Game Plan (18 page)

“Thanks, I was wondering.” The woman’s mouth opened and closed silently. Oops, that hadn’t come out quite how Andie intended. “Oh, I didn’t mean it sarcastically. Really. Any input is appreciated. I’m Andie, by the way.”

“We figured. Carrie,” she said, sneaking a couple of fingertips out from the stranglehold she had on the baby. “And this is T.J. His dad is the shortstop.”

No missing the
we
in Carrie’s statement. So Mason had mentioned her, at least. Hopefully before tonight’s game.

“The team’s been bugging the crap out of him since the game a couple of weeks ago. The one where he threw the ball at you to get your attention? Mason’s never gone after a female before, they always come to him, so the guys are milking the fact that he’s walking around with Cupid’s arrow stuck in his butt.”

Some good news, at least. “Do you think that’s why he’s avoiding me, because he’s embarrassed?”

“I’ve only known him a couple of years, since he moved back from Guelph…” Carrie hesitated. Mason was staring directly at them now. Glaring would be a better description. “But I’ve never seen him embarrassed. Not about anything. Sorry, that’s not the answer you wanted, I’m sure.”

“An honest one is always the one I want.” Except when it ripped a chunk off her heart.

“You’re eyeballing the right guy for that. Mason has a rep for telling it like it is.” T.J. thrashed on her knee, so Carrie stood and hiked him onto her hip. “Not even a year old and he already hates listening to women talk.” She shook her head in frustration while searching her pockets for something to amuse the boy. “I hope when Mason comes over, he says what you want to hear, because whatever he says is the real deal. Good luck.”

Andie endured stares from strangers and zero attention from Mason for the next hour. When the ump called last inning, she smiled politely at the heads turned her way and made her exit. Being a decent guy, he’d probably feel obligated to talk to her after the game. Or maybe he wouldn’t. She wasn’t putting either of them in that situation.

Once she cleared the parking lot, she pulled over and slumped against the steering wheel. Lasha would be happy to take on the challenge of distracting her, but it would involve flirting at minimum, if not bumping, grinding and possibly more, with men other than Mason. Nope, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week, month, whatever. Her best friend wouldn’t understand, but she’d have to take no for an answer tonight.

Apparently Lasha wasn’t in the mood for no. As if texting Andie every five minutes wasn’t enough harassment, now she was out front, ringing the bell.

“Not tonight, Lash, I’ve got a—” The sight of Mason looking dusty and sexy on her doorstep stopped all movement and ability to speak.

“Headache?”

No, that would be an easy fix. Take two Advil and start fresh in the morning. “Heartache.”

“Extra-strength Tums works for that.”

“For heart
burn
, yes. Not the same affliction, but thanks for the medical advice.”

“You came to my game.”

Sarcastic comebacks licked the inside of her lips. No, she was a mature forty-year-old… “I did, since you neglected to un-invite me.” Okay, that was slightly immature, but he deserved it. “It was a good game. You were very impressive offensively and in the field.” There, maturity restored.

“Can I come in—I’m pretty sure the old folks next door have their Whisper2000 pressed to the bay window.”

She shrugged in an attempt to look indifferent. By his smile she assumed it looked more like a klutzy, spastic tic. “Are you planning to say something that’s not rated for a geriatric audience?”

“Maybe.” His version of the casual shrug was perfect. Damn him. “Depends how the apology part goes over.”

Oh, he was gooood. He still wasn’t getting in, though. If he broke her heart out here, in full view of her nosey neighbors, she wouldn’t cry. In the house she’d be a blubbering fool. She’d also be in close, private proximity to his tight pants and unbuttoned jersey. Thinking straight while he half-wore his baseball uniform was pretty much impossible.

“I think the Karnowskis would love to hear what you have to say.”

“I acted like an ass at the baseball game.
And
when I left this morning and late last night…” He turned his head toward the neighbors’ house and increased his volume. “After you deep-throated my cock while getting yourself off with that pink—”

“Shh! Get in the house,” she said, jerking him forward by his uniform shirt. “There’s no cock talk on the front lawns of Paradise Avenue.”

“Doesn’t sound like paradise to me.”

