Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (20 page)

* * *

K
at waited
until her coach was through the tarp, then ran her hands up and into his hair. “How much does it hurt?”

He didn’t say anything or even move for a moment, but his left eye—the one not hit by the tennis ball—closed for a moment, and he bowed his head. She worried he was hurt worse than she’d thought. Wasn’t nausea a sign of a concussion?

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No, just don’t stop doing that.”

“Don’t stop doing… Oh.” She continued running her fingers over his scalp, scratching lightly. He made a sound that was eerily similar to the sound he made in bed when they joined together. “So this was your plan all along, huh?”

“Yeah, risking broken cheekbones just for some snuggles. Sounds legit.”

“God, I didn’t really break… You’re kidding about that, right?”

He opened the left eye, then cautiously, the right, and pulled his hand away from that cheek.

She hissed in a breath. The skin was already bruising at the apple of his cheek, streaking toward his eye. While his eye was red, it didn’t look swollen. “Missed your eye socket, I think.”

“You did, though it’s gonna blacken anyway. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of knocks to the face. I know how the discoloration works.”

That made her laugh, just a little, before cutting off a sob. “I’m so sorry. I really wasn’t aiming at your head.”

“I know.”

She kissed him gently, first on the lips, then the bridge of his nose, before moving to leave a butterfly-light smooch on the injured area. He didn’t pull back in pain or wince, so she assumed that was okay.

“Your balls, however…”

“Yeah, I noticed a few aiming straight for the family jewels. You’re lucky I was quick with the racket, or I’d be moaning a hell of a lot more than over a black eye.”

She snorted.

“I’ve never hit someone in the face. It happens, that you notch someone during drills, and usually it’s unintentional. But I’ve never nailed a person above the shoulders before.”

“Coulda fooled me. You’ve got a killer volley there, Kelly.”

She realized they’d been left alone for a lot longer than it took to get ice. “I think they forgot about us. Let’s go get some ice from the kitchen.”

She led him behind the tarps and through the lobby, which was suspiciously empty, into the employee kitchen. The door swung closed behind him, and she started digging through the cabinets for a baggie to put the ice in. “You don’t have practice, do you?”

“I do. But it’s mostly a walk-through. We leave tomorrow for Cali.”

“Oh, man.” She hissed as she thought about him going to practice looking like that. “Your coaches are going to kill me.”

“No, they won’t. If I couldn’t play, that would be different. I’ll play.” He took the bag of ice and put it over his cheek. Kat had a moment of relief he wasn’t the kind of athlete to play down an injury and ignore medical common sense in order to play the tough guy. “It’ll be sore, but it’s not exactly a career ender.”

She started to sit up on the counter by the sink—the only space to sit in the tiny kitchen—then thought better of it. She wanted privacy. “Come this way.”

They walked back out into the lobby. Still no sign of Thomas or Gary, though Gary’s office door was closed. She led him down the short hallway that housed all the trainers’ offices. Thomas’s door was wide open, but the light was off and nobody was there. She came to the last door, the office of the coach who had left before she’d arrived in Santa Fe. The office was empty, and Gary had given her a key to keep some of her things in there for the time being. Wasted space otherwise, he’d suggested. So, it was now hers.

She unlocked the door and waited for Michael to walk by her before pushing it closed. She went to the desk and propped her butt on the edge of it.

“I still feel bad.”

“How bad?” he asked, walking toward her, still holding the ice bag to his face.

“Less bad now than a second ago. Don’t milk it.”

“Bad enough to kiss it and make it feel better?”

This playful Michael… She loved it. Loved him when he was being fun and carefree and not playing the manny card. Loved when they were equals, on the same level because of desire and need and not one in control of the other. She needed the equality.

“Maybe.” She smiled and widened her knees, giving him room to step between them. With a gentle grip, she held his head and guided him down until she could press a featherlight kiss to the cold skin of his cheek. “There.”

“More.” He kissed her then, letting the ice bag drop from his hands into the trash can beside the desk. She heard the wet thud and rattle as it landed in the plastic-lined basket. And then she shut it all out as he gave her his mouth, his tongue, enjoying the feel of his body pressed up against hers. His erection thick and insistent against her core, feeling the heat of it even through both their shorts.

His lips cruised down her neck, and she arched it to give him more room. Her eyes closed, and she simply lost herself in the feel of his hands, his lips on her body. Lost herself in the moment of knowing this man who was so amazing and wonderful wanted her like this.

