Going Deep Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Virna DePaul

  “Leaving?” Gabe leaned into his sister for a hug.

  “Yes, my day starts early tomorrow. Have fun, kids.” Murph waved to them both, then to Pete, then left the bar.

  “Your sister seems nice,” Zoe said, taking aim of her third dart and tossing. This one didn’t get as close to the target as the other two. She walked up to the board and plucked all three out, handing them to Gabe. “I liked talking to her when she came in to interview me.”

  “Yeah, she’s cool. We look out for each other. Have ever since our parents died.”

  For a moment, his expression became serious, contemplative and sad.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.” He got into position and threw his first dart. “Ha! Bull’s eye. I’ll beat you yet, peach.”

  Zoe blushed. When she thought of that nickname he’d given her, she thought of a big round ass. Her butt wasn’t that big, but it had a pretty nice shape to it, and she wondered if that was why he’d given her the nickname. What nickname could she fire back? Eggplant? The thought made her giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  No way could she tell him. “I’m just laughing because you insist on calling me peach, like I’m some delicate fruit when I clearly am not. Also, you think you’re good at darts. Meanwhile, you’re shooting from two feet away. The line is back there.” She pointed at the spot where she’d stood.

  “What? You’re crazy. It’s right here.”

  “It’s not,” she laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “It’s way back here, Einstein.” Okay, this was fun. She liked the Gabe he’d shown her tonight, despite how awkwardly it’d started.

  But she’d grabbed his arm, and he’d sunk into her touch too easily, and she was buzzed from the drinks. His scent surrounded her, and heat curled deep in her belly. She breathed deeper, enjoying the feeling for a split second before reminding herself that she was Gabe’s trainer, and that’s all she was.

  It was time for her to go.

  She watched as he threw the rest of his darts, hitting each within the outer ring.

  “Wow, I really do suck at darts. Good thing I mostly have to catch not throw,” he joked.

  She laughed then said, “Um, thanks for the game, but I should be going.”

  “Are you driving?”

  “Walking.”

  “Then I’ll walk with you.” Gabe left a $50 bill on the countertop for her brother, telling him to keep the change.

  “You don’t have to do that. I only live a few blocks away from here and it’s still hot as Hades,” she said, though she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to spend just a few more minutes with him.

  “Listen, I might be an asshole, but I’m not the kind of asshole who lets a woman walk home alone in the dark.”

  “Fine. I appreciate it, thank you.” Zoe paid her own bill and gave her brother a kiss goodbye. Outside, the sky glowed purple and orange, just the way it did most nights in Savannah. The air was hot and humid, downright uncomfortable, but here she was, walking home with a gorgeous man by her side. She’d been troubled when she walked into the bar and she had come out with a smile on her face, all because Gabe had let down his guard and shown her who he really was.

  What had Gabe said when they’d first met? That she was a complication.

  Pot, meet kettle.

  Keep your head on straight, girl. This one’s trouble.

  Acutely aware of Gabe standing next to her, Zoe stuck her key into the front door lock of her house. "Thank you for walking me home," she said, tentatively looking up at Gabe from beneath her eyelashes. "I really had, um…"

  She let the end of her sentence trail off, her words swallowed up by the symphony of crickets chirping in the hazy dusk. Gabe crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against her doorframe. The buzz of tequila made her skin prickle as she brushed her hand through her long hair and considered what would be an appropriate way to say good night. Should she reach out to shake his hand in keeping with their professional relationship? Should she pat his arm in a friendly gesture to acknowledge the fun she’d had tonight? Or should she stop pretending she wasn’t affected by the look on his face—the one that communicated he wanted to crash down her front door, pin her up against the wall, and do dirty things to her?

  Practical Zoe gave Horny Zoe a good kick in the shin.

  Nope. No. Absolutely not.

  She couldn’t do that.

  Professional, Zoe. That’s the way to go. Professional.