“Ugh. You’re in, you win.” And she was no longer in charge of her tear ducts or the color of her complexion.

“How about farther than the front hall?”

“No way, I can’t allow it.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust myself.”

“Worried you’ll get all worked up while you’ve got your period?”

“You know I don’t have my period.”

“Yeah, I heard everything last night.”

And he hadn’t uttered a single word in reply. “I
am
sorry that I lied. It was stupid. I screwed up.”

“I’m the one who felt stupid. I wasn’t expecting lies or bullshit from you.”

Oh god, the lump was starting in her throat. Dammit, she hated crying in front of anybody. Doing it with Mason looking on would be worse. He’d either pity her, which she didn’t want, or he wouldn’t, which she also didn’t want. She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, hugged her knees and squeezed her eyes shut until it was safe to open them. Nope, still no good. She closed them again, and stayed that way until he started talking.

“I was engaged to a girl I met during veterinary school. We planned to graduate together, start a clinic, get married and have kids eventually, when the time was right.”

Acid curled in her stomach. Just when she thought she couldn’t feel worse.

“Stacey got pregnant summer before our final year. Accident.” He shrugged. “I thought we’d make the best of it. She hated the idea of postponing her graduation and career. It made for lots of serious talks and crying. Then she lost the baby.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach. “Mason, I’m so sorry, I know—” She stopped in the nick of time. “That’s a hard thing to deal with, for both people.”

“Yeah, it was. Especially when I found out she’d had an abortion, not a miscarriage, like she’d told me.”

What a bitch. A selfish, manipulative, lying bitch. “Where is she now?”

“Don’t know.” He dropped to the floor opposite her, pushing his hands through his hair. “Katie wasn’t using her brain when she gave you relationship advice. Not for one with me, anyway. I fucking hate lying and head games. She feels shitty about it, she really likes you.”

No mention of
his
feelings for her. Of course he wasn’t forking that detail over. “I’d like to blame your sister, but I’m the one who took her suggestion.” Sometimes being mature sucked. And the big-girl panties she just pulled up—they sucked too.

They sat in heavy silence for what felt like an hour, at least to her ass. Mason didn’t squirm once. The cold ceramic tile probably didn’t bother his firm, muscular behind. Thinking about his butt reminded her of Carrie’s comment about Cupid’s arrow. For a second, she smiled. He smiled back. Warm, genuine. Suddenly she didn’t feel so chilled.

His head cocked to the side. “Did you really think I was only seeing you for sex?”

“No, not really. Mind you, it was nice to know for sure. And when we first hooked up, I thought that’s what we were both doing. After all, it’d been well over two years for me, and gah, you’re like a walking orgasm machine.”

“Two years?
You
went without sex for more than two years?” The eyes went wide first. The huge grin followed immediately. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope. Until you overthrew your way into my life, it’d been nothing but habitual masturbation for me for a very long time. Even before the separation. That’s why I got all the toys—I was developing carpal tunnel syndrome in my right wrist.”

The hallway came alive with the sound of Mason’s whooping laughter. “No wonder you’re such a horndog. Making up for lost time.”

“There may be
some
truth in those statements, but—”

“Some
truth?” He laughed until he had to wipe away tears. “You’re insatiable.”

“Funny, you never complained before.”

“I’m not complaining now.” He pushed to a stand, crossed the hallway and pulled her up, sandwiching her between the wall and his hot, uniform-clad body. “Come home with me tonight.”

“I…I don’t think I can do the casual-sex thing. Not…with you.”

His lips skimmed the shell of her ear. “Babe, I’ve never had casual sex with you. I wasn’t planning to start now.”

Oh god, her heart. “So it’d be…?”

“Make-up sex. A mutual, physical apology for acting like idiots.” His mouth progressed to her shoulder as he hooked the t-shirt aside. “You look hot in this outfit. Where are the shoes?”

“In my bedroom.” Immediately, he had her walking backward down the hall. “I’ve never had make-up sex. Is it better than regular sex?”

“Can be. How can you never have had make-up sex in all those years of marriage?”

The marriage had operated under Scott’s rules since the beginning. They hadn’t fought because Scott wouldn’t, simple as that. If she told Mason how it’d been, he’d think she was a spineless wallflower. Or he’d pity her, which would be worse.

