Calling It (14 page)

Unlike most men she knew, he didn’t try to shy away from what he’d obviously—
inconceivably
—been about to say. At the same time, he didn’t try to say it again. He laughed softly, then stroked her hair for a minute before lifting his head and kissing her. There was still a smile in his voice when he said, “Okay, fine. Shutting up.” He shifted a little, slanting his mouth so that he could go deeper into hers.

She was well on her way to telling him to ignore what she’d said about shutting up when he asked, “Do you want to drive?”

Her eyes went wide as she sat up straight, nearly sliding right off the hood in the process. Was he
kidding
? “You realize I learned to drive in Boston. Who knows what damage I could do?”

He laughed. “A Red Sox fan
and
a Boston driver. You pack a mean punch, Donelli.” But he sat up, too. Looked over at her and smiled. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He held out the keys. “What do you say?”

Seriously? “I say that you’d better be ready to pay some speeding tickets, because I sure as hell can’t afford them.” She snatched them out of his hand and jumped off the hood before he could change his mind.

* * *

Dorie turned the car back over to him right before they got on the main highway. She fell asleep soon after, which, as far as Nate was concerned, was a good thing. He needed to get ahold of himself, and luckily he had the next four hours to do it. Half the time he found himself desperate to get her out of his head and the other half he wanted to grab her and hold on as if his life depended on it. Which it might, considering he’d felt his whole body come alive the moment she raised the bat over her shoulder and stared him down without an ounce of fear—defending her dinner, no less.

He’d turn his attention back to the road in front of him and his eyes would drift down to the hood and the vision of her laid out in front of him. Even the fact that he’d had a split second of wondering if maybe she was setting him up, if maybe there was some photographer on standby, didn’t seem to matter. Because that’s all it was: one split second of doubt, followed by twenty minutes of driving need. And to his dismay, he was now contemplating the idea of true love and happily-ever-after-type endings, which was ridiculous, of course—because no matter where his career was headed, his life was in Chicago and hers wasn’t. Reality would soon intrude.

Although he didn’t want to wake Dorie, he should check in with Pete. He had no interest in the cavalry—be it his ex herself or one of her minions—showing up on his doorstep, even though the plan was to meet in the morning. Courtney was unpredictable that way. He hit the button for the phone and pulled up Pete’s number. Thankfully, he got voice mail.

“Trip took a little bit longer than I expec—”

His voice cracked and he nearly swerved—again—when he felt Dorie’s hand close over his thigh. He finished his message, the words practically running together as one. “...Than I expected. Keys’ll be with the doorman by eleven.”

Making sure he’d ended the connection, he grabbed Dorie’s hand as she worked her way up farther.
Sweet Jesus.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “Do you
want
me to be in another accident?”

She yanked her hand away. “That was crazy dumb. You shouldn’t let me out in public.”

Why her reaction turned him on even more, he had no idea, but his voice cracked again as he practically growled, “I have no intention of letting you out in public.”

If he could spend the entire weekend with her naked in his bed, he’d be entirely content. Knowing she was there would make the meetings he had to endure go that much more quickly. Hell, knowing she was
here
made the prospect of heading back to Chicago a palatable one. He grabbed her hand and put it right back on his leg, just a little farther away from where it could do damage.

“You weren’t, you know...” There was a question in her voice as she squeezed his hand briefly. “Right before the accident.”

The harsh laugh escaped. “No.”

He’d been distracted by Courtney, yes, and was one hundred percent sure that if he hadn’t been so thrown by her words, he would have been able to avoid the other car. But,
hell
no. “Not even close.”

Though he could feel Dorie’s eyes on him, he wasn’t planning on sharing more than that. That said, just because he was clearly sending that message didn’t mean that she’d be accepting it. So he was completely prepared for her to say something. He just wasn’t expecting it to be her commenting, “So that was Pete.”

Hearing something off in her tone, he glanced over, surprised that her mouth had settled into a grim line. Which, come to think of it, was often Nate’s response when it came to Pete. It was almost as though she knew him.

