Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (11 page)

* * *

“
A
nd then he
talked about doing hikes. I’ve never been much of an outdoorsy sort of girl,” Kat added as she followed Michael into his apartment two hours later. “But I think I could do it.”

He closed the door behind her harder than necessary, locking it. “How are you not an outdoorsy girl? You play tennis outdoors.”

“Yeah, but I’d be perfectly fine if they moved all future Grand Slams inside. And playing on a clay court or extremely short, treated ‘grass’ is hardly the great outdoors. It’s completely sanitary. The worst element I have to battle is the sun in my eyes,” she pointed out, watching his body fight the tension that had held it stiff all evening. From the moment she’d gotten in the car, he’d been about as chatty and flexible as a two-by-four. “But De’Shawn says by only working out inside, I’m killing my oneness with my environment. And I need to accept the inevitable and acclimate.”

“Did he.” It wasn’t a question. Michael headed for the kitchen. She followed at a safe distance, sitting on one of the stools that sat at the half wall separating the kitchen counter from the eat-in dining area.

“Yes, he did. He thinks I’ve been way too regimented in my workouts to date. That I’m not getting better because I’m not pushing myself. Adding weight to a bar is one thing, but that’s only going to be good if I’m in a weight lifting competition. I have to challenge my muscles in new and unique ways. Rope climbing, obstacles courses, that sort of thing. So I can be ready for anything.”

“Hmm.” He dug out a water, held it over his shoulder. She shook her head. Closing the fridge with his hip, he cracked open the bottle and chugged.

It was pretty unfair he looked so good when he was pissed off. And there was no doubt about it, he was pissed. But at her? Or something else…

It shouldn’t matter much. He was her mentor, sort of, and she was basically here until called out of exile. Or until the Australian Open in January. There was no way Sawyer would ask her to miss that. No way she could afford to.

But for some reason… it mattered. It pulled at her to find out. To fix whatever was irritating him, pissing him off. Making him not smile, because he had a gorgeous smile.

To dig a little, she continued, “I think next week we’re going to start with the rock wall.”

“And when you break your arm falling off the wall, is De’Shawn going to be the savior that fixes that too? This is insanity,” he added, his voice rising with each sentence. “I just watched my good friend and team captain miss our entire preseason and several of our games because he went parasailing or something and landed wrong.”

He was referring to Trey Owens, she knew. “I’m sorry your friend got hurt—”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. The fact is, you have to be careful when you make a living with your body.”

“Oh, you think I don’t know that?” She stood now, feeling his anger bleeding into her. Poisoning her good mood. That only added fuel to her enraged fire. “You think I don’t know the ramifications of making a living with my body and what that means? How every time I bend, something snaps, crackles, or pops like a bowl of cereal? How every time I feel a twinge in my muscles, I worry it’s going to put me out of commission for weeks, setting me back months that I can’t afford to be set back? I get it!”

“So why are you taking risks?” he thundered, stepping right up to her, staring down into her face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m at the end!” Jesus, he was going to make her say it. Turning away from him, she walked a few steps away, breathing deeply, fighting for calm. “I’m at the end, Michael,” she said again, softly, unable to look at him. “My body is breaking down, and I’m only twenty-six. I can’t keep doing this until I’m in my forties like some players do. Not if I want to be able to walk without a limp forever.”

“If anyone understands how close we are to the end of a career, it’s a football player.” His voice was calmer now too, telling her he knew the fight was over. They’d moved on from that. From the anger. Let go of the rage as fast as it had spun up inside them. “The average lifespan in this job is under four years. We’re all just one bad hit away from never playing again or worse.”

“Yes, and you’ll have your millions to keep the roof over your head.” She bit down on her lip and looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry, that was bitter. But I am, a little. I can admit that.”

He said nothing to that. Because what could he say? There was no disputing it. He made millions playing his sport. She… didn’t.

“You know the real reason why people dropped my sponsorships after the sex tape?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged.

“Because I’m not good enough to play over it. That’s the real reason. If I were Williams-sisters good, or I’d already had an illustrious career and was at the end, it might ding my sponsorship cred, but it wouldn’t have sunk me. But I’m at the end here. It’s either get noticed some other way and scrape some deals to get by, or just fucking win already. And with every day that I get older, every day my body wakes up and groans or twinges, the winning seems like a bigger obstacle.”

The bottle crinkled a little as he reached back and set it down on the kitchen bar top, empty. She turned her head away, needing a moment to breathe.