  She stuck out her hand. “I’ll be in touch soon so we can firm up our schedule,” she said.

  Gabe looked at her hand, at her face, then at her hand again. The corner of his lips twitched upward before he slipped his hand into hers. “Sounds good, Zoe.”

  “Unless…”

  The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She immediately regretted it, but it was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard her; in the dim light of the street light, his eyebrows lifted.

  “Unless?” he queried.

  "Um, unless you’d like a glass of water?” There, that was a good recovery. It was just the polite thing to do when someone walked you home, right?

  "A glass of water?" he asked, his voice irritatingly calm.

  Zoe was anything but calm: her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, her nipples were straining against her bra.

  "Yes," she said, hoping her voice didn't quiver. "A glass of water. I mean, you walked me all the way here in this heat and…"

  And nothing more, she promised herself. She was just going to give him some water, enjoy a few more minutes in his company, and that was it. But deep down, Zoe knew she was kidding herself, at least about not wanting more. And, she suspected, Gabe knew it, too.

  She quivered as she felt Gabe's eyes on her like an impending rain storm. His chest rose and fell steadily next to her and she wondered how that was when she couldn't even seem to catch her breath.

  "I am feeling a bit parched," Gabe finally answered.

  She swallowed hard. “Great. I mean, it’s no problem. The water, I mean.” She finally turned the key in her door and pushed it open. She took one step inside and was immediately struck by a sweltering wave of humid air that hit her like a wave of lava. Hell, it was hotter inside her house than it was out.

  Zoe fumbled for the light switch as Gabe followed her in and immediately tugged at the collar of his shirt.

  "It's a bit warm in here," he said, stepping over a foam roller she'd used that morning when it wasn't 103 inside her house. "You don't have A/C?" Gabe asked.

  Zoe frowned at the thermostat, flicking it with her finger: the arrow pointed to 73. It was not 73.

  "I did have A/C," Zoe answered out loud while in her mind a string of curse words repeated on loop.

  This was the last thing she needed. Zoe simply couldn't afford to replace her A/C.

  "I’m not an expert by any means, but do you want me to take a look at it?”

  Zoe glanced over at him and immediately pictured how sweaty he’d get if he stayed much longer let alone tried to fix anything—he’d either have his shirt plastered to his chest in no time, or he’d be forced to take his shirt off to avoid heatstroke. Either way, Zoe knew it would take her attraction to him to a whole new level and there was only so much temptation a woman could take.

  This was a sign, for sure.

  “That’s okay. I’ll call someone tomorrow. I have a portable fan and I’ll keep the windows open. I’ll be okay for one night.” It would likely be for longer than one night and she knew it, but she refrained from telling him that. “I can still get you that water though?”

  Please say no. Please say no, she thought, even as she watched a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. She’d seen him sweaty in the gym after his workout, but here, in her personal space, the sight of that perspiration made her think of strenuous workouts that didn’t occur in the gym.

  His gaze pierc
ed hers for a few seconds before he finally said, "I’m good. Lock up behind me?”

  She let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “I will.”

  Zoe watched Gabe slip out of her house and gently close the door behind him. Once he was gone she covered her face in her hands and sagged to the kitchen floor, equal parts relieved and disappointed to see him go.

  Chapter 5

  Two days after Gabe walked her home, Zoe stepped inside Savannah Oaks Memory Facility. The first thing she did was sigh at the welcome feel of working air conditioning. She’d gotten a bid from a repairman to fix the air conditioning at her house but just as she’d suspected, it wasn’t something she could afford at the moment. Probably not for a long time, actually. She’d slept fitfully the past two nights despite sleeping naked without any covers. Ugh, it was going to be a miserable summer, but she’d have to tough it out—her money was better spent here or on Iron Maiden. She could handle it.

  In preparation for what was to come, Zoe took several deep breaths. The old renovated building smelled of wooden porches, fresh paint, and essential oils. The staff believed the aroma of peppermint sparked memory, but she wondered how effective the aromatherapy really was. Checking in with the front desk, Zoe signed her name and showed her ID.

