“So, you aren’t going to see him again? Are you going to go home with him?”
My jaw drops. “Of course I’m not going home with him, Caden. You know me better than that.”
He lets out a deep, relieved sigh. “Good. He’s not right for you anyway.”
I bite my lip, trying to keep from smiling. Maybe Lexi was right.
“What about you?” I ask. “It sounds like Maggie has big plans for you later.” I shake my head, once again, picturing the two of them together. “And in case you’re wondering, those were her exact words.”
“Jesus, really?” He looks right and left down the hallway. “Can we climb out the window or something?”
I laugh probably more than I should.
“What? I’m serious. Don’t think I haven’t done it before,” he says. “Well, I haven’t actually climbed out a window. But I have used a back door. Sawyer will understand. Hell, he will probably thank me for it. Maybe he’ll take both of them home.”
“Oh, my gosh. I was thinking the same thing.”
“So, can we bolt?”
I shake my head. “I won’t do that to Corey. He really is a nice guy, Caden. He doesn’t deserve that. I was the one who invited him.”
“You’re right. You’re a better person than I am, Murphy Brown.”
I stand up and hold out my hand. “Come on, let’s head back. It’s getting late and we only have to stick it out for another hour.”
When he grabs my hand, something happens. I’m not sure what, but it might have something to do with music and birds flying and clouds under my feet. The touch we share is electrified. Intense. Scary.
He must feel it too, because the way he’s looking at me right now, it’s the way you get looked at before your first kiss. Before you get picked up and carried over the threshold. Before you lose your heart to someone forever.
Our hands part and the moment dies. But before we rejoin the others, he calls me back. “Murphy, that’s one hell of a dress. You look … incredible isn’t even a strong enough word.”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing. “You’re not half bad yourself.”
He winks at me again and I melt inside.
Please, God, let Lexi be right.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Caden
I’m on my third episode of late-night Murphy Brown reruns. I glance at my phone to check the time and wonder if Murphy is also watching them. I hope she is. In fact, I might go so far as to bet on it. Maybe it’s become our thing. And anyway, I had to do something to take my mind off tonight.
It was torture watching that guy put his hands all over Murphy earlier. Okay, so maybe his hands weren’t all over her. But the way he touched her shoulder; the way he put his hand on the small of her back when we entered the restaurant; the way he would lean close every time he talked to her—I’ve never in my life wanted to be another person so badly.
And I’ve never been so relieved than when she told me she wasn’t going to go home with him. But what happens if he asks her out again? What happens when the next guy comes along? There is no way in hell I’ll be able to watch her do that again. And I only know one way to keep it from happening.
The problem is—she’s my friend, maybe even my best friend. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I’ve never had so much fun with a girl who isn’t my sister. Hell, I’ve never had so much fun with anyone.
She’s all I’ve thought about since I took her to Central Park on Thursday. If I’m being honest, I thought about her long before then. I guess I’ve been denying it for a while.
But it goes to reason that she might not even want me. She’s given me no indication that she wants a relationship. No indication that she’s interested in me beyond the friendship we have. In fact, she’s flat-out said she’s taking a break from dating.
But that touch we shared tonight. And the way she was looking at me when we shared it. That’s not the way you look at your friend. That look got me hard. That look had me thinking about long walks and shared holidays. Christ, that look had me thinking about white dresses and black tuxedos.
What is happening to me?
I pull out my phone and scroll through my pictures. I look at the picture of Murph and me sitting in the stands at the Yankees game. I smile at the picture I took of her last Sunday when she was laughing with Lexi. I stare at the photo I snapped of her wearing my gear.
It’s the last one that brings my dick to life for the second time tonight. I don’t fight it this time. I reach my hand into my sweat pants, stroking myself as those brilliant blue eyes of hers stare at me from behind my facemask. I watch her and think of the incredible dress she was wearing tonight. I’ve never seen her look so alluring. Her long, wavy hair was down around her shoulders, covering her bare neck that I longed to grip with my hands so I could pull her to me.
And her breasts. My God, the rounded globes pushed up and showed just enough flesh to be enticing without being slutty.
I stroke myself faster and my breathing becomes heavier. I think about the time when we were lying under the stars at Hawks Stadium. I think even then, I had the urge to touch her. Kiss her. But she was off-limits, raw from a failed relationship. But the way she looked at me tonight when she offered me her hand—it was far from the look of a broken woman. It was intense. And I swear we shared more unspoken words with that one look than the countless conversations we’ve had.
My balls tighten as I once again think of her breasts and what they might look like if her magnificent dress was in a heap on my floor. As I wonder what her tall and fit body would feel like under mine. I give myself a few last tugs before I stiffen and shout out with my release.
I put my phone down and go in the bathroom to clean up. When I’m done, I brace my arms on the counter and lock eyes with my reflection. “Face it, Kessler, you’ve got it bad.”