“God, why do we have to be in public?” he asked with a groan, tearing his lips away.

“Who cares?” she asked. “Nobody’s coming in here. Nobody’s even
here
,
apparently
.
” As she said it, her hands were working their way down his body to find his shorts, the elastic waistband. She slid her hand inside to grip him firmly.

He moaned, then started tugging at her own shorts. He stopped though, before they’d budged an inch. “Condom.”

“Yes, sure.” She kept kissing him, but he wasn’t kissing back. “What?”

“I meant, I don’t have one.”

“I’m clean and protected. I trust you.” She kissed him once more, then realized, as he didn’t kiss her back, maybe that was a stupid thing to say. “I mean, obviously you might not trust me because…”

Because I got sent here for being irresponsible and impulsive. And you’ve known me all of two weeks. Why the hell
would
you trust me?

It shouldn’t have hurt. She dug her own grave on that one. But there was a sharp bite of pain at the realization that he had no reason to trust her… and trust was a building block of any half-decent relationship.

But then he hoisted her up under her thighs, pressing her back against the wall beside the desk. Letting one leg down, then the other, he quickly pushed down her shorts one leg at a time until they were at her feet. His forehead dropped to hers, and he breathed in deeply. “I trust you.”

Those three words… they might have been the second-most sweet trio of words she could have heard from him. The number one trio would require replacing “trust” with an L word she had never used with a man before.

Whoa, baby. That’s way too fast for that. Impulsiveness is your downfall. Slow down before you scare the poor guy off.

Then he was lifting her again, back pressing against the wall, and entering her slowly. His mouth found her neck, and his thrusts were sharp, intense, his hands cushioning her butt from the wall. When she began to make a sound, he covered her mouth with his.

“Shh,” he breathed. His hips slowed, and she nearly scratched at his back in need for him to speed up again. Then he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Touch yourself. I need to feel you come around me.”

That nearly did it without any movement at all. But she reached between them—not an easy feat to do—and managed to just barely graze her clit with her forefinger.

And detonated in his arms. Silently, which only made the orgasm more intense. She bit back every single sound, then he kissed her and she took his own groans of orgasm inside her.

After thirty seconds of heavy breathing, Michael managed a shaky, “Wow.”

She chuckled, then patted his arm. He understood the signal and let her down easily. She wasn’t quite steady, but he held on so she didn’t fall.

He’d never let her fall.

M
ichael followed
Kat out of the office, walking along the short hallway back into the lobby. Gary now stood at the desk, clicking away at his computer, and Thomas was on the court with two girls who looked like they were in high school.

“Those two giggly girls again,” Kat said with a sigh.

“Why aren’t they in school?” he wondered out loud. “They can’t be older than sixteen.”

“Homeschooled. Parents don’t want their sweet angels being corrupted.” Gary snorted without looking up from the computer. “You two done doing whatever it is I’m pretending I don’t know about you doing in that office?”

Kat flushed, looked at Michael, then quickly looked away again. “Sorry we ducked out. He… needed ice.”

“Uh-huh.” Gary never looked up from the screen. “Thomas could use some help with those two ninnies on court two. Go help him out for a minute, would you?”

“Sure.” Looking relieved to escape the awkwardness, she glanced at Michael once more, leaned toward him, then apparently thought better of a good-bye kiss, and jogged to the door that led to the courts.

And he longed for that good-bye kiss. An ache just under his breastbone.

“Got a shiner, huh?”

Michael blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. It’ll color up some. No big deal.”

“Your coaches give you shit, just tell them to call me.”

He smiled at that. It was nice of the old guy to care, but—

“I’ll tell them what a shitty excuse for a tennis player you are, and your concentration is jacked up.”

Ah, there it was. “Thanks, Gary.” He watched through the window for a second as Kat joined Thomas on the court, then took the place of one of the teens on the court to demonstrate some wicked overhead thingy at the net. God, she was a pleasure to watch. Her body in motion was meant for viewing. Muscular, powerful, dynamic… gorgeous.

“Gotta get her head wrapped around doubles. Damn Peter’s been sending her down the wrong path for years.”

“Is doubles really that different?”

Gary gave him a look that silently asked,
You’re not too bright, are you?
and walked over to stand beside him. “It’s not always as lucrative or as well known. That’s the problem. Peter won’t wanna give up having the chance for a top-ten-ranked player again. But there’s still money in doubles and opportunities. She needs both.

