Block and Tackle

by Elise Faber

  “That’s because we’re not going to see each other again.”

  “We are. We’re seeing each other on Friday.”

  She tsked. “That’s different. That was going to happen no matter what.”

  “Again, you’ve made my point for me. We were going to meet no matter what, and if that didn’t happen until Friday, I’d have just been trying to get your number a few days later.”

  “And I’d have just had to tell you no.” She spoke softly, not just so that her words wouldn’t carry in the open office, but so they wouldn’t carry a rejection she didn’t feel.

  Hutch was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, but, did you think about me today?” She heard the smile in his voice as clear as a birdsong, but she heard, too, the ache hidden beneath it. An ache that matched her own.

  “Of course, I thought about you today,” she said in a hushed voice. “You sent me a boxcar of flowers.”

  He chuckled again, low and smooth. “Nah, I mean before that.”

  Only about thirty times. “Yes,” she whispered, unable to lie to him.

  “Good, because last night — after I left — I turned around and walked back to your gate three times before I could pull away and make it stick.” The smile had left his voice. He was totally serious. “I’m not a stalker, Charlie. I’ve never been like this with a girl, so please don’t be scared—”

  “I’m not scared,” she insisted. And she wasn’t. A part of her was relieved. It would be easier if Hutch would walk away, but at least she wasn’t alone in how she felt.

  “Can I see you tonight?”

  Her breath left her. “No,” she said, surprised she could get the word out.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  “At least you’re laughing,” he muttered, chagrin there in the words.

  “What else would I do?”

  “You could hang up — not that I’m suggesting that,” he added quickly. “Don’t hang up.”

  “I wasn’t going to, but I do need to get back to work.”

  “Five more minutes.”

  She sighed. This was torture. How would she ever be able to get her head back on the press release after this? “Three.”

  “Okay. Three’s good. I’ll take three. Are you running tonight?”

  Charlie hesitated. If she said yes, would he show up in Golden Gate Park and tail her again?

  “I won’t follow you. I promise,” he said, reading her mind.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I run every day except Mondays.”

  “Rest day?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I usually go long on Sundays.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Training camp doesn’t start until late July, but I need to keep myself in shape until then. I’d love to go on a long run with you one Sunday.”

  Charlie forced herself to ignore the suggestion. “So, if camp doesn’t start until late July, what are you already doing here? And why San Fran? Why not Oakland?”

  “Have you been to Oakland?” Hutch asked.

  “No.”

  “Let’s just say San Francisco is worth the commute across the bay,” he said diplomatically. “And why now? I had to get out of Ohio. Ever since I signed with the team, folks in Peebles just wouldn’t lay off about it.” The heaviness in his voice told her there was more, and she found herself needing to hear it.

  “What do you mean?”

  He blew out a breath. “It’s like… I don’t know. I haven’t changed, but overnight, everyone I knew my whole life totally did.” An edge of shock lined his words.

  Charlie didn’t expect him to continue, but he did.

  “Girls I’d gone to high school with who weren’t the least bit interested in me back then suddenly wanted to go out… and that’s not the worst of it.”

  Charlie frowned. “What’s the worst of it?” she asked, her voice sounding soft in her own ears.

  The line went quiet. Hutch cleared his throat. “Not one, but two girls I was friends with — girls my buddies and I hung out with and goofed off with all through high school — made moves on me when I went home the weekend after the draft…” His voice trailed off, but not before Charlie heard the hurt and confusion.

  “Oh, wow…” Her pitiful words couldn’t touch the sense of betrayal he must have felt. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours, but Hutch Barlow struck her as the kind of person who’d surround himself with lifelong friends — who’d be a great friend. Someone who deserved better.

  “Yeah. That was in April. The morning after that night, I found a realtor online, and I started looking for a place,” he said, sounding resolved. “I moved a couple of weeks ago — right after graduation.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she offered, wanting to comfort him.

  “Yeah, so meeting a girl who doesn’t want to go out with me is actually kinda refreshing,” he teased, the playful note back in his voice.

  “Oh, I see,” she teased back. “You only want what you can’t have.”

  He laughed, protesting. “Hey, that’s not how it works. I just want someone who’s into me for me.”

  Charlie felt cornered. She couldn’t deny being into him, but she couldn’t encourage him either. She let the silence hang between them for a moment.

  “I think your three minutes are up,” she said gently.

  “That can’t be right,” Hutch said, pretending doubt. “Were you counting?”

  She had not been counting, but it had been a good three minutes. Maybe more. But his hesitation to let her go felt like a touch, one she that moved deep beneath her skin.

  “I need to go, Hutch,” she whispered, enjoying the pleasure of speaking his name. She might have heard him groan, a muffled and plaintive sound. He didn’t say goodbye.

  Neither did she.

  “Tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “I know you’re not going to give into me — not yet anyway — but throw me a bone. Name one thing you like about me.” Charlie had a flash of déjà vu. When she’d denied him permission to kiss her the night before, he’d asked to know more about her. Now, in the face of her denial, he was asking again. For the second time, she marveled at his confidence. He wasn’t sure she’d acquiesce, but he was willing to risk a rebuff to get closer to her.