A sinking feeling came over him. Oh,
fuck.
“Please tell me you don’t know him.”

She pulled her hand away. Crossed her arms across her chest, closing herself off. “I was kind of hoping you didn’t know about any of that.”

That. The waiver. Right. Just because he hadn’t thought about it in two years didn’t mean it wasn’t still out there. How Pete had known about Dorie, though...

Of course. Fitz had known Nate was with Dorie that first night. She must have mentioned it.

“It was a joke.” He cringed the second he said it, wishing he could take it back.

Unsurprisingly, Dorie mumbled, “That’s so not the right answer.”

No, it wasn’t. And with anyone else he wouldn’t give a damn. With Dorie, though... He took a deep breath. “I was twenty-three. Came out to Chicago and had that ridiculous year.” He’d broken records that had stood for decades, had heard his name put up there with those of his heroes, and had been the shoo-in for Rookie of the Year. “They put Ox and me in a room—” Ox, as in Jack Oxford, one of the best pitchers in the league and also Nate’s ex-best friend, “—and gave us a list of, well...”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even put into words what had taken two bewildered, out-of-nowhere “rookie sensations” a bottle of tequila and an entire afternoon to acknowledge, much less actually write down.

“What would be acceptable,” he finally managed. “And what wouldn’t.”

There was a very long and heavy silence. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Dorie said, “I guess I get that.”

Hell, at least she wasn’t already ditching him.

“But if you have him put that thing in front of me again,” she added, “I will shove it exactly where, according to section 4B, you don’t want it to go.”

His coughing fit provided a reprieve for a few minutes, which was good, because he honestly had no idea what to say. He’d been too drunk to remember what he’d written down, too embarrassed to have looked at it since. He did have some ideas, however, of what she might be referring to.

“You didn’t sign it?” She was the only one in the entire history of that stupid thing who hadn’t, with the exception of Courtney.

“Seriously?” Dorie said, whipping her head around and glaring at him, clearly misunderstanding his reaction. “I will literally jump out of this car if you’re about to tell me you want me to.”

No. What he wanted to do was close his eyes. Capture the essence of the fire blazing in her eyes, the you-may-be-Nate-fucking-Hawkins-but-there’s-no-way-in-hell-you’ll-pull-that-shit-on-me attitude. It had been years since he’d seen that, since someone hadn’t put him up on a pedestal. Even his sisters, who he’d used to be able to count on for putting him in his place whenever required, had been treating him with kid gloves of late, Fitz’s alley-lashing notwithstanding. He goddamn hated it. And it was probably why he’d come back to Dorie’s that second night—because even after being accepted back into the heart of his family, he’d felt the distance. Felt that, for as much as they were happy to have him home, they didn’t quite know how to talk to him anymore.

So he’d gone back to Dorie’s and she’d treated him like any other guy. More like one of her brothers than he’d preferred, to be honest, but there wasn’t a kid glove or a pedestal anywhere to be found.

“That’s not what I’m telling you at all.”

Obviously confused, she asked, “Then what are you saying?”

He took her hand. Tried not to get lost in the way his breath caught as soon as he touched her. “I’m saying—” gruffly, as it turned out, “—that this is one those times you should be telling me to shut up.”

Dorie’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “You’re not mad.”

Working not to smile, Nate said, “No.”

Although she frowned, she came to a decision, it appeared. If he was willing not to say the actual words, she was willing to let it go.

Or, rather, willing to let some things go.

She smiled. “Well I suppose that’s good, then. You know why?”

Ah. Right. He figured this was a subject that would come up again. “Because you’ll knee me in the balls?”

With a happy little sigh, she squeezed his hand, then let go. “Damn right I will.”

The smile he’d been holding back turned into a laugh. “And here I thought you were getting attached.”

She laughed, then reached out and let her hand slowly drift down his jaw. “How about if I promise to kiss and make it better afterward?”

Okay. This was no longer a laughing matter. He stepped on the gas, never before so eager to get home.

