“So maybe…there’s a small part of me that wonders if I should let the dream die. I’ve got this woman who I’m crazy about, who has her shit together, who is an amazing mother already to a fantastic kid… Why isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know.” Amanda winced and sat all the way up. “Sorry, that was crabby. It’s the lack of sleep talking. I just know that some people have a fire inside them for parenting. Some people don’t. Some are pushed into it, and the fire either builds slowly—like me—or it doesn’t…and that’s not a great position either. But you’ve got the fire, and that’s not wrong, Clay. Neither is her lack of one. You want different things. It’s okay.”
“That’s what we both said,” Clay murmured, observing his nephew toddle back to his mother and hold up his arms. She grunted as she pulled him up. The guy was definitely a porker.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is…if I’m questioning the idea of having kids because she’s this special to me, am I really sold on it?”
“It’s after midnight, and you want to get this philosophical on me.” Amanda blew hair out of her eyes, which Stanley immediately reached for. “No, dude, come on. Work with Mommy here.”
Clay stood and reached for Stanley, bouncing the thirteen-month-old a little when he whined for his mother back. “How about you go get some sleep, and Stan the Man and I will hang out and swap lies about women?”
Amanda’s eyes widened, only a fraction, before she scrambled off the couch and down the hall. Just before her bedroom door closed, she yelled out, “Love you!” and shut it with a definite click.
“Was that for you or for me?” he asked Stanley.
Stan the Man let out a roaring fart in response.
Kristen watched Marge walk back to her desk carrying her salad and settle. “Deli?”
“Within walking distance, and they always have the right dressing.” Marge held up her takeout container with a smile. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“I’m going to spend it shopping.” Because after her few dates with Clay, she’d realized her wardrobe needed some updating in the casual, nonbusiness end of things.
“Fun! Where are you heading?”
“Cynthia’s. It’s a bit of a drive but totally worth it. I’ll stay longer tonight to make it work. You’re good with that?”
Marge waved and nodded, a forkful of salad already in her mouth.
This was the benefit of the off months, Kristen knew. They would have the flexibility to take a longer lunch or to use some of those sick days she refused to take during the busiest parts of the season. She walked toward the parking area for employees and caught sight of Clay in the hallway, speaking to one of the defensive coordinators.
Should she wave? Smile? Act like she didn’t see him and keep walking?
Yes, super mature, Kristen.
She smiled and gave a reserved nod, and he grinned back at her.
There. That was extremely mature. Just two adult lovers, who were keeping it professional in the workplace. Wonderful.
“Hey.”
“Ah!” She jumped a foot, nearly landing on her ass, but strong hands kept her from toppling over.
“Jeez, okay, wow. Startle reflex is high. You’d think I’d remember that after the whole comb-threat from the parking garage elevator.”
She glared at Clay over her shoulder and straightened up. “Let’s not talk about that.”
“Fair enough. But I thought you heard me coming up behind you. I know you saw me in the hallway. Why didn’t you wait?”
She watched as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels a little. Looking uncertain.
“Because I’m headed out for lunch and you were speaking to someone?”
“Just Darrin.” Clay shrugged. “Want some company for lunch?”
“Oh, uh...” She glanced around, then sighed. “I’m not actually going for food. I’m shopping.”
“Shopping, huh?” His eyes narrowed a little, and the gleam in his eyes turned predatory. “For what?”
“Not for athletic supporters and cleats, so you wouldn’t be interested.” She patted his shoulder and kept walking toward the parking garage. Clay followed along. “Seriously, just girly stuff. Nothing you will be interested in.”
“I’m interested in you. Does that count?”
It did. It really did. Why did he have to be so stupidly perfect? “I’m looking for clothes and shoes. And I’m not really in a rush, which means I could be there a while.” He kept walking with her. “A long while. I might pass out from hunger, I’ll be there for so long.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want me to come with you.”
She gave him her best good job smile. “Probably for the best.”
“What if I could get you an extended lunch hour?”
“I’m already taking an extended lunch hour...by staying an hour later.”
He seemed to work that over in his head, then snapped his fingers. “How about the rest of the afternoon?”
She reached her car and clicked the unlock button. “Clay—”
“Where are you heading? North or south?”
“South, but—”
“I had something down that direction I was going to pick up anyway.” He asked her to hold by leaning against the driver door, effectively blocking her chance to go. Whipping out his phone, he typed for a few moments, then nodded. “It’s cleared. You’re my assistant for the afternoon.”
“I’m your...cleared...what?” She took a step back, bumping into the SUV behind her. “Clay, this is my job. You can’t arrange stuff like that for me.”
“Did you not want to shop?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
“So then you’ve got longer than just a lunch hour, and no need to stay late to take it. I’ll drive.” He steered her away by her elbow. “Lock it.”
She gave up fighting and hit the lock button, the sound of her car beeping like the sound of inevitability.
There was something especially lovely about Cynthia’s on a weekday afternoon. The upscale resale shop was wonderful on a busy Saturday afternoon as well, but the fact that she essentially had the place to herself to wander through was magical.
