by Jen Doyle
Sure enough, he chuckled and said, “Can’t say I mind seeing you like that.” As he got closer, though, his voice turned to concern. “Dorie, Jesus—are you trying to get hurt?”
It wasn’t until he was pushing himself between her and the now-dangerously wobbly bookcase so that she could get herself out from underneath it that she realized she’d gotten herself in a little bit over her head. She made her way around the piles of books on the floor and then watched as he carefully repositioned the bookcase against the wall. “It wasn’t that bad.” At least it hadn’t seemed to be when she’d gotten herself started.
He wasn’t listening, though. Instead he was looking around the room. “Did it maybe occur to you that you shouldn’t be dealing with this alone?”
“I’m sorry,” Dorie snapped. “I could have sworn I left my brothers back home.” The room looked much worse than it actually was. With the exception of this back area, actually, everything was organized and packed away. But the toppled shelves were pretty bad. And the stacks of still-soggy books were definitely taking on an unpleasant smell. Still... “I can manage the cleanup from a snowstorm.”
“Did a tree come through?” he asked, walking past her to the so-spanking-new window it still had stickers on it.
It gave her the chance to look at him, here in the light. It was hard not to. She knew his stats—hopefully she’d never have to admit that she hadn’t needed to look them up. But although the numbers told how long and lean he was, they didn’t do that body justice. Actually, she wasn’t sure anything other than a private showing could do that body justice. The only thing that came to mind was the Vanity Fair photo from a few years before—he was sitting in a dugout, no shirt, but the bottom half of his uniform was still on. The pinstripes emphasized the muscles in his legs, stretched out in front of him and practically begging a woman to come and straddle him.
Like he’d need to ask.
One arm rested along the back of the bench beside him, a big and obviously strong hand curled around a baseball; the other arm was relaxed at his side, his wrist resting on his thigh, catcher’s mitt positioned directly over what she suspected to be a very fine endowment. He wore his catcher’s helmet, mask flipped up, his eyes sparkling with laughter. Though not actually smiling, his lips curved just enough to extend an invitation.
“Dorie?” he asked, and she had to deliberately remind herself that it wasn’t her place to run her hands down that gorgeous chest of his, maybe rest her cheek against his abs as she took a quick nip at his skin. Still, a sound escaped from the back of her throat. And she was pretty sure she’d just licked her lips.
“Dorie...”
Her gaze flew up at the sound of her name being torn from his throat all needy and raw. She took a shaky step back as she saw the intent and desire in his eyes; it took everything she had not to retreat farther as he came closer. She tilted her head up just as he bent his down and...
“Nathan! There you are.”
Rather than pull back as his aunt came into the room—as Dorie instinctively did—Nate just watched as her whole world tilted. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked past her and greeted his aunt and uncle.
It took Dorie a few seconds to catch her breath again, seconds during which she had to fully concentrate on keeping herself from crumpling into a boneless heap.
Holy. Hell.
She made herself turn around, plastering a smile on her face in expectation of facing Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. But instead, the gaze she met was Fitz’s. It wasn’t a happy one. And that was nothing compared to the icy daggers being sent Dorie’s way from the woman standing next to Fitz.
The woman was, like Nate, cover-model gorgeous. Her long, caramel-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was tall and thin, yet curvy in the right places. And, God, how Dorie was hoping this was one of Nate’s sisters.
“Jules,” Nate said, his voice full of both challenge and trepidation as his hands fell to his sides. “What are you doing here?”
“Nate,” she answered, the ice transferring from her eyes to her voice as she turned to look at him. There was a flash of emotion—an aching sadness gone so quickly Dorie may have imagined it—before Jules folded her arms across her chest. “I was afraid that if I waited for you to come find me I’d be waiting another two years.”
With a brief glance at Dorie, Nate stepped forward. “Missed you, sis,” he murmured. “You come here to yell at me, or to tell me you missed me, too?”
From inside his embrace, Jules pulled her arm back, bringing it forward in a quick and very unladylike punch. Then she threw her arms around him and gave a huge hug. “Of course I missed you. Although there sure have been a lot of things to yell about lately.”
Visibly tensing, he pulled away and said, “Maybe we don’t need to go into them here.”
She glared at him but didn’t push, saying instead, “So do I get to see you at some point today, or do you have other plans?”
Trying to ignore her disappointment, Dorie almost missed the look he gave her—as though he was asking her permission. It surprised her enough that she turned to see if there was someone else standing behind her.
There wasn’t.
“I, uh... No,” he said. “Not after I’m done helping here.”
“And that would be when?” Jules asked, her question directed to Mrs. Grimes.
Who, despite being her Aunt Laura as well, presumably, just smiled. In an absentminded kind of way, the older woman gestured at the mess. “No earlier than dinnertime, I’m sure. But Lucinda is in charge, so it’s really up to her.”
For once Dorie didn’t bother to make the correction. “An hour, maybe? I can manage it from there.”
Nate gave an irritatingly patronizing smile. “No, you can’t.”
Seriously? “Yes, I can.”
