ROMANCE: MENAGE ROMANCE: Tapped and Taken by Two (Pregnancy Sports MMA UFC Fighter Romance) (Alpha Male Romance) (24 page)

My phone shook again, and I hissed under my breath. Megan was great, but sometimes…

I picked up my phone, but my thumb froze, hovering over the notification. It was Derek.

My eyes shifted around the office. The few others in the room were busy doing their own thing. I tapped the messages open.

Hi Claire, how’s it going?

Want to hang out?

Not even an apology. I frowned, and responded:
It’s going okay.

I was worried you had lost your phone for the past couple of days. :P

I added the tongue-sticking-out-face to lighten the mood. Hopefully he’d take it more as a tease than the accusation it somewhat was.

I stared at the text on the screen, willing his response to be a good one. I took a sip of the dirt-flavoured coffee and scrunched my face. There was no response and I took another sip, glaring at my phone.

My cup was only a quarter full by the time he finally replied.

I harrumphed as I opened his message:
Haha,
no. Got tied up in last-minute preparations before I leave. Sorry. I wanted to wait until I could give you my full attention. My job isn’t that normal after all.

I relaxed into my seat, and realized that my shoulders and—well, everything—had been tense. If he was being honest, it was a fair excuse. I couldn’t find fault in him being considerate.

I typed back:
I understand.
H
anging out sounds good to me. When?

I paused, wondering if I should suggest a time myself, then added:
I’m actually free tomorrow during the day, if that works for you.

A minute passed, and then he said:
Sounds good. No dinner?

I smirked and typed:
I have previous arrangements, sorry. Friend’s birthday.

The wait until his next text was nearly as long as before, but it read:
Okay. I have an idea, but I’ll message you details later.

I regarded the message curiously, wondering what his idea could be. A daytime date could be anything. Did he have something as simple as lunch in mind, or was he contemplating something more? As much as I wanted to bug him for details now, I held back. Self-control, I could do that.

Satisfied, I set my phone back down and resolved to return to work—but only after first messaging Megan a summary of all that had transpired. I made sure to boast about my willpower just enough, and specified that Derek was the one who reached out for me. That must have meant he liked me, right?

~

“Hold it like this, you’ll have better control over the recoil,” Derek said, making minuscule adjustments of my hands on the gun.

I nodded. I might not have been to paintball before, but it wasn’t my first time shooting something. As a child, I used to shoot my father’s BB gun on occasion. I wasn’t a good shot by any means, but at least I wasn’t a complete novice.

We were huddled against a brick barrier, the two of us the final survivors of our team. Derek was the foundation of our team, the rest of which were a group of strangers who were primarily of average skill-level, but weren’t that familiar with field strategy. In this team death-match against a bunch of rowdy teenagers, our team members held their own at first, but succumbed to panic and clumped together after the first couple went down. It worried me, but Derek brushed it off, saying with no veiled confidence that just the two of us could take them all, if need be.

It was now two against one. Our last team member fell about a minute ago, and now we reached a tense stalemate. Derek and I were taking cover behind a partial wall, and our target was about two dozen feet in front of us, ducked behind a wooden crate.

“Which one of us is going to draw his fire?” I asked.

Derek grinned at me, the adrenaline pumping through him evident even in his eyes. “Think you can make the shot yourself?”

I popped my head out for a glimpse of the scenario. It wasn’t a long shot, but the player wasn’t stupid and the type to make a larger target of himself than needed. It was likely he’d only break cover for a second.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I think I should draw his fire and you take the shot. I’ll try not to die.”

“I believe in you.” He patted me on the shoulder.

I smiled, surprised at the warmth spreading throughout my body with such simple words.

“I won’t let you down,” I said. “I—”

A loud pop sounded through the air. Derek let out grunt that sounded two-parts pain and one-part surprise. I jumped at the recoil in my hands, and instantly knew what had happened.

Mortified, I dropped my gun with a muttered stream of expletives, stood and stepped back. “I am so—”

A force struck my left shoulder and I expelled a short cry. I looked over to see a blotch of blue paint staining my shoulder pad. Then I returned my attention to Derek, who was leaning against the wall and rubbing at the yellow patch I had given him on his thigh.

“I am so, so sorry!” I said, running to Derek’s side. My heart lodged in my chest as I thought of the possibility of him hating me forever for shooting him and throwing the match.

His face was pulled into a tight frown, but I couldn’t tell what exactly it was attributed to: disappointment in me, anger, pain, or a combination of all of them. He seemed to mutter something under his breath, but then looked up at me, and his frown shifted into a wide smile.

“Did you really just shoot me?”

I hesitated. “…Yes?”

He laughed, and pulled me into a one-armed hug. “I can’t believe you just shot me.”

“I know…” I whined into his arm. “I’m so sorry!”

“We could have won.”

“I know…”

“Hey, cheer up. It’s fine.” He brushed my hair and whispered into my ear, “You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

I wanted to reply with something witty or flirtatious, but was still flustered, and my throat was a little tight, despite his being a good sport about it.

“It’s fine, really.”

“You sure? I feel awful.”

“Yes. Just promise to make it up to me later.”

Catching the familiar glint in his eye made me smile. “Okay, just as long as there aren’t any more shots fired before we’re both ready.”

The dig caught him off guard, but soon he was laughing even harder and wrestling me to the ground. I saw his muscles before and it was so strange and wonderful how playful and tender he could be.  

~

After returning our equipment to the facility’s reception area, I apologized again for essentially forfeiting the paintball game, but Derek only kissed me and said he preferred getting killed by me than by the enemy. We grabbed a bite to eat at a nearby food truck specializing in Italian-style pizza. We ate our overpriced slices of pizza on some steps that were sheltered from the rain of sudden showers. The forecast hadn’t called for rain, so we were both caught unaware and ended up with damp hair. But by the time we finished eating, the clouds parted and it was sunny.