I grab a beer and watch the end of an episode. Then I stare at my phone, wanting so badly to pick it up and ask her out. But I can’t. I can’t take Murphy on a date. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the rule. Nobody gets past it. I’ve broken it for no one.
What if I date her and then get spooked after number three? I’ve no doubt dated some great girls over the years. Girls who clearly were not after me because of my fame and my bank account. But I ditched them. All of them. What if I do that to Murphy? What if I ruin everything right along with our friendship?
But if I don’t try, will Corey or someone else take the opportunity? Hell, for all I know, Corey’s at home rubbing one out too.
Shit.
The thought of another guy getting off to a picture of her—to the mere thought of her—makes me something I’ve never been before … territorial. And I know for sure I don’t want anyone else having her. So despite the late hour, or the early one, I pick up my phone.
Me: Text me as soon as you wake up.
Murph: I’m up. Is everything okay?
My heart pounds in my chest. I didn’t expect her to respond. I thought I’d have the night to think about how I was going to play this. Damn, I’m nervous as hell. I don’t even get this nervous when I’m at bat and forty thousand fans are watching me.
Murph: What’s wrong, Caden? You’re scaring me.
Me: Nothing. Sorry. Just didn’t expect you to be awake at this hour. What are you doing up so late?
Murph: You’d laugh at me if I told you.
I smile because I already know.
Me: You aren’t watching channel 144, are you?
Murph: No.
Murph: Okay, yes.
Murph: Wait. How’d you know it was on 144? Unless you’re watching too.
Me: I’m watching it too.
Murph: LOL
Murph: Why did you want me to text you tomorrow? Uh, today.
Here it goes. My fingers hesitate before I type out the text. I close my eyes for a second, hoping I’m not about to make this stupid move that will make it monumentally awkward for us if she shoots me down.
Me: I
’ve been thinking.
Murph: Easy, boy. Don’t go pulling a muscle or anything.
Me: Can I finish please?
Murph: Sorry.
Me: I’ve been thinking that maybe you should come over to my place for dinner.
Murph: Another double date?
Me: Not a double date. I don’t bring girls here. It would just be you and me.
Murph: In case you haven’t noticed yet, Kessler, I’m a girl.
Me: I’m well aware, Murphy Brown. Believe me, I’m well aware.
She doesn’t text me right back. Did I scare her off? Is she getting the picture? Is she trying to figure out how to let me down easy?
Murph: You want to cook for me?
Me: Well, I was kind of hoping you would help with the cooking. And maybe we could have a nice bottle of wine. And then we could watch a movie or something.
Murph: Let me get this straight. You want me to come to your place so we can cook dinner together. And drink wine. And watch a movie. Caden, that sounds awfully close to being a date.
Me: Not a date. Just a thing.
Murph: And when will this thing be happening?
Me: When is your next day off?
Murph: Wednesday.
Me: I’ll pick you up Tuesday at seven.
Murph: Okay, it’s a date.
Me: No. It’s not.
Murph: LOL. Whatever you say, Kessler.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Murphy
“I think the apartment is clean now,” Trick says from her perch on the barstool where she’s been watching me. “In fact, it was clean two hours ago. We could eat off the floor. Would you sit down already?”
I put the dust rag away and grab a bottle of water before I plop down on the stool next to her and quench my anxiety-driven bone-dry mouth.
“You look as nervous as a whore in church,” she says, laughing.
I put my forehead down against the countertop. “I’m going to screw this up, aren’t I?”
She puts a comforting hand on my back. “You aren’t going to screw anything up, Murphy. Just be yourself. That’s the person he wants to be with. Nothing has changed.”
I look at her like she’s crazy. “Everything’s changed, Trick.”
“You said yourself you aren’t even sure this is a date. Maybe it’s not. Maybe this is you guys testing the waters or something, you know, before you decide to dive in.”
Maybe she’s right. Earlier, I let her read our texts from the other night. The ones where he called it a ‘thing.’ What does that even mean? He doesn’t want to call it a date. Maybe that’s because he’s not sure he wants it to be one. Oh, God. That’s even worse. It’s going to be like an audition or something.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
I run into the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I look at the girl in the mirror and shake my head. What happened to the calm, confident woman who could walk a runway? “Get it together, Murph,” I say to myself, pulling out my makeup to do one last re-touch. “It’s just Caden.”
I try to convince myself this is no big deal. That going to the apartment of one of the most recognized professional athletes in New York is just an everyday thing for me.
“Murphy!” Trick calls from the other room. “Caden’s here.”
I give myself one last look in the mirror. One last mental pep talk before I walk out there and try not to make a fool out of myself.
I blow out a big breath and open the door. Caden smiles when he sees me. I walk over to him, picking up my purse along the way. He takes a few steps forward and kisses me on the cheek. My flesh burns where his lips touch me. He’s kissed me like this before. But those were different. Those were friendly kisses, the same as he’d give his sister. Those weren’t lingering ones like this one. They weren’t followed by him taking a whiff of my hair. They weren’t punctuated by the inviting stare he’s giving me right now.