Chapter Sixteen

If there was one thing in the world that Dorie was an expert on, it was men—their thoughts, what they wanted and how they behaved. Hell, she knew so much about men that she could barely relate to women, the main exceptions being only two that she could think of: Sean’s wife, Claudia, who had also been Dorie’s babysitter until Dorie was able to be a babysitter herself. And Sophie, Tommy’s on-again, off-again girlfriend since middle school, the closest Dorie had ever come to having a sister. But Soph was in law school and crazy busy so it had been weeks since they’d talked, and whatever Dorie told Claudia ended up with Sean, too, so Dorie had to be careful about what she said.

Maybe if she had more girlfriends she’d have more of a clue how
they
thought men thought, and then maybe she’d be closer to understanding Nate. Because she didn’t get him. He
confounded
her. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.

He was obviously misguided about falling in love with her—holy
hell
. But she was starting to get what Fitz had meant the other day—that he seemed happier. Lighter. And if that was something Dorie could do for him, she was more than okay giving up her weekend to the cause. So, knowing that despite his knowledge of all things girlie he was, in fact, a man, there were two ways to dissuade him from his clearly delusional idea: his stomach and his dick. She had no interest in cooking anything now that they were nearing his place, so she was left with just the one. And making promises like the one she’d just made seemed to be the only way to get his mind back to where she was comfortable.

But she didn’t want to get into a car accident any more than he did. So she kept her hands to herself for the rest of their trip, and sat back and looked out the window, enjoying the sight of the city as they drove into the heart of it.

They got to his building about ten minutes later. And it was beautiful, of course. Right on the Magnificent Mile. He drove down into the garage, to a spot that was right in the middle of all the other ones.

“Don’t you get something special?” Dorie asked as they got out. “I mean... That’s, like, a million-dollar car.”

He just looked at her. “This is the spot they gave me. I’m not about to cause a scene so I can get something better.”

“Not a
better
one, just one that...” She looked around at the cars surrounding them, which, admittedly, were of the luxury variety. Still... “It’s a
million
dollars.”

“Yep,” he said, slamming the trunk.

Now it was her turn to stare. “You really don’t like that car.”

“Nope.” Then he turned and started walking away.

“Wait...” After one last look at the
gorgeous
car, she hurried after him and pulled at her tote. She didn’t need a valet. “So you don’t even want to say goodbye to it? After tomorrow it’s gone, right?”

He stopped short, exasperated. “It’s a car. I’m not going to tell it
bye
. I...” He reached down for her hand as he stepped closer. “I have exactly one thing I like about that car.” He ducked his head and nuzzled her neck. “The memory of
you
. On the hood. With me.”

And then he was kissing her. His mouth on her jaw, on her neck...

It felt... Oh,
God
. How could it be better?

How could it keep getting better?

In a kiss-induced haze, she let him lead her through the parking garage. “Huh?” she asked after realizing he’d just spoken.

Chuckling, he pushed the button for the elevator. “I asked if there was anything special you wanted to see while we’re here in Chicago.”

Without hesitation, she answered, “The library.”

“The library?”

She nodded. “Harold Washington. It’s the main branch of the Chicago Public Library.”

The elevator came right then and she started to walk forward, only to be jerked back thanks to her hand still being attached to his and him not moving. The elevator doors closed again. “What?” she asked.

“Not the Willis Tower, not Shedd Aquarium or the Art Institute or Grant Park,” he stated. “You want to go to the library.”

She jabbed the button for the elevator and was happy to see the doors open right away. “Well, sure. Those things, too, if there’s time.” Tugging him forward, she watched as he pushed the button to the thirty-eighth floor. “But I looked it up on my phone and the library does tours. It might just be for groups, so we can just grab a brochure or...” Her voice trailed off as she realized he was staring at her, completely amused.

“I’m pretty sure I can get someone to give us a tour of the library.” He smiled.

