bottles in the cooler and gruffly said, “I know.”
She bit her lip and turned her head away.
Except he didn’t let her get away with that. His hand went to her jaw. He tipped her head until she had no choice but to meet his gaze, and everything around them faded away. There were no tents, no other people, just him and her and the way his hand caressed her skin.
It was a good thing she was already down on the ground, because her knees went weak as he said, “Don’t hide from me. There’s nowhere you can run where I can’t find you.”
Her lips parted on a sigh. She even managed to get out a sof
t, “Stalker-y, much?” before she tilted and whirled and found herself stretching up to...
Dorie’s shriek pulled her attention back to the front of the tent. Except Dorie wasn’t standing there anymore. Instead, she was being swept up into some guy’s arms, her arms and legs going around him.
Deke asked, “Is that Nate?” not bothering to hide his surprise as he got to his feet.
“Oh, my God,” Fitz murmured, standing. It couldn’t be.
In all the years she’d known Nate, not once had she laid eyes on him on Father’s Day weekend. Even as a teenager he’d disappeared. He’d vanish on Friday night and not be heard from again until Monday morning. To this day Fitz had no idea where he’d go.
Fitz was fine with that. It was the one thing they’d never been able to talk about—he had hated his father and she had loved hers. That it was the same man created a distance far too wide for either one of them to overcome. So she’d grit her way through the day and be grateful she didn’t have to make herself pretend in front of Nate, too, because he was the only one who always saw right through her. Except here he was, coming her way, and that wasn’t something she could take on this of all days.
Still not quite able to process that, she did register Deke moving so he was standing beside her. A little bit behind, so as not to block Nate, but close enough that she knew he was there if she needed him. Nate knew it too, if the grim look in his eyes as they flicked to Deke and back were any indication. Although Deke and Nate had been friends their whole lives, she knew that, kisses or not, Deke would take her side over Nate’s if it ever came to that.
“What are you doing here?” she managed when Nate drew close, forcing herself to focus on him rather than the solid presence at her back.
Something flashed through his eyes before she found herself being pulled hard against his chest.
“Christ, Hawk,” she heard from behind her. “Loosen up. She can’t breathe.”
Although, astoundingly, Nate listened to Deke and loosened his arms, he didn’t let go. And since he didn’t, Fitz felt the distinct hitch in his chest as his hands gripped her shoulders.
