Block and Tackle

by Elise Faber

  “I think you overdid it on that last one,” the stranger said. “Feel lightheaded?”

  She stared up at him, and the darkening sky behind him seemed to swirl. Charlie nodded.

  “Yeah, you look it. Head down for a minute,” he said, gently pressing against the back of her neck and folding her over until her head was between her knees.

  She stared at their feet. Next to hers, his looked enormous.

  “Have you eaten recently?”

  “Um…” She stalled. She didn’t want to actually say she’d just had a bite of Greek yogurt before hitting the road.

  “Here.” Charlie looked up to see him pull a shiny foil packet from the fuel belt at his waist. He tore it open and pressed it to her lips.

  Before she could ask what it was, the sweet mocha flavor met her tongue, and she found herself grabbing the packet and swallowing hungrily.

  “Mmm…” The sugar and caffeine hit her system like a wave, and the rush sped through her veins.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” he muttered. “I bet you haven’t eaten since lunch. You shouldn’t sprint like that on an empty stomach.”

  Charlie, who was squeezing the last of the contents into her mouth, looked up at the guy and froze. What the hell was she doing?

  “I need to go,” she said, pushing herself up, her unsteady legs protesting beneath her, the horizon seesawing in front of her.

  “Wait,” he said, taking off with her and keeping pace as she started to jog. “I don’t think you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, shrugging off his concern and keeping her eyes on the road. Her balance was already leveling out. Who was this guy anyway? The sun had nearly set, but the park was far from empty. Charlie wasn’t exactly worried about the stranger beside her, but embarrassment spurred her to move from his relentless gaze.

  His green eyes seemed to watch her with unblinking focus, and though his amused frown was friendly enough, it still unnerved her.

  “But… you almost fainted back there,” he said, matching her easily now, stride for stride. “And that Huma I gave you was only like a hundred calories.”

  “A hundred calories?!” She looked up at him in horror.

  So much for the square of dark chocolate she was planning for dessert.

  The guy quirked his brows, giving her an apologetic look. “I know. It’s not enough.” He reached into his fuel belt. “I have another one if you wa—”

  “I don’t.” The words came out a little sharper than she intended, so she tried to soften her tone. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  “You… um… you don’t run with fuel?” he asked, refusing to take the hint that she wanted — no, needed — to get away from him.

  He’d run her down like a deer. Her pride stung. She was tired. She was hungry.

  And she wasn’t thinking straight.

  Charlie didn’t know if it was because maybe her blood sugar had dropped or she was low on electrolytes, but the stunning stranger beside her seemed much too alluring. Instead of telling him to get lost — like she usually did when guys tried to chat her up on a run — she found herself wanting to stop and stare up at him until she could memorize every golden hair on his avenging angel head.

  And she could still feel a band of warmth around her arm where he’d grabbed her to keep her from crumpling onto the pavement.

  “I do,” she heard herself say, “when I go long distance.” He didn’t need to know about Albert’s CLIF bar. That wasn’t for her anyway.

  He blinked in surprise, and then twin dimples appeared as he smiled. Dimples. Two of them. “I’ve been chasing you for three miles. If that’s not long distance, what is?”

  Charlie didn’t hesitate. “Anything past ten.”

  She watched his jaw drop. “Wow. And I thought I was badass getting in five three nights a week.”

  The tickle of pride shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, but maybe that was because it had been so long since she’d really competed. In college, the adrenaline of the race had been her life force. Maybe she just needed to find someone to try to beat to fill the void that graduation had left.

  “Fifteen miles a week isn’t bad,” she said, suddenly wanting to tease him. His eyes really were the color of sequoia leaves.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said, grinning back. “You’re a running snob.”

  Charlie shook her head. “Not a snob. Just an addict.”

  His eyes glinted in the gathering dark. “No,” he drawled with mock disbelief. “I never would’ve guessed.”

