Calling It

by Jen Doyle

  She should stand up. Stand up and get as far away as was humanly possible. But instead she brought her eyes up to meet his. And when his hand cupped the back of her head, she let him guide her to him.

  “Or now,” he said softly as her bones melted away. “I really like kissing now.”

  Then his mouth was on hers and she nearly cried. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet—felt so right. His tongue found hers and her body took over, molding itself to him. Her hands went to his chest, fingers skimming over the surface of his T-shirt, her thumb seeking out his hard, flat nipple. When she flicked it, he went still—except for his head pulling back, breaking the kiss.

  Rather than pull the rest of himself away, a rumble of laughter moved through him. And then his hands were on her hips and she was suddenly being lifted through the air before being brought down hard against him. Her legs fell apart all on their own. Straddling him as he ground her hips into his, she almost came right there. A sob racked her body at the feel of him anchored against her.

  Oh, my freaking God. Her arms went around his neck.

  It wasn’t as though she’d never had sex. She’d had far too much of it as far as Christopher was concerned and an acceptable amount as far as she was.

  But...this. Oh, God, this.

  When Nate held her against him, tremors ran through her. When his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, the only thing keeping her from shooting straight up into the sky was his hands holding her down. And when he broke off the kiss and pulled away slightly, muttering, “Holy fucking shit,” and looking into her eyes in a way that made her think he’d been as taken by surprise as she was, well...

  If her thundering heart wasn’t about to explode, she would have been muttering right along with him. She hoped to God she was just overdue for a serious vibrator upgrade. Because if that wasn’t the case?

  Oh, God.

  When he gently ran his thumb across her lower lip—when he again pulled her close and traced his tongue around the curve of her lips—tears came to her eyes from sheer bliss. And before she could even recover enough to part her mouth, he dipped his head down to the curve of her neck and pushed her shirt aside so that he could put his lips directly to her skin.

  Even as her eyes fluttered closed, a part of her knew she was no different than anyone in the long line of women who had come before her, and, no doubt, every single one who would come after. And yet the only thing that saved her from stripping naked right there was the vague awareness of chimes ringing, the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  She pulled away abruptly. It was bad enough that she was the cliché—the very least she could do was not be freaking making out with Nate Hawkins at work.

  It seemed to amuse him. He was much less concerned about being caught with his pants down, possibly literally. Especially when it was Wash who appeared in the doorway less than a minute later, seeming neither fazed nor surprised to see them disentangling themselves from each other’s arms.

  Or, rather, to see Dorie disentangling. Nate clearly had no concern about how things appeared.

  Well, of course he didn’t. This probably happened to him all the time.

  With this whole damn stupid charade, however, she couldn’t even be angry at him. Or, at least, she couldn’t tell him why she might be.

  She resisted the urge to check whether all her clothes were still in place. “Wash. Hi. I, uh, thank you for all the help this morning.” She cringed at the babble coming out of her mouth. It was like a water fountain gurgling up in a rush and then spilling over. There was nothing she could do to stop it. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say anything before you left. I can’t tell you how much your help has meant. It’s beyond anything I ever—”

  Then Wash turned to her, his gaze finally leaving Nate’s, and the look in his eyes silenced her in a way that mere common sense couldn’t. Her face flushed.

  As though she hadn’t spoken, Wash turned back to Nate. “So are we going to this game or not?”

  Nate’s expression was an odd mix of anger and challenge. Without so much as glancing her way, he answered, “Going. I told Barb I would.”

  Flushing even more deeply, Dorie wanted to disappear. She had no idea who Barb was—maybe one of the sisters’ friends who he’d spent so much time kissing? But it was clear from the unspoken part of the conversation that Wash was almost daring Nate to break whatever promise he’d made to whoever the woman-of-the-moment was. That neither one of them even tried to gloss it over with an invitation, halfhearted as it would have been, hurt more than it should have.

  Wash gave a curt nod, then looked back at Dorie. Whatever camaraderie they’d built up this morning was entirely gone. “If there’s anything else you need this week just let me know. I’ll be happy to send someone by.”

  “Thanks,” Dorie mumbled, an odd feeling settling into the pit of her stomach as he left the room. It was bad enough that she was just a number on Nate’s list no matter how much he’d seemed to like that kiss. With Wash she’d been feeling like they might actually become friends.

  Then she realized what she was thinking and almost laughed. What a fool. The idea of being friends with Wash Fairfield, a legend in his own right, was as much of a joke as a relationship of any kind with Nate Hawkins. There must be something in the water; it was making her delusional.

  She even thought there might be some actual regret in Nate’s eyes as he took her hand. “Sorry. I do have to go.” Then he gave her that grin that almost made her want to forgive him. “I think I hate that not-breaking-promises thing as much as I like the kissing.”

  Hmph. She didn’t believe him one bit.

  He moved in closer, his hand going to the small of her back. Cupping her chin, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring her stiffness and lack of answering smile. “Can I see you tonight?”

