Bound Hearts (4 page)

He had to. He sat directly across the table.

“We were taking bets on whether either the Tide or the Blazers will make the playoffs this year,” Brandi answered, helping herself to some pita heaped with hummus. “These two,” she said, pointing to the booth’s two male occupants, “are convinced the Tide will pull it out and the Blazers have a good chance. I, on the other hand, am a realist and know better. I’m afraid no post-season action for either of our teams, boys. Sorry, David, but your team’s just not going to do it.”

“Whatever, Brands. You chose the Celtics last year to go all the way and those fools didn’t even make it to the playoffs. Day I listen to you and your sports predictions is the day I decide I’m ready for a sex change,” Steve teased.

David’s attention still hadn’t returned to the table and Calleigh was trying her hardest not to be offended. He hadn’t even bothered to check her out when she’d sat down. She debated asking him directly about what was up at the bar, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. North Mississippi had become the city’s new stomping ground for twenty-somethings. For all she knew, some hot little twenty-one year old was up at the bar making eyes at him. Inviting him over with her body.

God, what she wouldn’t give to be that girl.

“What do you think, David? Are the playoffs in their future?” she asked, no longer able to remain silent as she peeked up through her lashes at him, waiting for him to respond.

After a heartbeat, his intense dark blue eyes slid to hers. There was no alteration in his expression. Nothing with his lips or his eyes. No animation whatsoever. He wasn’t robotic, but he seemed less than human, hauntingly, coldly beautiful.

“Tide’ll make it. I’ll reserve judgment until the Blazers are a few more games into the season. If they can stay healthy, which they haven’t been able to do for the last three seasons, they have a shot. The Lakers are overrated and so are the Spurs,” he said, sipping a clear liquid in a squat glass.

“You sure you’re not just optimistic since you work for the Tide?” Brandi questioned.

He shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m also a realist. And we should make it. If we don’t, my ass will be on the line.”

During all of their games, David had never talked about his job. And he was clearly reluctant to elaborate tonight.

Seeking to return the conversation to safe ground, Brandi asked, “You guys play pool?”

“I do,” Steve answered.

“I don’t,” David responded.

“Me neither,” Calleigh said, sending a shy smile David’s way.
See, we do have something in common.

“Alright, Steve. It’s you and me. Get ready to get schooled,” Brandi taunted as David let out her out of the booth and Calleigh did the same for Steve.

The waitress approached after they left and Calleigh ordered a glass of red wine. Soft murmurs throughout the long room cocooned them within the booth. The dark lighting threw shadows throughout the bar, affording patrons additional privacy throughout. Pool cues cracked balls, the only audible noises.

Flipping her hair in her best come hither move, Calleigh leaned in across the table and put her best flirting foot forward. Now or never.

“Mr. Shalvington, I am on to you.”

“On to me?” He finally turned towards her, raising one impervious eyebrow and continuing to sip his drink.

“Yes. You’ve been playing hard to get. I like it. I get it. It’s my standard game plan as well. You’ve won. I cry uncle. I will, in fact, be the first to give in.” Her breath that was previously trapped in her lungs was released as her lungs and heart simultaneously expanded.

This
was
liberating.

David’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Give in to what exactly, Calleigh?” he snarled, his teeth brightly white against darkly cruel lips.

“Being the first one to cave. Right here, right now, I give up. I will put an end to this hoax so we can start dating the way we should have been for the last year.”

“Pardon me?”

She rolled her eyes, took a fortifying sip of her red wine and went for it.

“David, will you go out on a date with me?” Now that the words were spoken and the wine had settled in her stomach giving her a happy, warm glow, she was glad she’d come. And asked David out. She was going to be able to let Mary know she had been able to follow through on their agreement. He would say yes, they’d begin a relationship, she’d work through all of her neurotic fixations, and they’d live happily ever after.

Tonight when she returned home, she’d write this date down in her journal and record all of the wonderful, exciting things she’d accomplished on this date for posterity. She’d pass it along to their children and grandchildren as the date their parents and grandparents had embarked on their romantic journey. At Crow Bar on North Mississippi with her drinking red wine.