Beyond the glass, they both watched as Kat demonstrated some footwork in slow motion and then made the girls do it with her. Gary nodded as they watched. “She should be doing this for a living, between playing. This should be her career, right here. She’s not made for announcing, for journalism, for being a big spokesperson. She’s meant to be in the trenches.”

Despite the gruff attitude and weird outfits, Michael realized he liked Gary. Liked him for Kat, for her career. “Will she listen and try doubles out?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing about doubles… you need a partner. I’ll be hunting. But we already discovered one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Gary turned and pinned him with a gaze as intently as a moth being pinned to a corkboard. “She plays better when she’s aiming at a warm body.”

Michael had a feeling, for some reason, Gary wasn’t just talking about tennis. He nodded, said good-bye, then headed for the door.

“You gonna be that warm body?”

Michael just glanced over his shoulder, gave the man a wave, and kept going. He had practice to get to… and a bitching out to hear from the coaches.

* * *

T
rey stared
at Michael’s face so long Michael wondered if it had rearranged itself like a Picasso painting or something. “What? Fucking what?”

Trey grinned, rubbing a towel over his head. They’d suffered through practice, though it wasn’t a tough one, and he’d been given a pass from any contact due to the bruise. The coaches wanted the team doctor to give him the okay before contact. He had an appointment with the guy after he showered and changed.

“You’re just looking a little rough, that’s all. Car accident?” When Michael blinked, Trey added, “The airbags. They pack a punch.”

“Maybe he got his ass kicked for moving in on someone else’s woman.” Matt Peterson walked by, towel barely held on at his hips. If there were any guy who didn’t mind walking around totally naked, junk on display for the world, it was Matt. The man defined the word
show-off
. “You know how the ladies love Lambert.”

Michael stayed quiet, drying his own hair roughly. When he accidentally jammed his fist against his cheek in his haste, he nearly moaned. God, that hurt. Why was it he could be plowed over by a guy forty pounds heavier than him and pop back up like it didn’t happen, but a simple bruise on his cheekbone made him want to curl into the fetal position?

“We leave in the morning.” Stephen walked by and flicked Michael’s cheek without warning, which made him suck in a breath and deliberate between swinging his own towel out to snap Harrison’s balls, or just finding the closest gun to shoot him. “Dinner tonight, my place?”

Trey agreed, as did Matt.

Michael started to agree, then thought better of it. “Yeah, I don’t think so, sorry.”

“Oh, come on, your cheek can’t hurt that bad. You can still chew,” Matt said, looking disgusted.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with his cheek.” Stephen’s grin grew slowly, maddeningly. “And has everything to do with a certain tennis skirt he wants his hands under.”

“Shut up,” Michael bit out, then turned to start getting dressed at his locker.

“Bring her.”

He looked over his shoulder at Stephen. “Right. Good call. Bring her into a sausage fest. Sounds great. Pass.”

“I meant, everyone should invite their partner of choice. I’m sure I don’t have to beg you to bring Cassie, do I, Owens?”

“You know I never need an excuse to bring Cassie anywhere.”

Michael mimed choking on vomit because it was expected to razz your friends when they acted like a lovesick puppy in the locker room.

“Man, remember the good old days when we could all have a nice dinner together, just the guys, and shoot the shit without women being there? Don’t you ever miss the freedom?” Matt asked wistfully.

Stephen and Trey looked at each other and grinned. “Nope.”

“She hasn’t met anyone yet, and I don’t want her to be overwhelmed.” He thought for a moment, then edited, “Hold up, she’s met Aileen, and they hit it off. Invite Killian and Aileen, and you’ve got a deal,” Michael decided.

Killian walked by at that moment, and Trey snagged his arm. “Dinner tonight, Harrison’s place. Bring Aileen.”

“Can’t. We’ve got Charlie.”

“You can bring him,” Stephen said automatically.

“Appreciate it, but we’ve already promised him a Marvel marathon tonight before he goes back with his mom tomorrow morning. Thanks though.” Killian smiled in appreciation. “Have fun.”

“He still isn’t very social,” Matt commented after a moment.

“But he’s let us in, and he’s not
anti
social. There’s a difference,” Trey said firmly.

“Can I bring a few of the rooks?”

They all groaned, but Michael crossed his arms and stared at them in silence.