  Now it was her turn to use the not-breaking-promises excuse. As much as it pained her to give up what could possibly be the best night of her life, she had more self-respect than that. Still, it took everything she had to lightly shrug him off and step back. “Sorry. Trivia night, remember? I promised Fitz.”

  Except, if anything, he seemed to see that as the next step in the game. “Right,” he answered, smiling. And then he was gone.

  A shiver ran down her back as the iceberg drew near. It was time. She had to tell him; she had no choice. She simply couldn’t take this anymore.

  It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later when, desperate to get rid of the phantom grazing of his lips, she was in the bathroom splashing water on her face, that she realized she hadn’t exactly taken a stand. He’d be at trivia night, too.

  Chapter Ten

  Oh, shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Nate got himself as far as the front hallway before he was able to stop and get a grip. Or, rather, run his hands over his face in hopes that he could get himself back to where getting a grip was in the realm of possibility. Back to that first night when she was just your run-of-the-mill woman who’d be happy to engage in some mutually satisfying together time and then move on. Or even your run-of-the-mill woman who’d be happy to engage in some mutually satisfying together time and then dig her heels in until she’d negotiated whatever her terms were for moving on. Because pre-Courtney, that’s how it tended to go.

  Except, if he was being honest, she hadn’t been run-of-the-mill since the moment she raised that bat.

  And now that he’d been able to touch her? Taste her? He was sure as hell getting past the robe that haunted his dreams. But even if he could just sit with her; talk with her. Laugh with her. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed with a woman he wasn’t related to.

  Nate pushed off the wall and forced himself to head outside rather than right back into Dorie’s arms.

  Not that she’d welcome him—he’d seen grown men
trying to steal home who weren’t moving as fast as she had to get away from him when Wash had come into the room. He’d played it like he hadn’t noticed, but damn that wall of ice had come down hard. He didn’t know what put it there—wasn’t entirely sure what he’d need to do to break it down—but hell if he wasn’t going to try. He had every intention of...

  Nate stopped short when it suddenly occurred to him that he was going to have to tell her who he was. He hadn’t fucking told her. She knew things about him that he’d never told anyone outside of his family and closest friends. Even Courtney didn’t know half of it.

  Fuck.

  He wanted to believe that she wouldn’t care, that she’d understand the person he’d been with her these past few days was one hundred percent him in everything but name.

  Except, well, she did know his name. She just didn’t—

  “On the floor of the library, Hawk?”

  Nate looked up to see Wash leaning against his truck.

  “Kind of ironic,” Wash was saying. “Have you ever even been in a library before this week?”

  Appreciating that Wash wasn’t pushing the cut-and-run thing, Nate just got into the truck.

  Unfortunately, as soon as they were on their way to the high school, Wash asked, “So what’s someone as smart as she is doing with you?”

  Nate laughed because that was the expected response. He even managed a wry, “You’re hilarious, man. You planning on taking that on the road?”

  And they kept up the lamest trash talk on the face of the earth all the way to the school, which made Nate irrationally happy, enough so to actually come out and admit, “I like her, Wash. A lot.” Too much, although Wash knew Nate far better than anyone else on the planet and was therefore already well aware.

  They were pulling into the parking lot when Wash spoke again. He attempted a grin but his expression was far too serious to pull it off. “I’ve been out of that game for a long time now, but I haven’t forgotten what it’s like. That whole ride...” His voice trailed off as he no doubt thought about the time he’d spent in Miami, then LA.

  Yeah. It wasn’t just living your life on the road; it was another dimension entirely. The parties, the women. The crazy shit that went down behind the velvet ropes and bright lights, things Wash knew better than anyone else from Nate’s life here since they’d been drafted out of college together. Different sports—Wash had gone the basketball route instead of baseball, and he’d only stayed in it for a few years. But he knew.

  “You think she can handle it?” Wash continued, bringing home the point that it wasn’t just who Nate was that was a problem—it was what he’d be asking her to sacrifice by getting involved with him. Which, incidentally, would be everything, since her life would no longer be her own once it came out that she was with him.

  Before Nate could even finish that thought, Wash added something that had never even crossed Nate’s mind, “Hell, you think she can handle Courtney?”

  Courtney. Nate had never even considered that.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, getting out of the truck and slamming the door shut. As much as he wanted to say that Courtney didn’t give a rat’s ass, he couldn’t. It didn’t matter that she’d been the one to end the relationship; she’d make Dorie’s life a living hell.

  “Fuck,” Nate said again, this time with a lot more conviction behind it.

  He wanted to say that Wash was exaggerating. Or that Dorie couldn’t care less about any of that. But, yeah, it was even worse than he’d been thinking before.

  So, I’m really into you. Crazy into you in a way I don’t totally understand.