David threw back the remainder of his liquid that smelled like tequila and focused all of his potent masculinity on her like a rocket missile, making her feel trapped and vulnerable.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Ms. Stuart,” he began, using her formal title the way she’d used his, although unlike her, any hint of warmth or flirtation was demonstrably absent.

“You’re not my type and you’re never going to be my type. I wouldn’t date you in a million years if you were last woman on earth.” He threw down a twenty, leaving Crow Bar and a stupefied Calleigh.

One for the journal, indeed
, she thought, cheeks furiously flushed, as she made her way to the bar.

Chapter 3

Chest and arm muscles straining, David levied the ax down, splitting the wood he planned on using all winter long to heat his house as the sun warmed his back and the slight breeze whistled through the trees. For the last two weeks, he’d maintained a rigorous schedule of his regular workouts along with additional physical activities, like chopping a cord of wood, hoping like hell that sheer physical and mental exhaustion would alleviate some of his guilt. Good thing he wasn’t Catholic. This shit could kill you if you let it. Or make you do something equally stupid. Like get involved with a woman who was completely wrong on a multitude of levels. As in every single level that mattered to him.

Despite the frenetic pace of the season, demanding workouts, numerous mental exercises, and his innate ability to compartmentalize, he’d been unable to eradicate the image of Calleigh the night he’d verbally decimated her at Crow Bar. Beautiful. Hurt. Confused.

Sure, he’d wanted to scare her off, but he hadn’t meant to annihilate her. Or embarrass her.

He’d succeeded spectacularly on all fronts.

Now it was too late. He couldn’t change the course he’d set, not that he would have even if he could. He’d made the right decision. Even so, guilt and unease ate at him like a flesh-eating parasite.

He swung the ax, determined to physically exhaust himself as he had every night for the last two weeks before returning inside to deal with the load of emails awaiting him that would demand his complete and utter focus.

Fuck.

For the first time since she’d introduced herself to him all those many months ago, she’d completely avoided him during the past weeks. There were no awkward moments before or after their soccer games. No pretty blonde head searching his out at the post-game bar. No shy smiles when he approached the field. No gentle waves as he drove away after a game. Nothing.

No surprise there. He wanted her to see him as the quintessential jerk, a guy that she didn’t want to have anything to do with. Nada. Persona Non Grata. Forever.

Well, mission accomplished, asshole. You did all that and more. She probably likens
you to some serial killer. Except, they’re nicer and would likely treat her better than you.

He was almost finished cutting the cord of wood and considered the night ahead of him that waited after he cleaned out his in-box. At this point in the season, he needed to remain completely accessible 24/7 for the coaches, players, management staff, and agents. Which suited him perfectly since he’d been born a workaholic. He loved to work and lived to work. Loved his job more than anything else in his life, other than possibly his family.

But after dealing with team-related issues, he had a huge gaping hole ahead of him. He needed to fill time with activities that would take him out of himself, a feat he didn’t think was possible. No matter what he considered, calling up Missy, playing some poker, reading a book, or taking in a movie, he knew he wouldn’t be able to simply expel Calleigh Stuart from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

He used to have friends he could throw back a few with, shoot some hoops and catch some games with, but the social calls were fewer and farther between these days. Of course, he wasn’t reaching out and touching anyone lately though either, due in equal parts to his job, the point in the season, and his buddies. With limited exception, the majority of his friends were now married with children or divorced with children. Making plans with them during the school year required the forethought, concentrated planning, and execution of a four-star general preparing for war.

And all because he was in a funk over a tall, slightly eccentric hot blonde.

Who had no idea what he was like.

In the bedroom.

He regretted his actions and his words that night, but the reasons for his guilt eluded him. Was it because her expression reminded him of a wounded puppy? Doubtful. He’d said worse things to other people in his past, some deserved, some not so much, yet he’d always walked away unscathed.

