by Jamie Wesley
She needed to play it cool. Cool? Yeah, right. She was burning hotter than her favorite jalapeño poppers. Totally unacceptable. Caitlin smoothed a trembling hand across her stomach. “I think it’s time to go home.”
The fire in his eyes sparked brighter. “Good idea.”
He’d misunderstood her, but she didn’t correct him. Not when she now knew how good it felt to have his body pressed against hers. Not when she could easily imagine how good the contact would feel minus clothes. So easily.
She stilled when his hand brushed her cheek, the gentle touch sending another shiver through her. Her eyes flew to his. Was he going to kiss her again?
“The car’s here,” he said simply.
Other than the directions she gave him, they didn’t speak on the way to her place. What was there to say? She knew what he wanted. She knew what she wanted. She didn’t know if she’d give in to her baser instincts. The last time she’d done something so reckless, it had cost her dearly. But isn’t nine years a long time to punish yourself? a seductive inner voice whispered. Shouldn’t she try to grab some fun with the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on when she had the chance? It didn’t have to mean anything.
“What do we do now?” he asked outside her apartment. Resting his hand against the door, he crowded in. Damn, he smelled good. Looked even better. Kissed even better than that. All her favorite sins wrapped in one glorious package.
What did they do now? There was only one acceptable answer. Heady desire thrumming through her veins, Caitlin rose on her toes and whispered in his ear. “We go inside and finish what we started.”
Chirp, chirp!
Caitlin shot up straight in her bed, slapping a hand over her pounding heart. Unfortunately, her heart was no longer racing because of the best, steamiest dream she’d had in months. Hell, years.
Chirp, chirp!
She glared at the phone on her nightstand. A few months ago, she’d thought it would be funny to make singing birds her alarm clock ringtone. But if the birds didn’t stop soon, she was going to reach inside the phone and wring their nonexistent necks. She silenced the phone mid-chirp, then flopped back on the bed.
Why was her subconscious betraying her by conjuring up something that hadn’t happened? Other than cajoling her to take his phone number in case she changed her mind about helping him out for a longer period of time—“Hey, you never know,” he’d said—Brady had been the perfect gentleman last night, walking her to her door and leaving her there with no propositions or kissing or touching. And she was okay with that. Ecstatic. Besides, it wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again. Which was the way she wanted it to be. He was a complication she did not need. So her subconscious could suck it. She sat up again and after a decisive nod, got out of the bed.
An hour and a half later, she sat in her office at WTLK, where she worked as a radio show producer, Brady the last thing on her mind. She stabbed at the button to disconnect the conference call and made a face at Noelle.
“What are we going to do?” Noelle asked. “Ugh. I can’t believe he dropped out.”
“It wasn’t good for his brand. Yeah, okay.” She shook her head in annoyance. Noelle’s radio talk show, Noelle Knows, was about to go into syndication, and Caitlin had locked down the perfect guest, Peter Carey, for the launch of the show. Or so she’d thought until five minutes ago when she’d received a phone call from his manager.
Noelle rolled her eyes. “He’s a celebrity chef. How was doing the show going to harm him?”
“Radio is beneath him, didn’t you hear? Never mind that people, you know the same people who go to his restaurants and spend money, listen to the radio. Dumbo.” Caitlin did not like having her plans thwarted. She’d done a lot of research, narrowing down the candidate pool and then settling on Chef Boy. Obviously a mistake. There wasn’t much time to find a replacement, but she would. She waved her hand. “Forget about him. I’ll look through my contacts again. I’ll find somebody. Somebody better.”
“I’ll look, too,” Noelle said.
“Okay, but it’s my job to procure talent, and I will.” Going into syndication was the biggest professional challenge of her career, and she wanted to conquer it more than she’d wanted anything else in a long while. This was her chance to prove, once and for all, that she’d finally left old mistakes behind.
“I know you will, too, but remember, we’re in this together.” Noelle’s lips pressed together in worry.
