Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (17 page)

Michael knew from experience that stepping outside of your chosen sport was a great way to learn new skills or to give you an edge. It’s why so many coaches had their football players take ballet classes every so often, to encourage added flexibility and range of motion.

But this… this was dangerous.

“De’Shawn,” he said, and three heads swiveled his direction. “C’mon, man, isn’t there something else she could be doing?”

Kat’s face was mutinous, and she slammed her gloved hands together in a near-comical self-high five. “Let’s do this.”

“Five seconds ago you were arguing with the man,” Michael pointed out. “Just get out of the ring. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Her face said she disagreed with him. Because of course she did. She wouldn’t agree with him if it would save her from being torn to pieces by a pack of hungry wolves. She was too stubborn a woman.

“De’Shawn,” he said again, but the trainer ignored him. So did the guy Kat was apparently going to be sparring with.

They touched gloves, De’Shawn spoke a few words into the other man’s ear, then he yelled, “Go!”

Kat came out swinging, with zero style that Michael could see. But it put the other guy on the defensive and he took a few lunging steps back. Then went for a shot of his own. Kat anticipated, weaving to the left to avoid getting knocked in the shoulder, then jabbed out with her own glove to get her opponent in the stomach. He doubled over with an audible, “Ooof!”

Kat stepped back with a cheer, bouncing on the balls of her feet, arms raised in the air. “Oh yeah, oh yeah. Who can’t anticipate now?” she asked, grinning with the thick plastic mouth guard over her teeth. She did a little dance and started singing—badly—to “Eye of the Tiger.”

Michael realized he was smiling and forced himself to scowl when she turned toward him.

“How do you like them shots?”

“Huh?” he asked, just to fuck with her.

She rolled her eyes, reached in and clumsily took the mouth guard out. Instead of putting it down, she slipped it up and under her sports bra strap that was peeking out from her tank top.

“I said—”

“I heard you. I was kidding.”

“You can’t tell,” she said dryly, holding up her gloved hand, “but I’m flipping you off right now.”

Her trainer walked over and helped her remove the gloves and headgear. “Go get showered off,” De’Shawn said, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll talk about the week’s schedule when you come back out.”

Kat looked between Michael and De’Shawn, obviously wary to leave them alone with each other and ample opportunity to talk about her.

“Don’t listen to anything he says,” she finally said on a sigh, pointing toward Michael before heading toward the locker rooms.

De’Shawn helped the other guy get his gloves off. “Thanks for stepping in to be a punching bag. Harder to coach when you’re in the action.”

“No problem, it was fun.” The guy was tall, lanky even, and definitely didn’t have the vibe that he worked out there often. He looked less… muscular gym rat and more preppy schoolboy who golfs for a workout. Not unathletic, just not this type of gym’s usual clientele.

“Anytime you wanna come over with Kat from the courts, go right ahead. I can already tell she’s going to run me ragged.” De’Shawn rubbed a hand over his bald head, shaking it slightly. “If she’s injured, she won’t say. She’s that type.”

“She had her ass handed to her in practice this morning. My grandpa doesn’t go soft on the first day,” the other man said, almost regretfully. “She wasn’t quite with it. Her head was straighter when she got to the gym here.”

Michael felt a twinge of guilt and wondered if he was the reason she hadn’t been all in for practice.

Then again, maybe if he’d taken the chance to talk to her that morning, he’d have been able to help. But no, he’d been too off-balance himself to give it a try. Too worried he’d say the wrong thing when his emotions were still warring each other, fighting for top billing.

De’Shawn and the other man finally seemed to realize, together, they weren’t alone in the training room. They turned and looked at Michael as if he were an interloper in the situation.

“Uh, Caleb says hi,” he said, taking a step back.

De’Shawn’s eyebrow winged up in a way that silently asked,
Seriously, bro?

Kat walked back at that point, wearing shorts and a simple T-shirt, carrying a gym bag in one hand and her tennis bag with rackets slung over the opposite shoulder. He reached for the gym bag automatically, but she held it away and rolled her eyes.

“Stretch,” De’Shawn reminded her. “If you can get a massage, do it.”

Michael caught himself just before asking why she wouldn’t get a massage right now.
Because the gym doesn’t have a physical trainer or masseuse on staff, asshole.

Kat gave her coach the thumbs up as the other man stepped out of the ring.