Was it because he had a perpetual hard-on for her and this was the first time he’d ever denied himself something, anything, he’d wanted so badly? Possibly.

He’d accepted his sexual appetites long ago. Reveled in them, in fact. He never questioned them or searched for any “deeper meaning,” as some of his early girlfriends had suggested he should. He enjoyed what he enjoyed and found partners who found as much pleasure in the lifestyle as he did.

Besides, even if he was tempted, Calleigh was wound way too tight. There was no fucking way she was submissive and more importantly, would submit to him. Which presented an entirely different set of problems because he didn’t do virgin subs any more. Those days had long passed years ago.

She’d likely completely freak out on him if he ever explained what he was into. What he wanted to do with her, what he expected of her, and what she could expect from him.

He placed the ax down on the ground next to the cord he’d finished chopping and took a long pull on his Alaskan Amber, the cold beer cooling his throat as the setting sun warmed his back.

Fuck it. There was nothing he could do even if he wanted to. It was over and done and nothing would be gained by backtracking.

§ § §

Her soccer team liked to rendezvous for drinks and the occasional meal after games, always inviting their opponents, the caveat being the losing team was required to buy the winning team at least the first two pitchers of beer to kick start the evening. Tonight they’d chosen La Calaca Comelona, a popular Mexican restaurant on Belmont, several convenient blocks from her loft.

When Calleigh was the last to arrive, she was dismayed to realize not only had David decided to grace the team with his presence, but the seat next to him was the only one left. He noticed her as she approached the table, his eyes holding hers during her entire approach, eliminating any possibility of a dignified exit. Even dirty and sweaty, with drops of mud dotting his tanned and toned throat, he looked better than any man she’d ever seen in her entire life.

Bastard.

Pulling her chair out as far as she could without being too obvious, she placed her purse on the back of the chair and prepared to ignore him if it killed her. If he could be a dick, then she could, and would, respond in kind. She beamed her wide smile at everyone else around the table and made small talk with the best of them for the next ninety minutes.

After they’d demolished the guacamole and cleaned their plates, the table stood up and prepared to leave. She was feeling pretty proud of herself. Not once had she looked at David, asked him a question, responded to one of this remarks, or otherwise acknowledged him in any way. It was a small victory, but it was all hers and she savored it. Juvenile? Yes. Satisfying? Absolutely.

Digging for her keys in her purse as she turned down Belmont towards her loft, she thought the air whispered her name.

Stopping and looking up, she realized it was
him
who was calling her. He stood on the sidewalk waving towards her.

Great. Exactly what she didn’t need at this moment. Fuck it. After the way he’d treated her, she owed him nothing. Pivoting, she continued walking away. God, she wanted to run, but that would be undignified. She wasn’t a coward and wasn’t about to start acting like one right now in front of him.

Because of him.

“Calleigh, wait up!” he yelled. He must have realized not only wasn’t she waiting for him, but was actively ignoring him, because he increased his pace to a slight jog, quickly catching up with her.

“Calleigh! Please wait.” His pleas sounded like a command until he reached her and grabbed her arm to spin her around.

“Get your fucking hands off of me, Shalvington,” she hissed at him, her long blonde hair blowing around her face, strands becoming trapped on her freshly-glossed lips.

David removed his hand and put both of his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered.

“You didn’t scare me, asshole. You don’t have the right to touch me. That’s why I told you to remove your hands.”

“Did you hear me calling your name?” he asked, his deep blue stare concerned and slightly pissed off at the same time, clearly shocked that she could have, in fact, heard him calling her name and pointedly ignored it.

Score one for the girl.

She rolled her eyes and considered the male specimen in front of her. Even though she’d actively ignored him for the last hour and a half, she had been intensely aware of him. Of his deep, husky voice whenever he opened his mouth. His spicy aftershave that floated subtly around her, enveloping her as seductively as a lover. His strong, tan hands that had confidently gripped his beer bottle and spoke of a self-assured man who knew exactly what to do with those hands.