Frankly, Caitlin was worried, too. This close to launch date… This was her fault. She should’ve had a backup plan in place. It was part of a producer’s job—anticipating all the curveballs thrown her way and hitting them out of the park. But she’d figure it out. She always did. “I’ve got this, and before you drive yourself crazy thinking about this minor setback, let’s talk about something else.”
Noelle’s anxious expression didn’t abate. “Like what?”
A logical question, except she hadn’t gotten that far yet. “Umm, got any juicy gossip to share?”
To Caitlin’s surprise, a sly look spread across Noelle’s face. “As a matter of fact I do. Very juicy.” She hesitated. “You might think otherwise.”
“Why?” Caitlin asked, studying her friend.
Noelle leaned forward. “I suggest you go to the society page on the Dallas Times website, but while you do that, I’ll tell you what you’ll find. Something about Brady Hudson having a new lady friend and a photo of someone who looked remarkably like you kissing the daylights out of him.”
“What?” Caitlin’s fingers flew across the keyboard. When the website loaded, she stared at the screen in horror. “Oh God.”
The kiss she’d initiated in order to convince Elise to back off had been captured for posterity. Their mouths were fused together. Brady’s hands possessively cupped her butt, while her body was plastered against his. She clutched his shoulders like he was her anchor in the storm of lust. The most amazing kiss of her life.
“So you have a boyfriend,” Noelle said, interrupting her trip down sensual memory lane. “Not that I heard that from you, of course, but I’m sure that’s asking too much. After all, who tells their best friend they have a new boy toy? That went out with the Stone Ages.”
Caitlin laughed, a welcome temporary distraction from the mortification sweeping through her body. She was thankful every day that she and Noelle had grown as close as sisters over the past year and a half while working on the show together. “I detect some sarcasm.”
“Sarcasm yes, hurt no. Okay, I’ll admit after the shock came the hurt for a second. But only a second. Wanna know why? Because my common sense returned. There is no way you’d be getting down and dirty with him without telling your best friend. I mean look at him.”
“Hey! You have your own man.”
A besotted smile spread across Noelle’s face. “I do, and what a man he is. Tate is everything I could want and more.” She held up a hand. “Be that as it may, that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another fine example of the male species.”
“Hmmph.” Caitlin returned her gaze to the computer. Not her first choice to have the kiss spread across the blogosphere. Or her second or third. Still, no need to panic. She hoped. People, even famous people like Brady, kissed all the time, and really, no one cared about her. And they hadn’t used her last name. The article was mostly about Brady and how he hadn’t wasted any time becoming familiar with Dallas women. She was only a placeholder, barely acknowledged, while they talked about him. Good. Maybe the story wouldn’t hit the national gossip sites. Maybe. That would be her own personal nightmare.
Oh God. Blood froze in her veins. What if her mother found out? Caitlin drew in a breath. No, her mother wasn’t interested in celebrity news, so hopefully she wouldn’t see the story. Hopefully.
“We’ve gotten off topic,” Noelle said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, so I can feel superior in my deductive reasoning skills?” She fixed her I’m-a-psychologist-and-you-can-tell-me-
anything look on Caitlin.
Caitlin sighed. Not that she hadn’t planned on telling Noelle the truth, she just hadn’t expected the news to travel so fast and wide. She stood and circled the desk to sit next to her friend. After glancing at the door to make sure it was 100 percent closed, she said, “Where do I start?”
“The beginning is usually a good place.”
“Thank you, smart-ass.”
Noelle preened. “I try.”
Caitlin chuckled, then straightened her shoulders. “Here’s the deal. You’re right. Brady and I had never met until last night.”
Her friend leaned toward her, her gray eyes gleaming. “What happened last night?”