Before Nate had a chance to reply, Fitz spoke, albeit reluctantly. “I have to say, I agree with Nate. I had no idea it was this bad back here. You really do need some help—more than just Nate, I think.” She reached into her bag and took out her phone, then put her hand on Jules’s arm and began to lead her out. “What do you say, Jules? Can we count on you to handle lunch?”
With the kind of aggrieved sigh Dorie had used on her own brothers more than once, Jules just nodded. Taking out her phone, she gave Nate a heated yet also forgiving glare. “It’s going on your tab,” she said as she left the room.
That clearly didn’t bother him at all. In fact, it only made him smile.
After Jules left—followed shortly by Fitz and Mr. and Mrs. Grimes—Dorie found herself facing Nate again. And as any decent person should do, she said, “You should go be with your sister, Nate. Not here.”
As his gaze went to the doorway everyone else had disappeared through, he murmured, “Yeah. Probably.”
And the walls came crashing down around her.
She recognized that look in his eyes because she’d felt it deeply for years. It was longing, plain and simple. But the urge she’d just felt to comfort him was truly terrifying. It had taken everything she had to drag herself away from the safety and comfort of home in order to get herself here. She could not get sucked into his drama, no matter who he was. She just couldn’t.
And yet when he looked up and grinned, all traces of turmoil gone as he said, “But I’d rather be with you. I like it a lot better when you yell at me.”
Oh, damn. She stared up into his eyes. “What would she want to yell at you about?” she asked, descending into a rabbit hole of trouble.
There was a long pause, which didn’t surprise her; and then an answer, which did. Quietly, he said, “She doesn’t like the way I live my life.”
“Do you?” she asked as the air rushed out of her lungs. She didn’t want to like him this much. Didn’t want to see the man behind the superstar, the funny, not-afraid-of-a-kit
chen-loves-his-family-even-though-they-obviously-drive-him-crazy man. “Like the way you live your life?” she added even as his eyes narrowed.
He straightened up further, and she was suddenly reminded that he was a six-foot-tall hunk of muscle who regularly had other six-foot-tall hunks of muscle running with all of their might straight at him. It was quite a sight—in an awesome, breathtaking way that had nothing to do with how beautiful he was. And she knew that the smart thing would be to retreat. Quickly.
But she stood her ground.
“Do you?” she asked again, almost a whisper.
He stared at her for a minute and she was afraid she would break when he took a strand of her hair. His eyes dropped as he watched it pass through his fingers.
“You just call it like it is,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”
She wasn’t generally taken in by a pretty face. They were a dime a dozen, as far as she was concerned. Good for a fun night or two, but not really worth much beyond that. But put that pretty face on a guy who didn’t shy away from her directness—who actually seemed to appreciate it? Bam, all her lady parts were ready to go.
She had to swallow over the lump in her throat when he let his hand fall away and said, “No. Not so much these days.”
“Is there anything I can do?” she finally managed. Because, yes. She could offer sex. She was in. Her goddamn conscience could go right on out the newly repaired window.
After what seemed like forever, all the tension in his body evaporated—just like that—and he gave his easy smile. “Just keep cooking for me and I’ll be happy.” He reached down for an empty box, went over to the shelf he’d rescued her from and started packing books away.
Well, okay, then.
It took a few minutes for Dorie to catch her breath. Then she forced herself to turn back to her own books. “I only cooked for you once. And that doesn’t count, because it wasn’t really for you. It was just what I had in the freezer.”
“You made me cupcakes last night,” he corrected.
“I made us cupcakes.” She grinned. “You were the one who cooked.”
“Huh,” he said. “You’re right. So I guess now it’s your turn. Too bad I already have plans for tonight. So what are you doing tomorrow?”
Wait, like an actual date? With all these crazy emotions and strange feelings swirling around them? It was one thing to hang out. To banter and tease. To strip naked and do his bidding. “Uh... Um...”
She wanted sex with her imaginary boyfriend come to life, with the gorgeous fantasyland superstar baseball player. She did not—could not—allow herself to think beyond that. Not when the true-to-life man was so much more than she’d ever dreamed—so much more that she could see herself losing focus. Getting caught up and taking her eyes off her own goals. And if Courtney Knight, billionaire trust fund baby, beautiful muse for, at last count, three musicians and one painter, and brilliant morning news anchorwoman, was now primarily known as Nate Hawkins’s Ex-Fiancée, well, Dorie Donelli did not stand a chance. It was so against her New Life directive that it wasn’t even funny. “I, um...”
Saving her from making what was sure to be a pathetic excuse, Fitz’s voice rang out from behind her. “Tomorrow’s trivia night. Nate—the guys are already planning on you being there.”
Oh, thank God.
“Really,” Nate said. It was a statement more than a question.
“Yep,” Fitz answered, clearly choosing not to acknowledge the suspicion in his voice. Ignoring it entirely, in fact, and turning to Dorie. “I’ve called in the cavalry. We’ll have this place cleaned out in no time. Nate—can you help Aunt Laura and Uncle A with the boxes? We’re gonna need a bunch more made up.”
Nate looked from Fitz to Dorie, then to Fitz again, not at all happy about being so obviously dismissed. He didn’t question her, though. With one final glance at Dorie, he left the room.