“I’ll see you in two days, yeah?”

“Got it, De’Shawn. Thanks, even though I complained. I’m sure I’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“You will,” he said cheerfully, then went about picking up the equipment.

“So you ready to head home?” The tall guy wandered over, hands in his pockets, standing beside her, way too fucking close from Michael’s point of view.

“Oh, right.” Kat gave him a slight smile. “Actually, I have a ride here. Michael, this is Thomas. My coach, Gary… this is his grandson. He was nice enough to give me a ride here.”

“I wanted to see what she was up to when she wasn’t at my place.” Thomas turned and held out a hand to shake Michael’s. His smile was sharp, without any warmth.

“Your place… You own the tennis center?” Michael shook, squeezing a little harder than necessary. He felt an instant moment of satisfaction when Thomas pulled back quicker than normal, then felt small.

Kat seemed oblivious to the whole thing. “No, his grandfather does, but Thomas helps throw balls at me while Gary calls me lazy.” She and Thomas shared a private smile and little chuckle over that.

And Michael had never felt any more like a third wheel than he did in that moment. “Right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “If you want to go with him, that’s fine. I just thought—”

“No, I’ll go with you.” She turned to Thomas and gave him a friendly smile. “Thanks again for the lift here and for sparring. I hope you’re not in trouble for staying out so long.”

“No lessons until four thirty tonight. The rug rats,” he added with a shudder. “Having a dozen four-year-olds on a single court swinging rackets around is just asking to be castrated.”

“Wear a cup,” Kat suggested with a cheeky grin, then bumped into Michael’s arm. “Ready to roll?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, thankful she’d chosen to go home with him.

They started their way out of the gym, weaving between machines when suddenly she hefted the gym bag over until it hit him in the gut. He grunted.

“You could help me out by carrying that, you know.” Her eyes were laughing as she kept walking.

He gave himself a moment to watch her sexy ass as it strutted through the gym doors out into the parking lot before following.

K
at looked
around the gym parking lot for Michael’s Mustang—
please, oh please
—or the SUV. Neither jumped out at her, but she also wasn’t a car gal, so she could have missed it. She started to scan once more when Michael’s hand landed at her waist, making her jump.

“Over there,” he said in her ear, pointing down toward the end of the lot. He clicked the remote on the key fob in his hands, and a four-door sedan in gold chirped and flashed its lights.

“That’s neither the ’Stang nor the SUV. I may not be a car girl, but I know those two things. Just how many cars do you have, Lambert?” she asked as they walked. She waited for him to walk past her toward the driver’s side door, but he just stood there, watching her.

“You don’t like it?”

Curious. “It’s fine.” She shrugged. “Looks… clean. Dependable. Safe. Not your preferred method of transportation,” she added with a grin. He rolled his eyes, then tossed her the keys.

“It’s yours, so mock all you want.”

Kat stared at the keys in her hands, then at the car. She had no clue what this car was, but it was definitely a decent car, and looked like it had just driven off the car lot. If it were a cartoon, the car would have one of those shiny light twinkles, it was that clean. “What…?”

“You need a way to get around. It’s yours. I know a guy. He cut me a great deal.” Michael shrugged, then opened the passenger door. “Getting in?”

Kat opened the backseat, gently placed her tennis bag and duffle in the back, and breathed in the new-car smell. Which meant she was inhaling a lot of chemicals, but it was totally worth it. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she just took in the dashboard, the controls, the cup holders.

“These cup holders are huge!”

He laughed softly. “That’s what you care about?”

“When you are constantly lugging around massive water bottles… hell yeah, I care. Michael…” Her fingertips drifted slowly around the car’s interior, touching everything, feeling, experiencing. “I have to pay you back.”

“Okay.”

She snorted. “No, please, I insist.”

“I knew you wouldn’t accept it as a gift, so you might as well pay for it. I’ll take installments.”

She turned the car on, then checked the mileage readout. Under fifteen thousand. Not brand new but definitely newish. “How old?”

“Two-year-old program car. Dealership owner’s wife drove it. The dealership maintains the program cars, so they’re always spotless and mechanically sound.”

“I’ve never owned a car this new,” she admitted. Probably sounded stupid to him, especially given his car love and the fact that he could just walk into any dealership and plunk a suitcase full of cash on a table to drive off with one. “I probably can’t afford it.”

“You can once you win a Grand Slam.”