  Visiting her ailing father always gave her mixed emotions. Would he recognize her? Would he ask about his deceased wife? Would he get agitated or upset? What should she say to him? Kip Reynolds’ Alzheimer’s was advanced. Most days, Zoe had to introduce herself to her own father all over again.

  She headed to Room #19 all the way in the back by the sunshine terrace. They paid an extra $300 a month just for this view, hoping it would improve their father’s mood. She’d scheduled afternoon visits from now on, because that was when her father seemed to be doing his best and because it would work best for her training sessions with Gabe. His first practice with his new team was tomorrow, and she’d already talked to Murph about sitting in so she could refine her strategy for getting Gabe the best possible outcome from his training.

  For a brief moment, thoughts of Gabe as a client threatened to morph into thoughts of Gabe as far more to her. No surprise there.

  Since he’d walked her home, she’d dreamed of him. And none of those dreams had anything to do with football, and everything to do with being naked and devouring one another.

  Determinedly, she pushed those thoughts away. Not exactly what she wanted to be thinking about when she saw her father.

  “Knock, knock,” Zoe said when she reached her father’s open door.

  He was sitting up in bed with his hands folded over his lap. His hair seemed even grayer and thinner than when she’d last seen him, and his cheeks looked more sunken, making Zoe choke up. All her life, her father had been the epitome of physicality and stamina—a man’s man, a great athlete. To see him this way broke Zoe’s heart into a million pieces.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said, taking his hand, shaking it gently. “I’m Zoe, your daughter.”

  Over time, she’d learned to open conversations this way. Alzheimer’s patients could get confused and frustrated easily if their family members just started talking, assuming they knew what was going on.

  “I have a daughter?” Kip Reynolds asked in a frail voice, his mouth partially open in surprise at the news.

  Zoe pulled up a chair and took The Grapes of Wrath out of her purse. It was her father’s favorite book. “Yes, you do, and she’s pretty great, too.” Zoe forced out a laugh. It took time and practice not to take responses like these personally, but she’d have been lying if she said it didn’t affect her.

  She wanted the miracle all family members of people with Alzheimer’s wanted—to come in one day and discover that their loved one actually recognized them. Most days Zoe was happy if Dad just smiled. Sometimes she could make that happen by reading to him. “I’m going to read from your favorite book. Grapes of Wrath.”

  “My favorite book is by Plato,” Kip said.

  No, it wasn’t. As far as she knew, he’d never even read anything by Plato, but she just smiled and said, “This might be by Plato, who knows.” There was never any point in arguing with him. When she walked through the doors of Savannah Oaks, it was into her father’s reality, not hers.

  Her father made a sound deep in his throat, as if trying to clear it. As she opened the book to one of his favorite passages, he faced the window.

  “Anyway, let’s see how you like it.” She took a deep breath. “’And in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people, the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy…’”

  “Growing heavy for the vintage,” he said softly.

  She looked up from the book and stared at her father. The way the sunlight lit up his profile made him seem like an angel glowing from within. Zoe held down a wave of emotion in her chest. “Yes,” she said. “Growing heavy for the vintage.”

  It made her so sad to think of what people who admired her father would think if they could see him, Gabe included. Her mother had been right—before she’d died last year of a massive stroke, she’d told her children it was better not to let people know about their father’s Alzheimer’s. It would completely alter their view of him, and Zoe wanted his legacy as one of the greatest athletes of all time to live on. Yes, the truth was nobody lived forever, but there was no reason to humiliate the man and show everyone just how much he had degraded.

  Her father wouldn’t have wanted that.

  And so this was his death sentence—living out his days at this memory care home, wondering where he was every morning when he woke up, who these people were around him, why some of them seemed vaguely familiar.