“I’m sorry about the money crack.” The apology needed to be repeated. She turned her head back now, surprised to find him as close to her as he was. “It’s not your fault you play in a more valued sport. And that your contracts aren’t tied to winning purses. You just play a sport you love, and it happens to be the one people financially agree with.”

He took another step toward her. She wanted to retreat. And that made her more determined to stand her ground.

“Look, I… I have maybe a few more years left in me. Already I feel like I’m racing the clock. Not getting any younger, body isn’t going to magically reverse the damage I’ve already inflicted on it. And I’m nowhere near where I’d hoped to be in terms of my career, between injuries and other bad luck.”

“I get it.” He reached out with both hands and cupped her shoulders, pulling her into him for a hug. “I get it.”

She hadn’t said it all, hadn’t said even half of it, but she sensed he did, in fact, get it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. His lips moved in her hair as he spoke over her.

“I won’t pretend it’s not a relief to me, knowing if someone called tomorrow and said I could never play again, that I wouldn’t struggle to make ends meet for the rest of my life. Even without finding a second career, which I will, because how boring to not have a purpose.”

“You’ll always have a purpose even if it doesn’t pay. Mentoring,” she added when he said nothing. “Clearly you have to have an affinity for it to put up with my sorry ass.”

“Let’s just say, I’m finding your ass less sorry by the day.” He rubbed a hand lightly at the small of her back, just above the aforementioned body part, and kissed her again.

She wanted more. So much more. But would he give it to her? Or was he still fighting against some innate reservation?

“The point is, I at least understand the panic and the fear about losing your entire livelihood in one fell swoop.”

“We do have that in common,” she admitted.

“Kinda nice, actually.” He hummed a little in his chest, and the vibrations felt both sexy and soothing under her cheek. “I’ve never dated someone who could relate like that to me, from the job aspect.”

“I will never wear those football pants,” Kat warned, and he laughed. More vibrations, which sent tingles of anticipation through her.

Touch me. Touch me like you want me as much as I want you. Please don’t let this be just me who feels this need.

His hand hovered just over her ass, still rubbing, and he began to sway. “I doubt this is what Sawyer had in mind when he paired us up,” Michael admitted.

“His fault.”

“Hmm.” He kept them swaying a bit, as if they were dancing to the final song of a high school prom and didn’t want the night to end. “I want you to be careful when you’re training, that’s all. Promise me, please.”

“I promise.”

“Do I need to get the same promise from that guy?”

That guy? “De’Shawn?” She pulled away just a little and looked up. Michael’s jaw was tight, and his eyes were unreadable. “Are you still angry I got a new trainer? Caleb recommended him, you know.”

“I know.” His voice sounded forced.

“And he’s got qualifications. His training strategy sounds good, if a little unorthodox. But I need that.”

“What else do you need?” Michael asked suddenly, urgently.

“I need… wait. Is this…” Her lips twitched, but she forced them to calm down. “Are you… are you jealous?”

He didn’t say anything, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Michael Middle Name Lambert, you’re jealous.”

“Everett.”

“What?” She blinked.

“My middle name. Since you want to use it, you might as well know it. Michael Everett Lambert, and no, I’m not jealous. Just looking out for you.”

“Uh-huh.” Her lips curved into a smile. He squeezed her in warning. The smile only grew until he was crushing her to him and his mouth was on hers.

Yes. Yes! Touch me.
She clawed at his shirt in an attempt for monkey see, monkey do. He took the hint and pulled off her mouth long enough to rip the shirt off him and toss it to the side. Then her hands were on his bare flesh and their mouths were together again, teasing and tasting and doing amazing things that made her want to rip his pants off and insist he replicate inside her, with his cock.

His hands finally—
finally!
—skimmed under her shirt and pulled it up, up… off. The shirt trailed back down her ponytail and fell to the floor behind her. And he looked down and grimaced when faced with her heavy-duty sports bra.

“Whoops.” She laughed and tucked one finger under the shoulder strap. Pulling back, she let it snap down on her skin audibly. “Yeah, I’m not really dressed for seduction, am I?”

“Who the hell cares how you’re dressed? But in case you care,” Michael paused to kiss her neck, down to the strap she’d snapped. His teeth closed around the elastic and pulled out just a little, letting it snap again. “I think the fact that you use your body for a living is sexy as hell.”

“Because I can’t carry any extra pudge?” she asked while his hands cruised around her torso, learning every inch of her.