“Look who’s upping his tennis lingo,” she whispered, still in awe of the car. “I can’t afford this, Michael. My payments will be tiny. My grandchildren will be paying this car off.”

“Interest free,” he added, then told her how much he paid for it.

“I’m no car girl, but that seems insanely low for a car this close to new.”

“It just comes back to the IOU collection. Like I said, I know a guy. I buy a shitload of cars from them, and they do all my detailing and mechanics. Plus anytime a new guy joins the team, I send them Robbie’s way. Believe me, he owed me a good deal.”

“And you wasted your IOU on me.” For the first time since they’d climbed in the car, she turned to face him, unsure of what to say. Taking a chance, she cupped his face and kissed him.

He sat stiffly for a moment, then leaned into it and really planted one on her in return, invading her space and making her feel possessed. Wanted. Needed. He pressed into her, making her bend back slightly and—

Honk!

She jumped, knocking foreheads with Michael. They both groaned and rubbed at their heads with the palms of their hands.

“Like a couple of damn teenagers,” Michael muttered, but he was smiling.

“You started it.” But Kat couldn’t stop grinning.

“You kissed first.”

“You bought the car.”

“You accepted the car.”

Kat smoothed a hand over the wheel. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“But you will.”

His confidence made her, perversely, want to tease. “Maybe I’ll take it, then sell it on the black market.”

“There’s no black market when you own the car. It’s just… selling the car.”

Damn. “Why not a sports car?”

“Gear.”

She raised her brow. “What?”

“You’re an athlete. Nobody knows better than another athlete how much shit we have to carry at any given time. It’s why I picked an SUV for my other car. Tossing my bags into the back of a two-door car is hell. Plus you’ve got long legs. A sports car is fine when you have another option. When it’s your only option… not so fun.”

Practical and considerate. “But not an SUV.”

“Do I look made of money?”

She snorted. “Okay then. Thank you.”

He held out a hand, and she reached hers to him to lace their fingers a moment, squeeze, then release to reach for the gearshift.

Her hand froze, and he sighed. “What?”

“I have no clue how to get home.”

* * *

“
I
’m making dinner tonight
.” Kat pointed at her apartment as they each got their keys out. “Don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Michael nodded. “I have to shower first.”

“Ditto, plus cook, which I suck at, so…” Kat checked her sports watch. “Ninety minutes?”

Michael frowned at his own watch. “That’s sort of early.”

Kat flushed, making him want to kiss her again. “I’m exhausted, I won’t lie. And I still have a shift tonight at the bar.”

“Ninety it is.” He leaned over and kissed her, then opened his own door. Before he closed it, he waited to hear hers snap shut. But it never did. He leaned back out into the hallway to find her staring pensively across the hall at a blank wall. “Problem?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Thing is, I’m not all that hungry.”

“Huh.” He nodded, trying to keep the smile off his face.

“And as I said, my cooking sucks.”

“You did say that,” he agreed.

“So maybe we should skip dinner.”

He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “And instead, we’d…”

She sighed and glared at him. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Yup.”

An impish smile came over her, and she looked down the hallway, past her apartment, then beyond his. The hallway was, for the moment, blissfully empty. Then she nodded at his door.

He shook his head. He’d make her say it… because for all the more she put on the bravado act in public, Kat struggled to talk up the sexy chat.

Which he found hilarious.

She gestured inside once more. He shook his head, mouthed,
No
.

Fine
, she mouthed back, then shocked the hell out him by grabbing her T-shirt by the hem and lifting it up and over her head.

“Jesus, Kat!” Michael rushed at her, pushing her into her own apartment just as he heard the elevator ding behind him, signaling someone would be getting out on their floor. Her door closed behind him.

Kat doubled over, laughing. “Your… your face,” she gasped out, wiping at tears. “You looked so horrified.”

“You were stripping in the damn hallway!” he shouted at her. “Jesus.”

“I don’t think Jesus wants to see my boobs.”

“But the guy coming off the elevator might have.”

“Could have been a woman,” she pointed out as if that were all that much better.

He stepped to her. “Why are you constantly pushing the bounds? What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

She started to speak, then apparently thought better of it and closed her mouth and shook her head.

“Talk to me,” he asked softly, cupping her cheek.

She watched him closely. He felt analyzed, under a microscope. Then she gave him a cheeky smile. “Are you interested in what’s in my head or in my pants?” With that, she cupped his erection and squeezed none too gently.