Caitlin hesitated. She couldn’t tell Noelle the real reason she’d gone to the Stampede event—to meet the biological father who’d left her mother and moved on to incredible success while her mom had been left to raise two kids on her own. Her BFF was a therapist and would start talking about healing. She didn’t need to heal. She needed revenge. “I was on my way to the Stampede charity event when my car broke down.”
Noelle’s eyebrows arched. “You mean the car you should’ve had looked at six months ago?”
She sighed. “Yes.” She continued the story, telling Noelle all about the evening, from Brady stopping to assist her to him asking her to help him fend off the team owner’s daughter. “I agreed to the ruse since he’d helped me out.”
“And y’all ended up engaging in a little exhibitionism.”
“You know you can get out of my office at any time, right?”
Noelle snickered. “Sorry. Please continue.”
“Anyway, she wasn’t put off by my presence. I thought if she saw us kissing, she’d get the message. I didn’t realize someone was out there playing paparazzi.”
“So you aren’t getting down and dirty with him?”
Caitlin laughed at the genuinely disappointed look on her best friend’s face. “No, I just did him a favor. There will be no more kissing. If anyone asks, he can say we broke up or something.”
“Well, that’s no fun.” Noelle peeked at her watch. “I guess gossip time is over. Back to the real world, i.e. going over my notes for the show.”
After Noelle left, Caitlin returned to her desk to finish her own preparations. When she moved the mouse to wake up her computer, her eyes fell on the Dallas Times site again. She blinked. Below the story about her and Brady, there was another about the Stampede’s head coach. Her father. Before she could think about it, she clicked the link, which led to a video that had aired on the local news.
“My wife and kids mean the world to me,” Mack said. “I wouldn’t be the man I am today or have accomplished all that I have without them.” The camera shot widened to show Mack, his wife, and two kids posing for the perfect family portrait.
Fury tightened Caitlin’s skin as memories swamped her. Her mother struggling to raise two small kids by herself. Struggling to make something of her own life. Doing so. She’d never complained, but Caitlin had heard her worrying about money and how she would juggle everything more than once over the years.
Her hand balled into a tight fist. Why had she lost her nerve last night? Brady or no Brady, she should have laid into the rat bastard. He deserved the whole speech she’d planned—right in front of all the journalists and cameras there to cover the event.
Her office phone rang. Her eyes still on the shot of Mack and his family, she picked it up. “Hello,” she said absently.
“Caitlin Monroe?”
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Zach Brantley.”
Caitlin dropped her head into her hand. Could her day get any worse?
Zach Brantley fancied himself as Dallas’ own Harvey Levin, TMZ’s founder. His website, zachsfacts.com, reported all the latest gossip about Dallas celebrities and made the Dallas Times society page look like child’s play.
“How can I help you, Zach?” Her tone was as dry as a bone.
Not that Zach seemed to notice or care. His voice came out bright and chipper. “Word on the street is that you were running around last night telling everyone you were Brady Hudson’s girlfriend. If I’d known that, I would have attended. Usually, those events are so boring. But not that photo! Hot stuff. Of course, those rank amateurs didn’t catch your full name, but I am a pro and know everyone there is to know in Dallas, so I recognized you right off. Do you have a response?”
She made a murmuring sound, neither confirming nor denying his assertion. She would not panic.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you don’t want me to publish my version of events.”
She rolled her eyes at the phone before bringing it back to her ear. “Give me a break. You’re going to publish it whether I comment or not.” Much to her chagrin.
“True, but the story would be so much better if you gave me a quote.”
Her gaze again landed on her computer, where Mack stared back at her with his perfect smile. All those times when she’d wanted braces, wanted to go to a summer camp that cost a little too much, but had never had the courage to ask for them, flashed through her mind. Her mom somehow knowing anyway and finding a way. She’d known her mother was amazing, but after finding that letter in her mom’s closet last weekend when she’d been gathering clothes to donate to Goodwill, amazing seemed like such an inadequate word. An idea buzzed in her head. “Go ahead and publish your story if you want, but I have a much juicier one. If you’re interested.”