  Alzheimer’s was a cruel, insidious disease. But as usual, she kept her chin up and continued reading. Every so often, her father would nod or utter a word to the passage.

  “How did you like Plato?” she asked when she was done reading.

  Her father turned to her, hazel eyes analyzing the young woman sitting next to him. “You mean John Steinbeck.”

  Tears brimmed in Zoe’s eyes. “Yes, Dad. John Steinbeck.”

  After seeing her father, Zoe had planned on squeezing in a workout for herself for a change, but at the last minute she decided to go home and catch up on the sleep she’d missed the last two nights thanks to her boiling house. It wasn’t too hot yet, and with the fan blowing directly on her, she might be able to catch some Zs and even forget her troubles for a while.

  Did that mean she was depressed?

  Maybe, but so be it. Besides, she’d emailed with Gabe yesterday and they’d hammered out a tentative schedule, with his training officially beginning in four days. That meant being on, being vigilant, being in total control so she didn’t make another mistake like the one she’d made the night she’d invited him into her house for…water.

  She mentally snorted.

  Right, like that’s what you really wanted to give him, Zoe.

  On the drive home she pushed Gabe from her thoughts. When she walked from her car to her house she pushed him from her thoughts. When she took off her clothes, pulling on just a thin T-shirt without any underwear, she pushed him from her thoughts.

  But as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the white noise of the fan beside her, Zoe finally had to admit it: Gabe wasn’t going anywhere. He was stuck firmly in her consciousness and he had been since the day she met him.

  But if she couldn’t beat him, why not enjoy him?

  Telling herself it was perfectly okay to masturbate to images of Gabe—she’d done so even before she’d met him thanks to that soap commercial she’d seen numerous times—Zoe lowered her hand between her legs. She pictured him in the shower cleaning himself off with soap. She pictured him when he’d been working out at Iron Maiden, so damn strong and sexy. She pictured him when he was in her house, looking so fine she’d wanted to jump up, wrap her legs around him, and kiss him for hours. By the time s
he pictured Gabe lying between her legs, their sweating bodies moving together till the springs gave out on her bed, she was close to coming.

  Just a little more. She whimpered as she circled her clit in firm circles.

  That’s it. Yes, Gabe. Please, fuck me. Please…

  A shrill ringing caused her eyes to fly open.

  Her phone. Groaning, she paused to catch her breath, then dragged herself to her nightstand to pick up her phone in case there was an emergency with her father.

  But the number on the screen wasn’t Savannah Oaks’s—it was Gabe’s.

  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she used her free hand to fling a cotton sheet over her body. She could still see her hard nipples as clear (and as horny) as day and she hastily threw an arm over her chest despite her being completely alone in her bedroom.

  Finally, when she felt she’d composed herself enough, she answered but ended up wincing at how breathy her "Hello?" came out.

  "Zoe?"

  "Uh, yes, hi Gabe,” she said, trying to control her racing heart that threatened to leap out of her sweat covered chest. "Hi, hey, hi there."

  "Um, is this a bad time?" Gabe asked, concern in his voice.

  Zoe lifted her head to peel her dampened hair from the back of her neck. "No, no, now is great," she assured him. "Why? I mean, why would you ask? Um, why? Is everything alright?"

  Zoe smacked her palm over her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.

  "Well, you just sound a little out of breath," Gabe answered. "Did I catch you in the middle of a…workout?"

  If by working out he meant 1) working the fingers she’d moistened with her mouth over and over her clit while imagining it was Gabe's tongue; or 2) the muscles of her lower stomach spasming as she imagined it was Gabe's teeth and not her own fingers pinching her nipple; or 3) her back arching as she imagined Gabe's cock pushing deep inside her as she rushed toward her orgasm, then yes, Gabe had definitely caught her in the middle of a workout. Hell, her heart rate had been approaching the red zone, the muscles of her inner thighs were still contracted, and she was covered in more sweat than when she did five minutes straight of burpees.