“Oh.” She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.” It felt, well, wrong. Then again, Nate Hawkins walking into the main library on a Saturday was probably a bad idea all around. So maybe it would be better if—

“I can’t decide if I should be happy that it never occurred to you to use my name...” They reached his floor and stepped out into the hallway, the doors closing behind them. “Or the exact opposite because of the look that came over your face a minute ago.”

Right. Of course he’d noticed. “It’s just so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he replied, placing his hand on her cheek. She leaned into it without a shred of resistance.

Still, she tried to break the stare—she didn’t want to see the emotion in his eyes, or the evidence that he might truly care for her as deeply as he was telling her. It would poke holes in her whole this-can’t-be-real defense. So for safety’s sake, she responded, “Says the man who’s in town to return the limited edition Porsche to his billionaire heiress ex-fiancée and taking in a meeting with the Chicago Watchmen management while he’s here.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

“Well, you’re all, ‘Let me just tell the woman I met all of three days ago that—’” She squealed as she was suddenly being lifted into the air and thrown over his shoulder. “You did not just do that!”

Except he had, obviously, because she was now hanging upside down and being carried in a fireman’s hold. And being
tickled
. “I’m not ticklish!” Unfortunately, her giggling and trying to squirm away from his hand gave her away. He just laughed.

She pummeled him on that nice and firm backside of his as he stopped to open the door to his condo and then, because it was right there, took a big bite through his jeans.

He didn’t even react. Instead, he came to a stop after only a few steps through the doorway. Every muscle in his body—at least the ones she could feel—tensed. Nate slowly lowered her to her feet as a man whispered something in rapid-fire Spanish from somewhere to her left. Something that roughly translated into,
Who the fuck is she?

About to ask the same, she whirled around.

The man who had spoken was, among other things, a three-time Cy Young Award winner. And the man he’d been talking to was a two-time World Series MVP. Her mouth dropped open as she looked around her and realized she was standing in the presence of a Who’s Who roster of professional sports.

“What...?” Nate asked, clearly as stunned as she was, although his attention was focused in the other direction, at the six additional men who stood there. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t even noticed the guys who’d just spoken.

Instead, his eyes were sweeping the dining area of his crazy nice apartment, which, incidentally, Dorie would be exploring in detail as soon as possible. They came to rest on a man she didn’t recognize, despite his presence being solid enough to center a room’s worth of majorly alpha men. His salt-but-mostly-pepper hair was cut short and he wore expensive slacks—she wouldn’t dare call them pants—and a button-down shirt that practically had dollar signs hanging off it. He had amazingly beautiful deep brown eyes that she would find attractive if they weren’t, at the moment, ice-cold.

“Pete,” Nate said. Because of course that’s who it was. “What’s, uh...” He ran his hand through his hair. “What’s going on?”

Pete’s gaze flickered to Dorie and then back to Nate. He kept his voice even, but his jaw most definitely tightened before he flashed a smile. “Thought you might need a bit of help with the reentry. Some whiskey, a little poker...” Then his voice went so even that it practically flatlined. “But I didn’t realize you’d have company.”

Still a little dazed, it took a few seconds for Nate to focus back on Pete. And then on Dorie. “
Oh.
I...I mean, we...”

Under other circumstances, Dorie would have been entirely pissed off. Or embarrassed. And, most likely, unwelcome, given the group that had gathered here tonight. But these weren’t other circumstances and this wasn’t just any group. And, to be honest, although Pete was not at all her favorite person in the world, there was genuine concern in his eyes when he looked at Nate. It was clear he wasn’t just Nate’s lawyer; he was actually, it appeared, a friend.

Since everyone seemed to be deliberately
not
staring at her as they tried to figure out what exactly she was doing here, it appeared it would be up to her to move things along. So she stepped up to Pete, ignored the irritation in his eyes and thrust her hand out. “I’m Dorie.” She mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As wariness, then awareness, came into Pete’s eyes, she smiled. “Yep. That’s the one. And just so that we’re on the same page, we didn’t do anal and he brought the condoms, although I am on the Pill, just in case you were wondering.”