“We didn’t argue. No fights—no need to make up.”

“He’s a lawyer. They argue for a living.”

“Let’s just say that Scott was more passionate about his cases than his wife.”

He turned her forward facing, keeping his body close behind hers as they mounted the stairs. His breath tickled her ear. “If you were my wife, I’d be picking fights about stupid shit all the time, for the excuse of making up with you.”

This conversation had definitely taken a turn for the better. She knew better than to read too much into his last statement. Making up was one thing. Marrying Mason—that was a never-going-to-happen thing. No harm in enjoying the sentiment, though.

The shoes were next to the bed, where she’d kicked them off before flinging herself facedown on the mattress. She had one in her hand when he spoke.

“Take your time.” He was leaning against the wall, focused completely on her. The comment either meant she didn’t have to rush, or that he wanted her to slow down.

She’d put money on the latter. With one hand on the mattress, she bent at the waist, giving him a view of her backside in the tight pants as she slipped each foot into the heels ever so slowly. His eyes followed the movements, making an appreciative sweep of her entire body. Stripping for him always sent a wave of need straight to her hot spots. Getting dressed was having a similar effect.

“You have a lot of shoes,” he said when she opened the closet. From his vantage point he could see a dozen or so pairs of assorted heels. Tip of the iceberg.

“It’s a weakness. They’re my sexy treat to myself.”

“More than the stuff in your nightstand drawer?”

“Okay, maybe I have a few weaknesses…”

“Shoes and sex toys, that’s two. What else?”

“I don’t think I should point out any more of my quirks until you’re sufficiently drained from make-up sex. You might change your mind.”

“About you, or this?” His arms slid around her waist from behind. “Not likely.” His lips grazed her neck. His hands snuck under her shirt, seeking her nipples. Found them.

She pressed against him—ass to his pelvis, breasts to his palms. “We could start the make-up sex here…”

His talented fingers migrated south. Popped the button on her pants, eased the zipper down. Snuck under the lacy thong and found a wet, needy target. He circled her clit until she was panting and desperate. Then withdrew his hand.

“Grab whatever clothes and stuff you’ll need for the weekend.”

“W-what?”

“Unless you want to spend it naked, which I’m totally on board with.”

“But…you were just…I thought…what about the make-up sex?”

“You wanted to
start
the make-up sex here, so we started. This one?” He grabbed a tote bag from the shelf in her closet, a sexy and completely mischievous grin plastered on his face as she nodded. When she didn’t take the bag—because she was too busy picking her jaw up off the floor—he turned to the closet and started grabbing items. Mason’s selections for her weekend wardrobe—slinky sundresses and high-heeled shoes. A million miles from the kinds of things Scott would’ve packed for her, and yet the muscles in her stomach clenched at the sight. The urge to snatch the bag and dump the items Mason had chosen, even though she loved every single one of them, overwhelmed her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a deep breath and focused on letting it out slowly.

Mason’s wolf whistle yanked her out of her attempted panic control session. “Damn. Maybe we should take a drive to Grand Bend, hit the beach.” A black bikini with red paisleys dangled from his finger, looking startlingly small in comparison to his large, strong hands. “Better yet, I’ll run the sprinkler in my backyard. That way I won’t have to behave myself when I see you wearing this.”

The knot unraveled and breathing got easier. Mason wasn’t Scott. They weren’t alike in any way. She needed to get a grip, and maybe some therapy. For the moment, that included calmly watching—and letting—a man pack for her.

“Aren’t you going to pack me a bra?” she asked when he added several pair of tiny panties from her lingerie drawer, but nothing else.

“Nah.”

She plucked one from the drawer and tried to stuff it in the bag, but he jerked it away. “
Mason.
If we’re going anywhere public, I need this.”

“I like that scolding tone, it’s hot.” The tote went up above his head while she waved the bra at him. “I like seeing your hard nipples poking at the material. No bra for you this weekend.”

That’s what he thought. She hooked her fingers under each strap at her shoulder and snapped. So what if it was red lace and would show under some of the dresses he’d chosen. She snapped again—and stuck out her tongue.