“Because it’s a living, breathing testimony to your dedication. That’s sexy when a woman knows what she wants and not only goes for it but gets it. When she’s not afraid of going the distance and winning, of being on top… you know, in her field,” he added with a wink and another kiss. “But you can be on top in the bedroom too.”

He lifted the bottom of her bra just enough that her nipples were exposed, and she shivered at the feeling of her hot flesh in the AC-cooled air. It was a breath of relief, and instant breath-sucking shock at the same time. The tips of her breasts ruched and puckered painfully.

“Kat, I don’t…” He swallowed, then let his hands drift to cover her breasts, thumbs gently moving over her nipples as if soothing them. “I don’t know where this is going. I won’t lie to you though. That’s what I can promise.”

“Ditto,” she said, then pulled his mouth down for another kiss. A faint buzzing invaded her mind. Was that the sound of the blood pounding in her head? The rush of—

“Your phone’s vibrating,” he whispered against her lips.

“Nope. I put the ringer on silent before I went to the gym,” she countered, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Well, it’s not my phone.”

“It’s not… aw, shit.” She stepped back and dug in her pants pocket for her phone. It wasn’t the ringer, but the alert from her calendar app.

WORK: in one hour.

“Damn it,” she hissed, hitting OK so it would shut off. “I have to change and get to the bar.”

“Okay.” He stepped back immediately, as if not wanting to tempt himself further. At least that’s what she would tell herself. “I’ll wait and drive you.”

Beginning to struggle with her sports bra, she said, “You don’t have to—”

“Kat.”

She stopped, then looked at his face.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, then froze as he reached over and tugged the elastic back to its spot below her breasts. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, adjusting the front of his pants as he walked toward the bedroom. “Just knock when you’re ready. I’m gonna… I’ll be back in a bit.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

K
at shook
the appletini she was creating and poured it into the glass before passing it on to the man who’d clearly been sent to the bar by a girlfriend or someone to buy it. “Here we go.”

“Thanks.” He tried to slide something to her, but she shook her head.

“You already paid.”

“This is for you.”

She took it, assuming it was an additional tip. He winked and headed off with the cocktail. When she opened her hand, she realized it wasn’t a folded bill but a cocktail napkin with his phone number.

“Ugh.” She tossed it in the bin behind her and wiped her hands on the bar apron she wore over her shorts.

“Slimeball?” Diane asked, walking by, high blond ponytail swinging with each swaying step.

“Third one tonight. And that one came in with somebody!”

“Welcome to the life.” Diane turned and set a trio of import beer bottles in front of a male customer, who didn’t have any problem hiding the fact that he was staring at her cleavage in her unbuttoned polo. “That’ll be twenty-two fifty, sweetheart.” While the man dug for his wallet, Kat watched Diane actually press her elbows in a bit to create some more oomph in the boobs. The man actually dropped his wallet. Diane looked behind her shoulder and winked. After taking the money—and a healthy tip, Kat was sure—Diane sauntered back to the register. “It’s all about the tease. You tease them a bit, get their juices flowing, get them thinking some nasty thoughts, and then they run home and bang the hell out of their wife instead. Everyone wins, wife included.”

Kat watched as she tossed the tip in the locked box they would split at the end of the night. “I’m not all that good at advertising the wares, if you will. Plus I’m not exactly the curvy girl you are.”

“You’ve got some men who admire you. Those long legs of yours are a hit. And your ass makes me jealous.” She reached around and gave Kat a playful slap on the aforementioned ass before laughing and walking away. “Oh, and you have at least one hardcore admirer.” Pointing to the other side of the bar, Diane disappeared behind the double doors that led to the storage and inventory and back rooms.

Kat turned to find Michael watching her with a scowl. The same scowl he’d worn all night as he drank his water—no alcohol the night before a game—and kept such a close eye on her, she’d think he was afraid of her running away.

“Michael,” she said as she approached. “It’s going to be a really long night if you sit in this corner and stare at me like you’re waiting for trouble.”

“Maybe I am,” he countered, taking another drink of water. “This place is crawling with guys waiting to ‘walk you to your car.’”

She rolled her eyes and patted his cheek. “Go home. Get some sleep. I promise to be a good girl and let one of the bouncers walk me to a cab.”

He started to say something else, then stopped when a woman sat beside him. His scowl turned into a smile, and Kat felt her own jealous juices start to flow before she turned and found Aileen sitting beside her man.

No, not her man. Manny. Mentor. Michael. Not
her man
. Way too presumptuous to call him that.