Nate looked up at her sharply as she spoke, her words bringing him out of this trance, although she wasn’t sure it was her statement about the Pill that got his eyes flashing or if it was that she’d actually just said all that to Pete. At least she’d been quiet enough for only the two of them to hear it.

“Dorie,” Nate exhaled. “
Jesus.
”

“Just needed to get that out of the way,” she muttered while turning to the other men. And then she started introducing herself around, refusing to care about the fact that she’d spent half her lifetime watching some of these men play their various sports. This was about Nate, not her. There was no way in hell she was going to stand in the way.

* * *

To say that Nate was blown away was like saying Shaq was on the taller side.

Holy Christ.

Sure he’d met most of them before, he’d even shared a meal or two. But these guys were in his home. They’d taken the time to be here—Pete must have called in more than one favor to make this happen.

Honestly? Nate was beyond grateful that Dorie had just gone in guns blazing, because it gave him the minute he needed to compose himself before the other men started coming up to him with the fist bumps and back slaps that made it feel like all was right with the world. And, yes, this was his world.

Even more so when there was a knock on the door and more guys walked in. Three guys from his old team—Devon Haney, Tim Kozlowski and Eduardo Andrade. Then there were two players from the new one—Rico Castillo and Troy Simons. Good, solid guys he was looking forward to playing with. All five men had sent texts and left messages since the accident. Nate hadn’t responded, at first because he couldn’t handle yet another conversation in which no one knew what to say. But then because...

Because he’d just shut down. And climbing back out of that deep, dark hole had seemed so unattainable and impossible that he couldn’t even think of where to start.

Now, though... Now he was just humbled. Grateful.

Happy.

“Amigo!” Rico stepped forward and wasted no time in gathering Nate into a bear hug. A shortstop who had made the switch from AL to NL last year, he said, “I told you the sun would rise again, my friend. Now we just need to get these hombres off our backs.” He hooked his thumb at Nate’s former teammates. “Then we ride like the wind.”

Then Kozlowski stepped forward, his eyes conveying the same laser-like focus as they did from third base even as they rolled at Rico’s hyperbole. He threw his arm around Nate’s shoulders. “Back off, Castillo. I’m getting my boy back.”

That set off a round of trash talk—Sox and Cubs v Watchmen; baseball v basketball v football; younger guys v Pete’s veterans. Several rounds of Scotch were poured, and then there was a move back to the table where packs of cards had already been broken out. Nate took a sip of his drink and let his gaze come to a rest on Dorie, who was caught up in conversation with Eddie and Troy. And,
hell
, they seemed to be talking about the wives and girlfriends—going so far as giving her numbers to call. Shit. She was not going to like that—not one bit. He was about to go over and save her when Pete came up to him.

“You okay with this?” he asked. “I can cut it short if you want. I’m guessing this wasn’t what you had planned for the evening.”

Nate looked at the man. What Pete had done for him tonight was incredible. Nate wasn’t about to bring up the subject of the waiver, nor was he going to even attempt to explain whatever it was that was going on with Dorie. Hell, he didn’t even understand it himself.

He was taken aback by how right it felt to have her here. If she was starstruck—and he had no doubt she could name every single man in this room—she didn’t show it. Nor was she in any way irritated that what had been ‘planned,’ as Pete had put it, was completely off the table. She just seemed to be looking for a way to unobtrusively remove herself and let Nate hang with some friends. He took a sip of his drink, watching her trying to inch away, even as she smiled at something Rico said.

“Hey, Donelli,” he said, startling her. “You play poker?”

A grin came over her face, then she cocked her head to the side. “Is that the one with the chips?”

He laughed. He didn’t believe for a second she wouldn’t be running the table by the end of the night. That wasn’t the case for the others—they all looked up at her with renewed interest as they saw an easy mark.

“Don’t fall for it,” Nate said, unable to hide his smile as he tried to warn them. These were some of the best athletes on the planet and she was going to take them down. “She’s a wily one.”