  The timing sucks. I mean I’m kind of Public Enemy #1 at the moment—currently the media’s punching bag for a car accident that I can’t actually remember. It almost killed a single mom, and her son may never walk again. Plus it may have killed my career, but let’s not get into that. It caused my ex to lose her baby, a baby I thought was mine, but wasn’t because she’d been sleeping with one of my best friends. None of which actually matters since she’ll still be off-the-charts pissed if she ever finds out that I can’t stop thinking about you.

  That I’m thinking things I have no right to think about a woman I’ve known for all of two days.

  So, you know, drama and life-altering notions aside—wanna go out sometime?

  Nate wished he had his mask on so he could slam it down on the ground. It was better than jamming his fist into the concrete bench that Wash was now leaning against.

  Damn it.

  He was beyond grateful that Deacon and Pike appeared right then. With only the slightest hesitation, they came forward, smiles, fist bumps and hugs all around. And, easy as that, the walls fell away. For the first time in two months—no, two years—Nate felt his world begin to settle back into place around him. He headed in to the game feeling on top of the world—in a way that was beginning to feel solid again. Like he was truly finding his way home.

  But as they made their way to the coach’s office, Nate realized that something was pushing its way out of the depths of his consciousness—something he’d locked down and away with good reason.

  Not that he was pretending it didn’t exist. He hadn’t risen out of the rubble and raised himself to the top of his game by burying things in the sand. No. He’d done the same as with any other threat that had come his way over the past sixteen years: he’d neutralized it.

  Car accident did some damage to your knee? You sucked it up and did the PT.

  The haters saying it was the end of your career? You pushed your way past the doubts. Studied the hell out of your game—every team on your schedule, every player on the roster. You didn’t just visualize success, you fucking ensured it.

  And when a woman came along who was as smart and sharp as Dorie—a woman who didn’t say much about sports but who, thanks to her brothers, had lived and breathed it for most of her life...

  Who had a perfect batting stance and, no doubt, a hell of a swing?

  You did not under any circumstances allow yourself to wonder how in the fuck it was possible that she didn’t know your name.

  * * *

  As Dorie sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the reading room, she finally accepted that she wasn’t going to get anything done. Not after that kiss...

  She looked down at the book in her lap. She had no idea when she’d put it there or why. It wasn’t even about her being in over her head at this point. That was such a given it barely even mattered. She was just hoping to come out of this without being burned alive.

  As she got to her feet, the chimes rang. She’d just turned to face the door when Fitz came charging in. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she said, reaching out for Dorie’s hand and pulling her toward the hall.

  “Um...” Dorie stumbled a little, just barely managing to put the book down rather than throw it to the floor. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “I can’t ...” Dorie looked behind her. She couldn’t just leave. Could she?

  Well, she’d already sent Mr. and Mrs. Grimes home, and it was 4:30, but...

  Fitz practically stamped her foot. “Come on.”

  Fine. Fitz was practically her boss, after all. And a distraction would be welcome. Dorie hurried into her office to get her things, shut off all the lights and locked up, and then ran out to where Fitz was waiting out in front of the library, her car running. The second Dorie got in, Fitz pulled out. There was absolutely no traffic, which seemed odd—until they got about a mile away from the high school to find cars parked all along the road. For Inspiration, that was the equivalent of a ten-mile backup on the Southeast Expressway back home. There was definitely something strange going on.

  “What...?” Dorie asked.

  She didn’t have to be a Boston-born, impossible-parking e
xpert to know there’d be exactly zero spots closer to the school. Fitz drove straight up to the main doors and pulled her car up on the grass.

  “You’re going to get towed,” Dorie said.

  But Fitz just ignored her and said, “Let’s go.”

  The halls were as deserted as the roads were and Dorie was starting to get an uneasy zombie apocalypse-type dread. But there was a faint buzz of noise from somewhere down the hall. When Fitz pulled Dorie through a door in the hallway and up a set of stairs, the source of the noise became clear: they’d come out into the back row of seats, just below the rafters of the gymnasium.

  “A basketball game?” Not really Dorie’s thing. Sure, she’d been a high school basketball fan back when watching sixteen-year-old boys running up and down the court at least had some benefits. But now? Not so much.

  But she followed Fitz, winding down through the seats, working her way to... Wonderful. Jules. And another ridiculously gorgeous woman, who Dorie was hoping was Nate’s other sister.

  “Dorie, Ella,” Fitz said by way of introduction. “Ella, Dorie.”

  Nodding, Dorie was about to ask why they were here, when the buzzer went off and the crowd cheered. Apparently the home team had won. Puzzled, Dorie clapped along with everyone else.

  As the teams returned to their benches after shaking hands, a thirtysomething man in a police uniform came out to the center of the court. Microphone in hand, he said, “Hey, everyone. Thanks for being here today. How about another hand for the kids?” Once the clapping had died down, he continued, “For those of you who don’t know me, my name’s Tuck, and I’ve had the pleasure of working with Coach O’Reilly for a while now. They’re having a great season, no?”

  There was another round of applause, although this one a little less enthusiastic. At least Dorie wasn’t the only one with no clue.