He touches my arm. “You ready to go?”
I smile and nod. Like a love-sick schoolgirl, I lost the ability to speak as soon as he put his hand on me.
Caden says goodbye to Trick and escorts me into the hallway. He grabs my hand on the way to the elevator.
Caden Kessler is holding my hand. Oh, my God!
His hand is big and soft, except for the calluses on his palm up by his fingers. He holds my hand confidently in his, like we’ve done it many times before. Like he hasn’t just caused my insides to flip upside down and inside out. Like he hasn’t just confirmed my deepest desire and my greatest fear all at once.
We stand silently, waiting for the elevator to arrive. I stare at our entwined hands in the shiny chrome doors. When I look up, he catches my eyes in our reflection. He leans close to me. “This isn’t a date, Murphy Brown.” Then he squeezes my hand and runs his thumb up and down across mine.
“I know,” I tell him, finally finding my words. “It’s just a thing.”
When we arrive at his apartment twenty minutes later, I realize the only time he let go of my hand was when he paid the cabbie. But he finally releases me when we walk through his door. I walk to the center of the room and spin around, taking it all in. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
My eyes take in the view from his living room. It’s nice. Much nicer than the view at Trick’s place. But it’s not at all what I envisioned. It’s so … normal. I figured he’d have an unobstructed view of the Freedom Tower, or maybe a prized location overlooking New York Harbor.
I look at his kitchen where I’d expect to find an oversized refrigerator, a wine cooler and top-of-the-line countertops. But it looks just like Trick’s, only bigger. His living room is tastefully decorated, with a large L-shaped leather couch overlooking the view and a regular-sized flat-screen TV in the corner.
As someone who plays baseball in televised games, I was sure he’d have a big-screen TV.
“What?” he asks, seeing my reaction.
“For a guy who makes a gazillion dollars, I guess I thought you’d live in the penthouse suite with a maid and a butler.”
“I told you before, Murph, I could be living on borrowed time. I’m not about to blow my money on frivolous things and then end up homeless when I can no longer play.” Then he chuckles. “And I do have a housekeeper. Her name is Maria. She comes every Monday.”
“You said you never bring girls here. Why?”
“Same reason I don’t give them my phone number. It makes me too easy to find.”
“But you gave me your number the day we met. And now here I am, standing in your apartment.”
“You’re different, Murphy.”
“Why am I different, Caden? Why didn’t you bring Kate here? Kate was nice. I find it hard to believe you haven’t dated other nice girls. Girls who aren’t after you for anything but who you are.”
He shrugs. “You never can tell. Even with the nice ones. I’ve seen it happen too many times. Ball players get married and then end up divorced, paying child support for kids they never get to see and alimony to a woman they’ve come to despise.”
“Lots of people get divorced, you know,” I say. “Ball players haven’t cornered the market.”
“I just … it just scares me I guess.”
“What scares you?”
He looks at some pictures of his nieces on the bookshelf. “I couldn’t imagine having kids and not seeing them.”
I can’t help shifting my feet nervously. “Are you sure you don’t?” I ask.
“Have kids? I’m sure,” he says, staring me down with truthful eyes. “Came close once.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I’m sure any shrink would tell you that’s why I’m like this. About four years ago when I was playing for the Hawks’ triple-A team in Vegas, I got a girl pregnant.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “What happened?”
He motions for me to follow him into the kitchen where he opens a bottle of wine. “She was a typical groupie. It’s amazing how many wo
men hang out around minor league ball fields just waiting to sleep with anyone in a uniform.”
I take a glass from him and sip some wine as we each find a barstool. “They’re all a bunch of Tonys, just wanting to go along for the ride when someone hits it big.”
“Exactly,” he says. “See, you understand. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always trusted you. You never wanted anything from me. You’ve been taken advantage of, too. You know how it feels.”
I look around his apartment again. “Is that why I’m here? Because you trust me?”
“Yes. Well, that and I couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked in that dress on Saturday night.”
I blush. He has no idea how much I was hoping that dress would affect him. “So, the groupie?”
“She turned up pregnant after we’d been together a few times. I was young. Barely twenty-two. I didn’t know what I was going to do. She wasn’t even my girlfriend. I couldn’t imagine marrying her, but I knew I’d have a hard time not seeing any kid I’d brought into the world.”
“What happened? She didn’t get an abortion, did she? I mean, she wouldn’t have if she were trying to trap you.”
“She had a miscarriage shortly after she told me. It was a blessing in disguise. And a huge wake-up call for me. I made sure that would never happen again.”
I tilt my head to the side, studying him. “You telling me you’re celibate, Kessler?”
He laughs at my question. “No, Old Man Murphy, I’m not celibate. But I never trust a woman to take care of birth control. And I always double wrap.”
The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 14