  She couldn’t help her laugh. She usually hated to laugh while she was running. It stole her breath and slowed her down. But it felt good now, like her lungs opened wider. The sluggishness had left her legs, and the pace came easier. They ran in silence for a quarter mile until they moved through the deepening shadows of the panhandle.

  Charlie peeled off the path when she spotted Albert.

  “Hey, where are you going?” the guy called after her.

  She heard his footfalls on the grass behind her, and when she stopped in front of Albert, he stopped by her side, looking between her and the man camped out among the roots of the eucalyptus.

  “Hi, Albert. I brought you a snack,” she said, pulling the CLIF bar from her pocket and handing it to him. As he had every other time, Albert took it with a smile, his gentle eyes glittering as he nodded.

  “Bless you, angel,” he said. Albert’s voice was phlegmy and hoarse as usual, but he still looked as joyful as a child. Seeing him smiling didn’t make it hurt any less. A man his age shouldn’t be sitting on the ground under a tree as night fell. He should be living with a wife or his grown children, comforted and loved in his last days.

  Charlie made herself swallow.

  “You take care of yourself, Albert,” she said.

  Albert nodded. “And you keep running! You’ll catch what you’re after one day.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and she turned to find the guy’s eyes on her, wide with astonishment. Charlie just turned, started running, and headed back toward the path. He followed until he was beside her again.

  “You just gave that guy food,” he said, looking down at her like she had two heads.

  Charlie nodded. “Yep. I think he’s hungry.”

  “Yeah, but you almost passed out back there for lack of calories… and… and you had food.”

  The look of disbelief he wore made her smile. “I was saving that for Albert.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Albert who was opening the CLIF bar like a holy treasure. Charlie’s smile grew as her heart swelled.

  “Well, he sure looks like he’s enjoying it,” the guy muttered.

  They ran in silence, settling into an easy rhythm. When he spoke again, Charlie heard a fresh eagerness in his voice.

  “So, are you going to tell me your name now?”

  She looked at him askance. Was he flirting? “Should I?”

  This time he laughed. “Yes, you should. You definitely should.”

  Yes. He was flirting. And Charlie liked the way it felt. A lot.

  In the three weeks she’d lived in San Francisco, Charlie had gone out exactly once. With Darius. Dancing and margaritas had been a blast, but it hadn’t exactly put an end to the dry spell she’d endured for the last six months. Work kept her pretty busy, but that didn’t mean the heated look he gave her didn’t send tingles across her skin. She could make room in her life for a little tingling.

  “It’s Charlie.”

  “Charlie? As in short for Charlotte?” There were those dimples again. Lethal, they were. Tingle City. She couldn’t help but grin back, even though he spoke her old-fashioned, ill-fitting name.

  “Yeah, but I’ve never really liked Charlotte.” She strode over the curb and onto the sidewalk on Oak Street, half wondering where he would peel off. If he lived in her neighborhood, maybe they could run together again.

  He was silent for a moment, and she glanced up at him, taking in his amused
frown. “What?” she asked.

  He gave a little shake of his head. “Why don’t you like Charlotte?”

  Charlie felt her cheeks color.

  “Charlotte is the name of a girl who wears a Victorian collar and a bustle and dreams of one day having the right to vote.”

  His bark of laughter echoed down Oak Street, and Charlie found it contagious.

  “Wow… that’s some imagination,” he said, chuckling. “So, you don’t like old-fashioned names?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not just old-fashioned. Some old-fashioned names are gorgeous. Estelle… Olivia,” she said, enjoying the way the names danced on her tongue. But she was enjoying talking to him even more. “Charlotte is stuffy and prudish.”

  He frowned down at her, his eyes still lit with humor. “Hmm… then I probably shouldn’t tell you my name. I have both of my grandfathers to thank for it. Talk about stuffy and prudish.”

  Curiosity made her smile. They were getting closer to her street. She definitely wanted to find out his name before they had to part ways.

  “Go on. Try me.”

  He gave a little eye roll and a sigh of exasperation, and Charlie noticed he wasn’t even winded now.

  “Harold Houghton.”