“Fine,” Stephen finally said, tossing his hands up. “Fine. Fuck it, whatever. Bring the babies, let them ruin a good time.”

“Hardly,” Michael said dryly.

“But ask them to come later. I want a little time with just you guys first.”

Michael nodded and got his phone out to text Kat.

Dinner out tonight with teammates, okay?

Yeah, sure thing. Have fun.

He smiled at that. No exclamation points? No emojis? She was annoyed.

Sorry, I meant we, together, are invited to have dinner with some teammates. Is that okay?

Oh.

He waited, watched the “typing” bubble pop up, then disappear. Then appear again.

Sure.

That made him chuckle as he tossed his phone back in his locker. She wanted to appear above needing social interaction, but she was the most social creature he’d ever met. She craved the human contact.

Which made her insistence on staying a singles player laughable, as far as he understood the game. Which was to say… not very well.

“What should we bring?” he asked Stephen as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Beer.”

Trey looked over at Michael before glancing back at Stephen. They both quietly watched their friend and recovering alcoholic carefully.

He waited a beat, then cracked a smile. “Kidding, guys. I’m good. Seriously. No worries. It was a joke.”

“Asshole,” Trey muttered, punching at Stephen’s arm, but he was smiling.

“Get Josiah and Anya,” Michael suggested. “If they can come.”

“Anya’s gone.” Trey shrugged. “Cassie talks. Anya’s meeting up with someone in Phoenix, seeing if someone wants to set up a Chance to Dance branch in their area.”

Chance to Dance was Anya’s baby, her pet project, her true love… other than Josiah, obviously. She took donated formal gowns to local high schools and gave girls who otherwise would never be able to afford the outfits the chance to, well… dance.

“Well, she’s gone for a good reason then. Josiah can come hang with us and forget missing her for a few hours, because he’s an emotional wreck without her.”

“I heard that,” Josiah said from across the locker room.

“Good.” Michael grinned at Trey. Things felt like they were lining up… which was odd since before Kat showed up he’d never felt like anything was out of order. But the minute she’d walked into his life, things had suddenly felt unsettled.

As that was her fault, Michael considered it a bit of payback that she’d be the one to settle them again.

* * *

K
at stared
at her meager wardrobe and debated what to wear to a Bobcat’s house.

Well,
another
Bobcat. She’d been over to Michael’s place often enough and hadn’t given a crap about what she wore. If she wore anything at all.

That brought a small smile to her lips, and she flipped through the five decent nongym-appropriate outfits she’d brought with her. One of which she’d already worn to the attorney’s office the week before with Michael.

That was a good meeting.

Ugh! Stupid smile.

Fighting for calm, she took down jeans and a simple short-sleeved polo. Casual yet not slobby. Then she heard a knock on the door. Michael was nearly thirty minutes early. Well, he’d just have to wait, she decided, and put on the outfit. She stopped to quickly fix her hair back into a low, stylized ponytail, slipped on a pair of flats, and grabbed her keys.

And opened the door to… not Michael.

The black man with shoulder-length dreads and a sleeve tattoo down his right arm gave her a brilliant smile. “Hi there.”

“Hey.” He looked familiar… probably from the first day she’d moved in. He must have been in the crowd of men she’d briefly met downstairs.

He waited a beat. “You know who I am, right?”

She looked around him, then down the hall. “Did you knock on the wrong door?”

“Not if you’re Kat.”

Yup. A Bobcat. Had to be. How could she have doubted for a second? The sheer size of him, the confident way he stood, the assumption she would recognize him.

Sorry to burst your bubble, bud.

“I’m Kat, but I have no clue who you are.” She quickly pulled her phone out and checked for any new texts from Michael, warning her of this new development. Nada.

“I’m Matt Peterson. On the D-line with Stephen. Stephen Harrison,” he added for clarification. Which was funny because that clarified exactly nothing for her. “Also a teammate.”

“Right.” She waited a beat. “Michael lives next door if you wanted him.”

Matt leaned against the wall beside her door and gave her a grin that she was sure dropped panties everywhere. For her, it was just a pleasant smile. “I can see why he’s cracked over you.”

Uh-huh. “Okay, so since you knocked by mistake, I’m just gonna go back in and—”

“Not a mistake. I’m here to take you to dinner.”

Well, this was an unexpected development. “That’s sweet, but I already have plans.”

“I know. You and I are heading the same way. Dinner with teammates. Harrison’s house.”