“Kat—”

“Let’s go, bubba. Pants off dance off.”

“What the— Kat, what are you doing?”

She’d already dug into her shorts for her phone, which she unlocked and began thumbing through screens.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. How was it this woman, of all the women in the world, made him insanely horny? The most annoying, obstinate, irrational female on God’s green earth, and
she
was the one that made him harder than stone 90 percent of the time. The world was a cruel, bizarre place when…

He watched warily as Kat set her phone down on the kitchen counter and stepped away. From the small speakers blasted Kenny Chesney’s “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”

“What. The. Hell.”

Kat smirked and took a few steps back into the living room. “Music to pants off dance off with.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off with Kenny Chesney in the background.”

“Aw, too bad.” She gave him an exaggerated pouty face and reached for the waistband of her own pants before shimmying around so her ass faced him. “I was hoping for a dance partner. Oh well.”

“God damn it,” he muttered, then took a few steps toward her. She smiled demurely over her shoulder, encouraging him.

“I know you’re a fun guy.” She sidestepped his reach and did a little ballet twirl, all while lip-syncing another line from the song. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“People talk. Doesn’t make it true.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Something dark crossed her eyes for a moment, and she stopped dancing.

He hated that sadness, hated that he’d said something to put it there. Not when she was the definition of light normally.

Man up, Lambert. You can have fun too. Don’t be such an asshole.

The song ended, and she gave him a sad sort of smile. “Well, I tried. Guess my tractor’s not sexy enough.”

The next song on the playlist she’d found the first one on began, and he felt a smile tug at his lips. Flo Rida’s “My House.” “Interesting mix.”

“When I run, I need something to keep me going. The variety keeps me guessing, makes me wanna keep running to hear what’s next.” She shrugged, then started back for the kitchen to grab her phone. And gasped when he grabbed her arm and twirled her around. Her bare breasts hit him in the chest, and she looked up in surprise. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not a country boy. But this?” He started moving to the beat, best he could, with his arm around her. “I can get behind some of this.”

“You… just wanted a different song?” she asked as he spun her around quickly. Her hair wrapped around his upper arm in a sweet caress.

“Maybe.” He took his shirt off and tossed it aside, wanting to feel skin on skin. When she wrapped her arms around him, front to front, he bent her back for a kiss, old-school Hollywood style.

“My, my.”

“Welcome to my house,” he mouthed along with the words, laughing when she snickered and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, you and Flo Rida. Such badasses together.”

“Flo and I could hang.” He caught her as she spun so her back was to his front. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her shorts, he pulled, but they didn’t budge. She wriggled her ass a little, then hopped away and did a dancing jig by herself, moving in some sort of rhythm to the music. Then she caught the look on his face and laughed.

God, she was amazing. Dancing topless like a loon, to rap music, and laughing.

“You’ve got no fear.”

She bumped back toward him, undoing the buckle on his belt while still swaying around. “According to Gary—”

“Gary?”

“My tennis coach here, keep up. According to Gary,” she repeated, tugging the leather from the loops of his jeans, “I’m afraid of something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m afraid of being forgotten.”

“That’s stupid,” he said automatically, though he sort of got it.

“Maybe. Gary’s a little…” She twirled her fingers in the air by her head. “He’s got the woo-woo going on. But the man knows his tennis. Already I feel like my forehand is doing something different. Better.”

“If he’s good for your game, then put up with the woo-woo,” he suggested, then cupped her face as the song shifted once more, this time to Skrillex. “No more shoptalk.”

“Just dancing.” She moved to behind him. Her breasts pressed into his skin while she kept moving. Hard nipples dragged over his back, and he shivered. Jesus, she was driving him insane. “Dancing is a release. When I’m injured, my physical therapists always have me dance to get my muscles moving again, in a less stressful way.”

“So this is a long-term love affair, this whole dancing thing?”

“I’m terrible at it.” Kat’s fingers began unbuttoning his jeans. She was working on touch alone, so there was some fumbling. But it might have qualified in his top five most erotic sights in his life to look down at his own crotch and watch a woman’s hands unbutton his pants from the same angle.

“Terrible dancer, never had a lesson in my life. But there’s something so freeing about knowing you suck at a thing and then going out and doing it anyway. No pressure, you know?”