“So this is where women shop?”
She looked over her shoulder to find Clay eying the racks of clothing dubiously.
“Don’t you have a sister? Did you never go shopping with her?”
“Hardly.” He snorted at that, then picked up a bolero jacket with sequins. “What does this even cover? It won’t keep you warm.”
“It’s not meant to. Put it down.” She shook her head and kept scanning the racks. The thing about Cynthia’s was...it was always designer, but that didn’t mean it was always your style. She catered to a clientele that wanted designer prices but couldn’t afford—or didn’t want—to pay them. She stocked her shelves from ladies who wanted to wear something once and never be seen in it again.
“You could go on your errand, you know,” she said, watching as he picked his way through the racks delicately, like a man navigating a hidden minefield. “You got me the afternoon off just to accompany you on this mysterious errand anyway. Might as well accomplish it.”
“I will. It won’t take me long. Just ignore me.” He sat in one of the corner chairs, long legs extended in front of him, hands folded over his flat stomach.
The man was crazy. Walking over to him, she set her hands on her hips. “What’s going on, Clay? Why did you come with me to shop? Why did you insist I take the rest of the afternoon out of the office?”
He watched her silently for a moment. She had a sneaking feeling he was sizing up the field, the atmosphere, the opponent…just like he might have done back during his playing days.
“I just wanted to spend time with you.”
Oh boy. She started to respond, then found her throat wouldn’t work. This was definitely not on the list of how to handle friends with benefits.
Or, you know, lovers.
“Clay,” she started, then her voice froze up again. To give herself a moment, she turned to put a jacket back on the rack. Then she heard a voice behind her.
“Kristen, hi!”
She looked over her shoulder and found Anya Walker standing behind her.
“Anya, hey.” Kristen reached over to give the younger woman a side hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Just checking on some inventory. Now that prom season is over, it’s time to see what delightfully spoiled debutants have donated their prom dresses to the cause. What are you up to?”
Kristen opened her mouth to answer, when Clay cleared his throat behind her. Anya looked around Kristen’s arm, saw the coach, and her eyes widened a bit.
“So, well, just doing a little shopping. Oh, have you met Coach Barnes?” She gave a weak smile as Clay stood to hold out a hand. “Clay, this is Anya Walker, Josiah’s new wife.”
“Hi,” Anya said, looking confused as she shook Clay’s hand.
“I was coming down this direction for a lunch shopping spree, and Clay—that is, Coach Barnes—”
“I had things to do this way and needed some assistance,” Clay cut in smoothly. “Prom dresses?”
“Anya created a charity that takes gently used formal gowns and connects them with teens who can’t afford to buy the gear they need to wear to homecomings and proms and such.” The reminder of the charity Anya had started made Kristen smile. It was so perfectly Anya.
“Chance to Dance,” Anya added, her pride showing in the way she glowed.
“Sounds like a fantastic event. Every girl should get to go to her prom, right?”
Kristen’s heart softened at the way the gruff coach said it. She imagined him picturing his younger sister decked out for the dance. He’d probably been the intimidating older brother standing by the date’s car, glaring at him in a way that promised certain death if his sister came home upset or in any way rumpled.
“So where’s the connection to this place here?”
“Oh, Cynthia was one who helped me start the charity. I use her shop for storage, and sometimes she’s given dresses that are too formal or too young for what she would need. Normally she would either pass them back to the customer or donate them somewhere else, but now they come to me for consideration. Though pretty soon I’m going to need a new place for storage,” Anya mused, almost to herself. “It’s a tight squeeze back there, and we’re seriously growing.”
“Congratulations,” Clay said. “I’ll give you ladies some space.” He went back to his post at the corner chair.
“While I’m here, what are you shopping for?” Anya asked, rubbing her hands together. Kristen could see the fashion challenge light in the younger woman’s eyes. “If you’re just on a lunch break, we’ll need to make it quick.”
“Uh, well…” She eased her way to another rack, glad when Clay took his phone out of his pocket and started sending a text or an e-mail, judging by how much his thumbs worked. Lowering her voice, she said, “I’m looking for something less…professional.”
Anya seemed to pick up on that quickly and nodded. “Sure, of course. You always look good at the office, so I know you’ve got taste. But you want something less structured.”
“Exactly.” When Anya immediately began pulling outfits, Kristen sighed with relief. Anya knew Cynthia’s inventory forward and backward…and when you were dealing with ever-cycling stuff, that was a huge benefit.
She turned to find Clay watching her over the top of his phone. Walking back, she quietly asked, “Why don’t you go run the errand you needed to run and then swing back by to pick me up after?”
“What, no fashion show?” he teased.
At least she hoped he was teasing.
“Shoo,” she finally said, and he stood up without further protest. “I’ll text you when we get things settled here, or you can give me an update on your progress.”
Though hesitant, Clay took off but not without looking back at the door. She shooed him once more, and he sighed and left.
“Interesting arrangement,” Anya said mildly as she pulled another dress off the rack.