Since I hadn’t explicitly mentioned what time I had to leave by in order to get ready for the birthday dinner I was attending, I postponed bringing it up. I figured I could afford another half hour with Derek if I opted to straighten my hair instead of curl it. It would be worth it. But eventually time for enjoying each others’ company ran out, and I told him that, regrettably, I had to head home.

“You did good today,” Derek said as the cab turned onto the street of my apartment building.

I looked at him, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not.

His eyes shifted away from mine, his cheeks turning just the faintest shade of pink. “At paintball. Aside from the accident I mean.”

Well, I had made a couple kills—aside from the accident. At least I wasn’t a complete deadweight player.

My heart fluttered when his hand gently squeezed mine.

“I think we made a good team,” he said.

I smiled, leaned over and pecked him on the edge of his mouth. “Thanks. I think so, too. And I had a lot of fun.”

“I wish we could hang out a little longer.”

“Sorry—I’d invite you up for a bit, but don’t have time. I’m already pushing it.”

He sighed dramatically, then grinned. “Fine. But come here.”

He leaned forward and coaxed my face towards his. Our lips met in a long kiss that spoke of everything else we wished we could do at that moment. He ran his hand through my hair and rubbed the edge of my ear. My chest rose and fell in heavy beats, and all I could think of was how I wished we had just an extra hour, even if all we did was stand outside waiting for the next flash rain shower, but I had to go. Without even asking me though Derek jumped in the cab I had called with me. He looked straight into my eyes.

“Seems to me I can squeeze a few extra moments out of this date during the cab ride.” 

The cab jerked to a stop in front of my building, causing our foreheads to bump. The cab driver announced our arrival, and Derek and I pulled away from each other after a final, gentle kiss.

“Thanks for today,” I said to Derek as I slid out of the cab. I addressed the driver. “How much to this point?”

Derek cut the man off before he could respond. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll cover it.”

“I’ll see you later?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

Reluctantly, I let the door of the cab fall closed, and waved at Derek’s face in the window as it drove away. I sighed. As much as I was looking forward to the party tonight, I really wished we had had more time. Time for a coffee, or even just five minutes where I could hold his hand. But I knew that was selfish thinking, and I scolded myself for it. No one liked dating needy girls. And I suspected this was particularly true of men like Derek. Men who lived away from home for long periods of time and had a track record of only being in casual relationships. Maybe Derek wasn’t quite like that though. I certainly didn’t have any evidence to support such assumptions. I probably should have tried getting some dirt on him from one of Derek’s friends at the club…

I climbed the couple steps to the entrance of my building and just as I crossed the threshold, I heard the light patter of rain thrum to life behind me. The weather seemed to be telling me to stop daydreaming and get in the shower before I made myself later than I already was.

 
~

Between my work and Derek’s travel preparations, our schedules refused to match up. For the next couple days we did nothing more than text each other. And have a single phone conversation.

I was lying in bed with steaming cup of camomile tea and the intent to make some serious headway in the book I was reading. But then Derek messaged me, and somehow the texts between us turned flirty and and only continued to escalate. I hadn’t texted like this before. Or emailed. Or even spoke such things in the phone. What in the world was I doing? I decided I had to lock it down—feign exhaustion or a headache and go to bed early. It felt like my only options were that, or head immediately to his place to satisfy the desires he teased with each word.

The clock on my phone had just turned to 10:13 pm, when, instead of the familiar buzz of a new message, my phone erupted into a full-fledged ringing. I jumped, and fumbled the phone. It fell into a fold of my comforter. Derek’s name was next to the vibrating icon on the screen.

After a couple deep, stabilizing breaths, I answered the call.

“Claire, Claire, Claire,” he said. “How can I sleep when you say such things?”

I struggled to find the right words. Any words.

He laughed, presumably at my lack of articulation.

“You’re adorable,” he said.

I sighed into the microphone. “And you tease me too much.”

“I only repay the favor.” His grin came through clear as his words. I could almost hear him shrug, too.

“So considerate,” I said, mockingly.

“Anyway,” his tone shifted away from jest. “I just worked out my next few days. Are you free during the day Wednesday? And perhaps Thursday?”

I nodded into the phone. “I think I can arrange for that.” If I played my cards right, I could trade my weekend to get those days off. I reached over to grab the day planner on my desk, but paused. “You…leave soon, right?”

There was a short silence. “Yes. On Friday morning.”

“Right.” I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“As a farewell date, I’ll make you dinner,” he bribed. “And then we can have dessert… of each other…in my bed. Breakfast can be whatever you want.”

I giggled, feeling myself blush.

“Interested?”

My mouth split into a wide smile. “Perhaps.”

On a typical day off, I’d sleep in. But on Wednesday, I was up and presentable by nine, and out the door shortly after. Derek met me at the bottom of my building, and took my hand in his. We took a cab downtown, to a street performers festival that was in full-swing. I had seen an ad for a comedy show, and Derek had went ahead and ordered tickets. But it didn’t start for another hour and a half, so we killed some time wandering the nearby farmers’ market holding hands, our shoulders often touching as we sidestepped through crowds. We browsed produce and artwork we had no inclination to buy, and sampled homemade dips and slices of sizzling sausages. At one point, I paused to admire a leather handbag, and Derek joked to the shop attendant that I already had six in that color. Then we got lured in by someone selling kettle corn and Derek bought us a bag to split. The vendor offered us a stamp card, which I didn’t want but felt weird just tossing aside. After all, it was already in my hand. I had no pockets so I dug into my purse, shovelling aside pens, receipts, and tubes of lipgloss. I finally located my wallet, nestled in the corner and hiding under a package of tissue, and found a slot to shove the card.