“Hey, handsome.” Aileen accepted a kiss on the cheek and turned to Kat. “And hey, girl. A little birdie told me you were working here.”

“What little birdie?”

“Kristen. She knows everything. It’s magic. Anyway, I was coming by to see how you were… and check this place out.” Aileen looked around to the high exposed wood beams and then around a little more. “It’s not quite what I expected. Just looks like a normal country-style bar. Everyone I asked made it sound more like a den of sin…” She trailed off and laughed. “Oh, right. And there’s the name.”

“Just wait a bit.” Kat grinned and leaned her elbows on the bar. “They’re doing a chocolate pudding scavenger hunt in the back in around twenty minutes. They toss a few items in a baby pool, then pour a few gallons of pudding on top, and you have to stick your arms—or whatever—in to find the items. From what I hear, it gets… pretty messy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” When Kat just smiled, Aileen’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I think I’ll skip that.”

“Killian would kill you,” Michael said in a sing-song voice.

“Killian is not my boss.” Aileen rolled her eyes. “Men. They think because they have to be all alpha tough on the field that they need to be the same way everywhere in life.”

Kat just gave Michael a pointed look. He pretended to be interested in something across the bar.

“So anyway, I was curious if you minded me doing a little story on you.”

Kat’s eyes snapped back to Aileen. “What? Why?”

“Just doing a little something about the plight of the professional athlete at the start of a career. You know, how everyone hears ‘pro athlete’ and thinks you make millions, when clearly that’s not the case for 99 percent of them.” Aileen gestured around the bar, as if to add
case in point
.

It was true. Kat wouldn’t work at a bar if she didn’t need the cash. But… “I’m not supposed to do any media stuff without Sawyer’s go-ahead.”

“Sawyer…”

“My agent. Our agent,” Kat corrected, motioning to Michael. “I’m not sure he’d totally love the idea.”

“Well, think about it. When you decide, this big lug knows how to get ahold of me. Actually, here.” She pulled a pen and a tiny notepad out of her purse—probably a hazard of the trade, always having something to write with on you—and jotted down her phone number.

“Now this is a number I don’t mind getting while I’m at work,” Kat joked, slipping the folded slip of paper in her back pocket.

Aileen slid off the barstool. “I’ll leave this open for someone who’s going to pay for more than I can drink in an hour and make it home safely.”

Kat waved to the other woman, conflicted on the idea. Aileen seemed like a wonderful person, and if so many Bobcats trusted her with sports stories, then it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. Maybe the publicity would work.

God knew she needed something positive out there to counteract the bad.

Or it could totally backfire and she’d be seen as a whiny little princess who didn’t have the chops to make it with the big kids and was now complaining about it.

“You’re thinking so hard I can see smoke coming out your ears.”

She flipped Michael off and started collecting empties from seats that had been abandoned.

* * *

T
wo hours later
, Michael was silently debating other jobs Kat could get that paid decently, wouldn’t keep her out at all hours of the night, and would be less likely to get her hit on every ten minutes.

“Michael, hey. Didn’t think you came out to places like this anymore.”

Michael turned to find Sam England, one of the sophomore tight ends and a former mentee, sitting beside him in the bench he’d taken toward the back. Kat had finally convinced—rather, ordered—him to get off his ass and move out of the way of the bar, saying he was scaring off good, paying customers. But he wouldn’t go far. Not too far anyway. He wasn’t about to let Kat try to get a cab home at God knew what time of night she’d finally leave.

“Hey, Sam.” He scooted over a few inches until his shoulder was against the wall. “I don’t, not really. Why are you here?”

“Gotta get out of my head, you know?” The other man grimaced and knocked two knuckles against his temple. “You told me to find the rhythm that works before a game, and this tends to be it. Just juice,” he added when he held up his tumbler. “I get laughed at, but whatever. Some guys need the quiet the night before. The quiet fucks with my head, so I find a crowd and get lost in it.”

Since Michael was out at the bar himself—regardless of the reason—he couldn’t really argue. “Long as you’re ready to do us proud tomorrow, whatever, man.” He clinked his water glass against Sam’s and took a drink. And cringed when he heard the loud shriek of the audio system interference. “Christ, that hurt.”

Sam just shuddered. “Nails on a chalkboard.”

Then the redheaded bar owner stepped up onto the bar and began barking into the mic for people to shut up already so she could talk.

“Bossy thing,” Sam muttered. “What’s been on the entertainment menu thus far?”