  That hopeful confidence — which wasn’t tainted at all with the overpowering musk of bravado — was hard to resist.

  Charlie leaned forward to the exquisite roses that reached out for her and inhaled their perfume. “You’re very thoughtful,” she said on a sigh.

  “You think so?” If smiles could be audible, his was a full-scale orchestra playing “Ode to Joy.”

  “Yeah,” she said, grinning helplessly.

  “I can’t wait to see you Friday,” he whispered, and chills cascaded down her spine. The feeling threatened to drown her, so she forced her eyes on the computer screen in front of her and gave a nod of resolve.

  “I have to get back to work. Please don’t send anything else and please don’t call here—”

  “So you’ll give me your number?”

  “No,” she said firmly, hoping he couldn’t hear the smile playing concertos in her voice.

  “You’re no fun,” he muttered.

  She let a moment pass. She lifted her fingertips and cupped the rose blossom that dipped closest to her, feeling its silken petals. “Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome, Charlie.” His voice was a rich rumble she longed to nuzzle up against.

  “Goodbye, Hutch.”

  “Bye, Charlie. Have an amazing day.”

  She smiled. “I already am.”

  And then she made herself hang up. She held the phone to her ear and bit her lip until the ache in her chest eased enough for her to set down the receiver, take five deep, almost painful breaths, and then she got back to work.

  Hutch didn’t call back.

  And he didn’t send flowers or candy or balloons
to the office.

  The rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday were completely normal days. Too normal. Charlie half regretted telling Hutch not to call. The flowers had only grown more gorgeous with each day, opening to their full glory and attracting the attention of everyone in the office. Every time she looked at them, she felt a little stab of longing.

  On her runs, she’d found herself looking for his flying blond mane even though he said he wouldn’t seek her out. Every time she walked through her front gate, she pictured him turning back to it three times before he could will himself away. And when she thought of that, her knees would go weak.

  She was thinking about this as she climbed the stairs to her apartment Thursday night after her run, her legs already weak enough from the exertion. So she almost missed it. The folded sheet of paper fluttered down to her feet as she opened her apartment door, and she bent to retrieve it, already knowing what it meant.

  Before she opened the note, Charlie scanned the yard and craned her neck to look back at the street to see if she could spot him, knowing that if she did, she’d chase after him this time. But her yard and street held no sign of Hutch Barlow, so she unfolded the little yellow sheet that looked like it had been ripped from a memo pad. The friendly scrawl — not illegible, but far from neat — had her smiling immediately.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about you today. I’ll get to see you tomorrow, and still, here I am. If my guess is right, you’re running, and if I waited here, you’d come up these steps and find me. And maybe you wouldn’t be so happy about it. But Charlie, I can’t explain it. Something’s telling me I shouldn’t fight this. So, unless you say I have to leave you alone for good, I’m not going to fight this. Here’s my number. You can call me and tell me to piss off. Or call me and tell me to come over. (I really hope it’s the second one.)

  — Hutch

  P.S. Please don’t tell me to piss off.

  Charlie pressed her back into the door for support. His handwritten words were somehow more intimate, more urgent than flowers and phone calls. She stared at the number, willing herself not to memorize it and memorizing it anyway. If she called him, she’d never be able to tell him to stay away for good. But she needed him to stay away for good. If he did, maybe she’d stand a chance against her attraction to him.

  With a hole opening where her heart used to be, Charlie plugged his number into her phone before she typed out the text.

  Charlie: I’m sorry. I need you to leave me alone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE PARTY WAS in an hour. Charlie had left the office at four o’clock and headed straight for Pier 31. The venue — once a warehouse and now an upscale club — featured exposed brick and wood beams throughout, a massive dance floor, and a waterfront view.

  In the three hours she had until the start of the party, Charlie pointed florists, caterers, and musicians in all directions and helped the wait-staff dress each cafe table with an ivory table cloth, a small vase of flowers, and three tea candles.

  She managed to change and touch up her hair and makeup just before the first guests arrived, and even though her face was a little flushed from the race against time, Charlie had to admit that the results weren’t half bad. Her sapphire, one-shoulder dress brought out her eyes, and the sassy hemline and strappy nude heels made her legs look a mile long. Even rushing around in the misty San Francisco afternoon hadn’t ruined her hair. Her locks sprung from the curling iron and fell over her shoulders with rare obedience.

  So when Charlie finally emerged from the ladies’ room just a few minutes before seven, she carried as much confidence as she possibly could. And she was going to need every ounce of it to face Hutch Barlow without shattering into a million pieces.

  But, thankfully, he was not among the first of the guests to arrive. The party Prestige was throwing for its newest NFL player was anything but small. The whole Oakland Raiders team had been invited — players, managers, owners, the cheerleaders and all of their guests. Even without those who’d RSVP’d their regrets, the party was going to be huge. And as the guests started to arrive and Pier 31 filled, Charlie felt relief for once. The sheer scope of the event had stressed her out since her first day at Prestige, but now, it was a source of protection.