Waiting until he was safely out of hearing distance, Fitz whirled around and looked at Dorie.
“What?” Dorie asked as Fitz remained silent.
Fitz hesitated for another minute before saying, “That was interesting,” and coming farther into the room. “He seems, I don’t know, happy.” She was clearly surprised as she stared thoughtfully at Dorie. Then she briskly said, “You should come to trivia night. Join us on the ladies’ team.”
Dorie’s eyes bugged out. Really? “So now you want to pimp me out to make him happy?” Not exactly contradictory to Dorie’s own ideas, but still...
That didn’t seem to offend Fitz at all. She just ignored Dorie’s words as she give a little bit of a shrug.
Dorie shook her head. “No.” No, no, no, no. She was not doing this.
Fitz changed the subject by saying, “So Wash is coming by with a couple of the guys from the farm.”
Oh. Oh, lord. This was not helping. Wash Fairfield? This was getting even crazier. C-R-A-Z-Y. “Oh, God.”
Plus...windows aside, Dorie did have a conscience, especially if there was more hanging out to be done. But how could she tell Nate the truth when Wash Fairfield was standing there next to him? She resisted the sudden urge to put her head between her knees.
“Boxes,” she said to herself, nearly forgetting the other woman until Fitz looked up and said, “Huh?”
“Boxes,” Dorie repeated, this time with assurance since avoidance was absolutely the way to get through this day. “And paint.” Shit. “You do have Home Depot here in Iowa, right?”
Ignoring the fact that Fitz was clearly amused by all this, Dorie headed toward her office with a quickly jabbed finger point at Fitz. “You’re not leaving me alone here. You do realize that, right?”
Fitz laughed and shook her head again. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Which was a damn good thing. Because Dorie had no intention of making a fool of herself in front of Nate Hawkins, Wash Fairfield and whoever else they could drag up. But someone was going to need to remind her to keep breathing.
Chapter Nine
Nate watched the sun come up through his mother’s kitchen window. He’d let himself get more and more caught up in “the life,” as Wash used to call it, and then he’d allowed Courtney to become an excuse for not coming home. Being here in his mom’s house, spending time with Fitz and Wash—even Jules—was reminding him that he actually loved it here. That it nourished him. Breathed life into what had been turning into a brittle shell. The only problem right now was that the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll.
Sleepless nights one and two had been due to Dorie, so he didn’t totally mind. Number three was a little more complicated, thanks to his dinner at Jules’s. That she and her husband weren’t doing well had been plain as day. He hated seeing his sister unhappy, but since he’d grown up with his brother-in-law and never been a big fan, he actually thought she’d be better off without the guy.
But it had brought Nate right back to those last few months with Courtney. The barely concealed tension, the lack of any warmth... The general sense that something was about to blow—and not really caring enough to fix it. It had also exposed nearly every raw nerve he’d been dealing with for years, starting with his own parents’ broken marriage thanks to his father’s drinking and infidelities.
Maybe this irrational attraction to Dorie was more about what he’d never really had as opposed to what he wanted from her.
Or, hell, maybe it was just a simple rebound thing. That was the most likely explanation. Whatever it was, he’d made every attempt to resist it last night by deliberately not giving in to the temptation to go by her place again last night and instead heading directly back to his mom’s.
After tossing and turning all night, when it was finally light enough to stop pretending he was asleep, he’d opened his eyes and been more than a little unsettled at how much he’d missed seeing her. Especiall
y since she’d spent most of yesterday afternoon running errands with Fitz—an excuse, he was pretty sure, to avoid him after whatever it was that had happened between them in the morning.
Putting that out of his head, he took out his phone. There were nearly a dozen emails, the most urgent of which, of course, was from Pete about management. They wanted to “discuss NateGate.” They weren’t happy that it hadn’t gone away—as if he was over the moon about it. But there was good news, too. Pete’s contact at the police department said they’d be releasing a statement today that would officially clear Nate of all charges. To be honest, that was more of a relief than he’d like to admit. He hadn’t been drunk—he knew that without question—and he’d wanted to believe he hadn’t been at fault. But he had almost no memory of the accident itself, so knowing for sure that he hadn’t caused it was a huge weight off his chest.
Except now Alexis, his publicist, wanted to put out a statement ASAP and Mark, his agent, was already lining up new endorsements for a star reborn, none of which he wanted to deal with in any way.
Nate sent a note to Pete that if the GM really wanted to meet with him, he’d be available Sunday morning at ten. Sure, it was a diva move, but he was pissed off and he wanted to make them work for it. Yeah, he got how important it was for a brand-new team to start off clean, but he had absolutely zero control over this situation and wasn’t sure what they expected him to do about it. And, honestly, he’d known the people involved for a long time—it would have been nice if they’d been a little more supportive, even if only behind the scenes.
He threw his phone on the table and tried to concentrate on the beauty of the sunrise again, but to no avail. After an hour’s run that only had him doing more useless thinking, he jumped in the shower and then got himself the hell out of there.
Half an hour later he was on Main Street. Telling himself that he was just there to check up on Jules, he headed to her café. She looked up when the door opened, her smile an indication that they were on their way back to being okay.