“There was a chocolate pudding scavenger hunt earlier.” He grinned when Sam’s head whipped around. “Yeah, you’re too late. Clothing required, thank you very much to sanitation requirements. And before that, karaoke. Some good, some bad, some ugly.”

“That’s the thing about the Inn… always keeps you guessing.” Sam nodded toward the bar. “You sticking around for this bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here for a while.” He watched as the owner motioned for a girl to stand up with her on the bar from the crowd. With the help of two gentlemen, the female patron managed to half crawl, half step on up and stand beside the redhead. She was a cute thing, in tight jeans and a skimpy tank top, and couldn’t be more than twenty-two, tops. And nervous as hell, obvious from the way she bounced on her feet and played with her hair.

“Tonight we’re bringing back the not-so-silent auction, boys. Ladies who agreed get a month of free drinks on me. Gentlemen who bid get the chance to spend the rest of the evening with their lady of choice. That’s right, see something you like? Don’t have those pickup lines dusted off quite yet? Then take a chance and place a bet!”

“Archaic,” Sam said. Michael just snorted into his water glass.

“And remember, gentlemen, you’re buying time and attention, nothing more. It’s all in good, consensual fun. So let’s get started! This is Culvie.”

“Culvie?” Michael and Sam uttered together in disbelief, then snickered.

“Culvie’s a senior at St. John’s, a former gymnast, and…” Red leaned her head closer as Culvie whispered something in her ear. “Okay then. And she can still do the splits.”

Hands shot in the air, waving frantically. Looking decidedly less nervous, Culvie started rocking back and forth, hip cocked on each shift, almost like she was striking a little model pose every few seconds.

Sam groaned. Michael sighed, then looked for Kat. She was watching him. With a smile and a one-shouldered shrug, she turned her back to him to pull a beer.

Thank God for small favors she wasn’t going to cause problems.

Together Sam and Michael watched as numerous women were auctioned off, with varying results. The girls each had their ego stroked, and the guys felt like flexing their wallets in a bid for attention. Win-win, as far as all participants were concerned.

“I told you from the start, we’d go to ten. Our tenth girl is Iris who… Where’d she go?” Red shielded her eyes from the light and started scanning the crowd. “Iris, going once, Iris going twice… Okay, you’ve missed your chance, girl.”

“And that ends that game,” Sam said, rolling his empty glass between his palms. “Want another water? I’m getting another juice.”

“Sure, thanks.” Michael passed him his glass and settled back in the booth, ready to relax for another few hours until Kat was cut and could leave.

“I promised ten, and you’ll get ten. Here’s our tenth now. Come on up, Kitten!”

He blinked, sat up straighter, and watched as Red tugged, and another bartender pushed until Kat, looking surprised and not all that excited, climbed up onto the bar.

“Kitten here is our newest bartender. If you haven’t met her, then now’s your chance to welcome her to the Sin’s Inn with a bang!” Red laughed, and Kat smiled, hands on her hips. “Do a spin, Kitten, and show the men what they’re aiming for.”

Like the nine auctions before, Michael heard several catcalls and a few coarse suggestions. And like the nine ladies before her, Kat did a quick spin, ending with her hands in the air, a grin on her face.

She looked at home in the spotlight. She was having fun. Was the reluctance all a ploy?

And damn it, why was he even sitting on his ass while she was up there? Standing, he began to weave his way through the crowd toward the bar.

“Kitten here is not your garden-variety bartender. No, no, boys, and she’s not here to help her ‘work her way through college.’” Red ended this with air quotes and a wink. “She’s a special one who’s ready to ace your heart and backhand into the right man’s arms. She’s a tennis pro!”

“Jesus Christ,” Michael growled as he threaded the needle between two men who were shouting suggestions about strip tennis and getting a good grip on their rackets. Coming to a stop at the edge of the bar, he motioned for Kat to get down.

She didn’t even look in his direction.

“Kitten here is guaranteed to hold you to love… in tennis anyway. But love’s not on the menu tonight, boys. Open the wallets, and let’s see how we welcome our sweet tennis-playing bartender!”

Kat did a little runway walk down to the end of the bar and back again, clearly enjoying herself.

Michael had to unclench his fists before they started shaking. What the hell was she
doing
?

A man behind him offered a hundred, which had been the standard opening bid for almost every woman before. A few men raised it by ten or fifteen dollars each until it was just under two hundred. Nobody had received over two hundred that night.

And through it all, Kat looked unruffled, even posing for a photo when someone held up their phone.