  Charlie had no doubt that Hutch would seek her out, but the crowd would give her needed cover. When he did eventually find her, she’d talk to him. Of course, she’d talk to him. But then she’d make her excuses and disappear among the swell.

  The 80s cover band was a local favorite, and guests bypassed the buffet tables to head to the dance floor or one of the three bar stations. Charlie made the rounds of each, making sure one bartender at each spot was sufficient. She skirted the dance floor, marveling at the professional football players — giants, all of them — jamming as the band played “Smooth Criminal.” The whole building should have rattled with each bounce, but it didn’t. She was wondering just how men that large could move with such effortless grace when she turned.

  And there he stood.

  For the span of three seconds, he stood alone, watching her, a mere ten feet away. Breathless and immobile, Charlie could only take him in. She’d somehow pictured him in a black suit. But Hutch was so much more confident than that. This was his night, after all. He was going to stand out.

  He stood before her in a suit of midnight blue. Single-breasted. Worsted wool. His open jacket pulled her eyes to the plane of his abs, the knifed lines of his hips and thighs. The pale blue shirt made his green eyes almost blaze. His blond hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, a striking contrast to the colors he wore.

  Hutch held her gaze for only a moment before turning to the guy next to him and answering some question she could not hear. His eyes only left hers when it would have been rude not to look at his friend, but other than the long stare, Charlie noted that he gave no indication that he knew her.

  Because he wasn’t supposed to know her.

  Charlie’s breath returned. He hadn’t confronted her. Relief and disappointment warred for dominance. She watched him turn away and follow his friend to the nearest bar.

  “So, is Prince Harry coming tonight?” Darius now stood beside her, and Charlie wondered how long he’d been there. Had he watched her eyes devour Hutch Barlow?

  She cleared her throat. “I-I told you I wasn’t going to see him again.” She faced Darius and took in his burgundy suit, beaming. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you. It’s pinot noir,” Darius said, caressing his lapel. “You look stunning, too. All eyes will be on us.”

  “Don’t count on it,” she murmured.

  “Now.” Ignoring her, Darius gave two sharp claps. “We must dance.”

  “But I’m working.”

  “Charlie, angel, right now your job is to work it on the dance floor.” At that moment, the band launched into “Super Freak,” and Darius grabbed her by the hand. “C’mon, show me what you got, girl.”

  “But… our boss is here,” Charlie protested, remembering the last time she’d danced with Darius. Two margaritas and all bets were off.

  “Just follow my lead, honey lamb.”

  And she did. Because of the party, Charlie, of course, had not been able to run that night. And with the stress of organizing a major event — one in honor of the man who was doing his best to drive her out of her mind — Charlie needed to move.

  Under Darius’s practiced hand, she did just that, twirling like a top until the hem of her short skirt flared. When he spun her out, she sailed like a yo-yo, rolling back into him. When he dipped her, she dissolved in hysterics, and for the first time in days, she felt relaxed. As the band mimicked Rick James singing, “She’s alright… She’s alright!” Charlie mirrored Darius’s steps, so they shimmied left then right, and that was when she felt his eyes on her.

  She glanced past Darius’s shoulder, and there he was. Standing just off the dance floor, a beer in hand, Hutch watched her with unbroken focus.

  “Pay attention, girl,” Dariu
s scolded as he reached for her hand and twirled her into his arms again as the song ended.

  Charlie stood back and fanned herself as Darius cheered. “Wanna go for another round?” he asked, already starting to move to the beat of “Conga.”

  “No, I’m parched,” she said, panting, but she was watching Hutch approach from the corner of her eye, and she had to get out of there. Without another word, Charlie turned and headed for the bar on the opposite side of the room, moving as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

  She got in line and faced forward, sensing at once when he closed in and stood behind her. Though he didn’t touch her, the heat from his body enveloped her own, and his scent called her name. Charlie’s heart beat an insistent staccato in her chest. She refused to turn. In truth, she couldn’t turn. She couldn’t make herself face him. Pretending that there was nothing between them seemed impossible.

  The line crept forward, and she felt him inch closer. Then she felt his breath on her shoulder.

  “You look amazing,” he whispered.

  She might have imagined the sound; it was so faint against the music. But the words brushed against her skin and stroked down her spine.

  “I told myself I’d leave you alone tonight…” He breathed. “…but then I saw you dancing.”

  Charlie pasted on a polite smile before pivoting on her heel. “Stop,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She turned back before she could succumb to his sorcerer’s gaze.

  He sighed. And in his sigh, she heard everything she felt. Frustration. Lust. Longing.

  Sadness.

  It’s going to be a long night, Charlie told herself, stepping forward again in line, knowing she’d have to walk the tightrope of drinking enough to get through the evening without getting sloppy. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to dull that ache.

  A roar went up from the dance floor, and people turned. Darius had found another dance partner, this one more daring than Charlie — probably a Raiders cheerleader — and he spun her, wearing her ankle over his shoulder.

  Before Charlie could turn away, her eyes had flickered to Hutch’s, and she saw his mouth fall open to speak. She raked her eyes back to the bar.