  Charlie bit down on her bottom lip and tried to freeze her smile in place. No one should be named Harold, but especially not modern-day Vikings who looked like avenging angels. It was a sin against nature.

  “Um…” Charlie gulped, hoping the pity she felt wasn’t leaking out of her eyes.

  Watching her struggle, his smile grew, and those two adorable dimples winked at her.

  If anybody can pull off a name like Harold, it’s this guy.

  “Yep. Awful, huh? Harold Houghton Barlow,” he said, grinning. “But everyone calls me Hutch.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHARLIE’S LEGS LOCKED up, and she jerked to a stop. He halted beside her, concern in his eyes.

  “You okay? Feeling weak again?”

  She wasn’t okay. And she definitely felt weak again, but not from running.

  “Hutch Barlow?” she asked in horror. “As in wide-receiver-for-the-Oakland-Raiders Hutch Barlow?”

  It was a stupid question because the truth was so obvious now. Physically, he was a god among men. There couldn’t be two Hutch Barlows in the Bay area who looked like that.

  A weird expression — one close to disappointment — rippled over his face, and his green eyes narrowed a little. “Are you a fan?”

  It was the narrowing of his eyes that did it. Now she could picture him in his red Ohio State jersey. She must have seen that photo in Kurt’s file a dozen times. The football player’s blond hair was shorter in the shot, his eyes almost provoking the camera. He wore an arrogant smirk meant to gall the opposing team’s defense.

  The picture held nothing of the open, playful, flirtatious energy of the man standing in front of her.

  But that open, playful, flirtatious energy was vanishing before her eyes as he stared down at her, waiting for her to answer his questions.

  “A fan?” She gulped. She was no fan. Charlie could tolerate football, but she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the sport. Soccer was her spectator sport of choice. Because soccer was a runner’s game. “Um… no… but—”

  His frown sharpened, and his green eyes seemed to glint in the light of the streetlamps. “Is… is your boyfriend a fan?”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. Did an NFL wide receiver just ask — in a roundabout way — if she had a boyfriend?

  “N-no,” she stammered.

  Hutch Barlow’s left brow lifted in an authoritative arch. The corners of his mouth might have turned up just a fraction. “Is he more of baseball guy?”

  So, yeah, he was definitely asking.

  Charlie shook her head. “No baseball guy. No guy. Period.”

  As if it had all the time in the world, a smile that held both joy and heat slowly claimed every feature of his face. Lips. Dimples. Eyes. Even his perfect nose. Charlie watched the life of this smile unfold, and it was as though she could feel it spreading across her whole body.

  She swallowed and tried to fill her lungs.

  “So… if there’s no guy. Period. And you’re not a football fan…” he said, still smiling, the joy and heat making a little room for hunger. “How do you know who I am?”

  Even as his smile still held her in its power, Charlie tried to stave off a crushing disappointment. If she were honest with herself, the moment she’d glanced over her shoulder to see who dared to pass her, she had been struck. Not just by his beauty — though, who wouldn’t be? — but also by the look of challenge he’d given her, both playful and relentless. In that look, she’d seen his determination to claim what he wanted…

  And Charlie wanted to be claimed.

  But that could never happen with Hutch Barlow. He was a client. And like the responsible, eager-to-please, young public-relations assistant she was, Charlie Woodruff had read every word of Prestige Media Group’s employee handbook, and there was no ambiguity about staff and client relationships. They were expressly forbidden.

  “I…” she began, her throat as dry as chalk, “…I work for Prestige.”

  Hutch blinked. “Prestige?” He looked so confused, Charlie actually felt a flutter of hope that maybe there’d been some misunderstanding, and he wasn’t a client after all.

  “Prestige Media Group. I work for Kurt Vincent,” she said, emphasizing his name. “Your agent.”

  Recognition lit his eyes, and the smile returned. “Oh, cool… Wow… You really work for Kurt?” he asked, shaking his head in surprise. “What are the odds?”