“Heading the same direction, seemed to make sense.” Kristen pulled a sweater down, shook her head, and put it back. Her cell phone pinged with a text, so she pulled it out to read it.
CB: Buy something sexy.
“Everything okay?” Anya asked after a moment. “You look flushed.”
Kristen chuckled and stuck her phone back in her purse. “I’m good. Now, these are great, but I might need something a little more revealing…”
By the time Clay returned with his truck and the equipment he’d deliberately gone out of his way to pick up in order to spend extra time with Kristen, he was feeling foolish. He texted her he was back, then got out of the truck and walked in, prepared to help her carry out bags and bags of clothing.
He had a sister. He knew the drill.
So it shocked him to find Kristen standing at the counter, holding one small bag and chatting amicably with the employee behind the register. Not Josiah Walker’s wife but someone else entirely. Kristen clearly came here often enough to be friendly with the staff.
A consignment store. When, with what he assumed her salary carried, she could probably afford plenty of new designer labels, she went consignment.
“Hey,” she said as she caught sight of him. “Just finished up. Good timing.”
“Sounds like it.” He held out a hand for the bag, but she just laughed and shook her head. “Okay then, ready to go?”
They were back on the road and heading toward the office five minutes later. If he was going to apologize, now was the time.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hmm?” Kristen looked at him, her face relaxed, her eyes shielded by sunglasses. “For?”
“Making you come with me. This whole trip. It was stupid to push it on you. I just...” He sighed, changed lanes, and kept going. Better to finish it now. “I just wanted more time with you. Alone time. In my, we’ll call it overzealousness, I failed to realize you probably wanted to do this trip by yourself. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
Kristen watched the road for a few minutes. In his experience, the longer a woman was silent, the more shit you were in.
“You don’t have to apologize. I appreciate it, but it’s unnecessary. It just caught me off guard. It worked out.”
He nodded, then reached out a hand. She laced her fingers with his and made a little sound of pleasure when he brought their combined hands up to kiss her wrist before settling them on her thigh.
“God, we must really be adults,” she said after another few minutes of more relaxed silence. “That was mature and everything.”
“Would it help if I called you a doody-head?”
“Not really.”
They laughed, and when she scooted over just a little to rest her head on his shoulder, he found himself wanting so much more than stolen moments and fast fucks.
How much more was he willing to give in order to take that potential future? He had a feeling he would be finding out sooner rather than later.
Chapter 10
Kristen watched practice that night with a detached sort of joy. There wouldn’t be many more practices like this left in her world. Next year, if Isaac didn’t go on to play college ball, he’d likely keep his summer free to mess around with friends, maybe get a summer job. Perhaps spend more time than usual with his father and their family since his current summers were so jam-packed with sports now.
It was finally hitting her. This was really the last year to do this. Ever. For good. Something deep inside her wailed a little at the realization. That same deep thing inside her that had sniffled when Isaac had insisted on walking into kindergarten by himself on day one, when he’d gotten his first class schedule for junior high, had his first cast after breaking his arm thanks to a singularly terrible skateboarding trick. Her baby boy...not a baby.
And while she knew, despite that deep something that was wailing and gnashing its teeth inside her that wanted time to stop...that this was the right thing.
But it was that same feeling that made her insistent on not holding Clay back from becoming a father. Because he should know the same feelings of sweet bitterness as his children grew up and went from needing him constantly to needing him sporadically at best to not at all. If he wanted that, she wanted it for him.
It just hurt so damn much that they hadn’t found each other ten years sooner.
“Everything okay?”
Kristen looked down to see Sienna watching her over the top of her decorating magazine with concerned eyes.
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“You’re sniffling and tearing up. Allergies?”
“Oh.” Kristen laughed and was surprised it sounded a little weak. “No, just...memory lane and the realization this is the final year, you know?”
“Oh.” Sienna nodded in sympathy, but her son had two years left, so the emotion wasn’t going to hit her quite the same way. “I understand. So it’s nostalgia that has you coming back for extra practice watching and not the sexy new coach.”
“Sienna,” Kristen gasped, nudging at her with her sneaker. “You brat.”
“Hey, I’m married, not dead. The man is delicious to look at.”
“Hmm.” Kristen watched Clay toss up a ball with one hand, grip the bat and swing, sending the ball flying out to center field. “Yes, well, he is definitely that.”
“Just keep him away from Tilly.”
That made them both laugh.
“If he’s single, and you’re single...” Sienna wiggled her shoulders a little. “Any hopes there?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not anymore. We went out a few times. Just...we want different things. He’s a great guy,” Kristen added, not wanting Sienna to get the wrong idea. She watched him repeat the process to pop a ball out to left field. “The best.”
“That sucks.”
“Totally sucks.”
Clay pulled up to Kristen’s home a few minutes late, but better late than never. Certainly when she made it clear they would have unlimited time for the entire weekend because Isaac was leaving for his father’s for the weekend, he’d wanted to jump in the car and race over that instant. Which only highlighted exactly how deep in trouble he was with the whole situation.
Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats) Page 9