“You know I am,” Zach replied, his giddiness practically reaching through the phone.
“I’ll write an exclusive story for your site.” She’d failed to get the retribution her mother deserved at casino night. She wouldn’t fail again. To bring an asshole who’d conned everyone down—it would be glorious. And so well-deserved. And Mack and his misdeeds would be the focus, not her.
“Ooh, what about?”
“I can’t tell you yet.” Not till she’d gained some more info on dear old Dad to make the story especially explosive. To learn firsthand what a jerk he was. To get him to admit to what he’d done. Like abandoning his pregnant girlfriend with a stupid letter when he was about to turn pro because he didn’t want any “distractions.” Thinking a check for $5,000 would be enough to justify his actions. Never once mentioning that the kids he acknowledged weren’t his firstborn. And she knew the perfect way to make that happen.
The shot clock let out a strident honk. The screeching of sneakers and the bouncing of basketballs came to an abrupt halt. Practice was over. Thank God.
His chest heaving, Brady bent at the waist, grabbed the bottom of his shorts, and sucked in desperately needed air. He’d pushed himself hard today. His teammates, too. Losing wasn’t acceptable. Never would be. They would win their game tonight. They’d worked hard today. Harder than they usually did during a game-day, walk-through practice, but he was okay with it. Last night had been a much-needed reprieve. But it was time to get back to the grind. To remember why they were all there. To come together to win a championship.
You played hero ball.
The accusation played through his mind for the millionth time since Caitlin, all five-two of her, had offered her opinion. Is that what he’d done? He trusted himself above all others. He’d seen a sliver of a path to the basket and taken it. Until the referee blew the whistle and assessed him a foul. Bullshit.
He was Brady Hudson.
It sounded conceited, and, okay, yes it was conceited, but it was also the truth. Everybody knew there was a star system in the NBA and the best players got favorable calls. It had been a close play, and he should’ve been given the benefit of the doubt.
That’s not how the referee saw it. You had a guy open in the corner.
More unsolicited wisdom from his outspoken pretend girlfriend. Brady sighed. Was she right? He’d told himself he was helping his team, doing what it took to win, but had he let his ego get in the way of a win?
A whistle blew, cutting through the endless lo
op of his going-nowhere thoughts. At least practice had been closed to the media. He didn’t want to answer any more questions about the game or his less-than-enthusiastic postgame comments that had ended up as the lead story on SportsCenter, the anchors shaking their heads at his bad attitude, wondering if his stint in Dallas would be over before it started.
The players came together in groups of two or three. Mack handed his ever-present clipboard to Frank, one of the assistant coaches, and clapped his hands together. “Good practice. I liked the hustle I saw today. Our zone defense needs some work, but it’s getting there.” He swept his all-seeing gaze down the line, stopping to rest on each player for a second—more than a few seconds on Brady. Was Coach going to mention the last play of the game? Brady met his eyes directly. He wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t be afraid.
His teammates were watching.
Mack continued down the line, and then nodded as though satisfied with what he saw in his players’ faces. “That’s it for now. See you tonight.”
Brady joined his teammates trudging off the court toward the locker room.
“Hudson.” Coach.
Brady stopped and let the others pass, ignoring their curious looks. Especially the ones filled with barely concealed glee.
When the double doors slammed behind the players, assistant coaches, and trainers, Brady grabbed a towel from a rack at the edge of the court and wiped the sweat from his brow. “What’s up?”
Coach braced his legs apart and crossed his arms across a wide chest. He’d retired from the league fifteen years ago, but he still had the build of an active player. A white polo with the team’s logo on the right breast tucked into black warmup pants attested to that. “I gave you time to cool off and let you have fun last night.”
Brady’s grip on the towel tightened. “But?”
“About that play last game.”
Brady had expected to be summoned into Mack’s office immediately after the game, once the media had filed out of the locker room. He wondered what had taken Mack so long.