  Yeah, what are the odds? Charlie thought. Her mouth tasted like sawdust. When was the last time a guy had looked at her like that? One who could match her stride? One whose real name was even more old-fashioned than her own? One who made her feel like reaching up, losing her fingers in the wild wheat wonder of his hair, and pulling him down to her kiss?

  Never.

  This evening stood out as a singular phenomenon — the most sexually charged run of her life — and if she wanted to keep her job, she would have to walk away from it.

  “Crazy, right?” She tried to smile, but she just couldn’t manage it.

  “I guess that’s it,” he said, staring down at her, his expression blank but his voice carrying a note of finality.

  Yep, that’s it, she thought. Disappointment sagged in her gut like a sack of gravel.

  “Yep. We were destined to meet,” Hutch said, nodding with certainty, a teasing look in his eyes. “Want to grab some dinner with me?”

  Charlie blinked a half-dozen times in the span of two seconds. “I-I can’t… I should be getting home. It’s dark now.”

  She moved to launch back into her stride when his hand encircled her wrist. He didn’t hold it tightly, but he stilled her. “Wait, I don’t mean right now. I mean after we’ve had a chance to get cleaned up,” he said, his look of hope twisting her insides into a knot. “I could come get you in like an hour.”

  He’s a nice guy, Charlie realized with sadness. A gorgeous guy who’d stopped running to take care of her. And now he was asking her out, and she had to say no.

  Charlie shook her head. “I’d love that, but… I’m not allowed to go out with you,” she said, wrinkling her nose and biting the corner of her lip. “Company policy.”

  Hutch’s eyes bugged. His focus went from her gaze, down to the lip between her teeth, back to her eyes again. “Wait… what?” he asked, frowning.

  She sighed. “You’re asking me out to dinner. Prestige doesn’t allow any of its employees to date clients.” Saying the words aloud only made the disappointment worse. The sky was completely dark now, the street lit with lamps and an ambitious full moon, and, even in shadow, Charlie found him incredibly attractive.

  He stood there for a moment before he raised a brow and eyed her with mischief. “Who said anything about a date? We’ve both been running for miles. I’m
hungry and you’re just this side of malnourished,” he said, raking his eyes up and down her body in a way she could almost feel. “We need to eat. What if we happened to turn up at the same restaurant at the same time? Surely, no one could object to us sharing a table, right?”

  Her smile had a will of its own, even though she regretted the words she’d have to say. “I’m flattered, really, but the policy’s pretty clear,” she said, hoping he heard the disappointment in her voice. “I just got this job. It’s one I’ve wanted for a whole year. I can’t take any chances.”

  Hutch watched her for a moment before pressing his lips together and nodding. “I get it.” He looked up at the street sign on the corner of Oak and Steiner just ahead of them. “Where do you live? Can I at least make sure you get home okay?”

  It was early, and she didn’t mind running home by herself at this time of night, but night had fallen, and if he was offering, she wasn’t about to turn him down. She lifted her hand and pointed to the right. “I’m four blocks that way.”

  He walked to the intersection and stared down Steiner before looking back at her. “Can we walk?”

  If they ran it, she’d be home in less than five minutes. Walking would take them more than ten. Did he want more time with her? She definitely wanted more time with him.

  “Sure.”

  “Good,” he said quietly. So they walked.

  They were silent for a moment, the evening breeze picking up, the air cooler now that the sun had left the sky. Charlie felt the hair on her arms stand up, and she suppressed a shiver.

  “So, what’s your last name, Charlie-not-Charlotte?” He walked beside her — just inches from her, and he set the pace. It was slow, barely a stroll.

  “Woodruff,” she answered, looking up to see him watching her. His look made her swallow.

  “And where are you from, Charlie Woodruff?”

  “I grew up in Goleta. Just outside Santa Barbara. My parents both teach at UCSB.”

  He smiled with approval. “You must be smart, growing up with two professors.”

  Charlie shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I can hold my own, but, yeah, education was important in our house.”

  “What do they teach?”