Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (14 page)

Now fresh as a daisy, I trotted back out to win a game, but not without glancing up to Section 108 and winking at the stunned little missy still leaning against the wall, one foot propped against the cement.

Catie

I
raced to the library after the game. Actually, I had a paper for Stanwick to finish, but mostly, I wanted to avoid any contact with Blane. Watching him lead the team to victory tonight was one thing; interfering with his game was another.

Plus, there were a million ball babies he could choose from. Blondes and redheads, tall and even taller ones, gorgeous and even more gorgeous girls. He liked me because he thought I didn’t like him back, but I was so not his type.

I opened my laptop and clicked on the document in progress. My title was
Maybe Pornography Isn’t All Bad?

Stanwick was going to fail me. I’d decided to write a counter argument to her theories. Not because I got all hot and bothered from watching porn, but after some investigation, I realized pornography or stripping was the only way out for some women. Single moms, women trying to get out of abusive relationships, girls with druggies for parents—the system didn’t work for these young women, and working at Mickey D’s didn’t pay the bills. Taking their clothes off and having sex on camera gave them the notion they were controlling the situation and calling their own shots, and allowed them to pay the bills.

I was in the middle of typing a chapter about the
Casting Couch
, an Internet show, for lack of a better word, where a very convincing man interviews women on their sexual preferences and knowledge of porn, and promises them jobs that pay upward of five thousand dollars. Of course, the dude must sample the goods before sending in the girl’s résumé (was that what they called it?), and the two ended up exchanging oral favors and having sex on camera.

It should be noted,
I wrote,
I use the term “girls” in the most positive way because the young women on the couch are very much, in fact, young in age and maturity.

However, I didn’t think the couch was one of the better outcomes of the porn industry. It was more a horrible fad, perhaps even a diss to the women making real pornography flicks.

I was banging away at the keyboard, defending my position, when my phone dinged.

UNKNOWN NUMBER
: I saw you, closet fan.

I smiled to no one, just my laptop and my lukewarm cup of tea. I didn’t intend to answer. I knew who it was, but I went back to my paper.

UNKNOWN NUMBER
: What are you doing? We’re having a party. You can’t keep turning your nose up at my invitations. They’re legit. And we don’t check IDs.

I spent ten minutes trying to construct a sentence for my paper, but my concentration was broken. All I could think about was Steele in his uniform, his arms glistening from sweat as he winked at me. Finally, I swiped my finger over my phone and hit
REPLY
.

CATIE
: Great win! Thanks, but I can’t come tonight.

UNKNOWN NUMBER
: So you know who this is? You at a better party?

CATIE
: :) No.

I hit
CONTACTS
on my phone and added this number under the rightful owner’s name, because apparently I was a masochist.

BLANE
: What are you doing? Studying? It’s Thursday; you’ve studied enough.

CATIE
: How did you get my number?

I wasn’t going to admit I was sitting alone in the library. If I had learned one thing from Grace, it was to never come across as desperate.

BLANE
: Mr. Boots, of course.

CATIE
: Stop it.

BLANE
: You coming? Don’t make me come and find you. That’s a lot of coming separately.

CATIE
: I’m not coming. You don’t need to come alone and get me. I’m sure your party is packed with willing come-helpers.

I banged my head into the desk. What was I doing? I didn’t know how to talk sex in real life, let alone sext.

CATIE
: Great game, though.

BLANE
: Don’t do that, Cate. Don’t shut me out. I’m coming.

Did I answer? No.

He wouldn’t find me.

I certainly wasn’t falling into that trap or down that hole, or whatever they called the abyss of hot jock boys.

I toggled the phone on
IGNORE
and went back to my analysis of porn with an ache a mile wide in my gut. I wanted to like boys; I really did. Despite my feminist leanings, I craved something more than the lonely existence I had established for myself, but I needed to reevaluate my goals.

I definitely didn’t need the campus player.

With that settled, I grabbed my notepad and scratched down some notes for what I wanted to research the next day, and typed the last few sentences of the casting-couch portion of my thesis.

My eyes were tired, and my head hurt from demanding it concentrate on the task at hand. I was taking a sip of my lukewarm tea when I felt the hair lift off my neck and a calloused hand run along my collarbone.

“Found you,” a low voice whispered into my ear. “Told you I would come and get you.”

I turned slowly and there he was. Green eyes, matching dark green headband keeping his hair out of his face, and low-riding worn-in Levi’s with a button fly—yes, I spent a few too many beats staring at that region. It was in my line of sight right now, after all.

“Blane?”

“That’s me!” He slapped my laptop closed and shoved it into my bag.

“What if that wasn’t saved?” I hissed at him.

“Come on, Cate. You know you’re an every-ten-seconds saver. It was saved.”

He grabbed my bag and my almost-empty cup of tea and said, “Come on.”

“What? No, I can’t just go with you.”

“You can and you will.”

He guided me out of the seat by my elbow, and I went willingly, saying “no” but showing “yes.” When I was on my feet, I wrapped my arms in front of my boobs, keeping my stance firm as I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Cate, hon, I’m not going to corrupt you. I’m not going to rape you or even take you back to the heathens occupying my apartment. Now, come on. I won tonight, and I feel like celebrating with you.”

I raised my eyebrow even higher.

“Not that kind of celebrate . . . G-rated celebrating.”

I tried to stop it, but my frown had a mind of its own.

“Come on,” he said in a wheedling tone. “It’ll be fun. Stop with all that
he likes me like a buddy shit
in your head. I see it running around under your big head of curls.”

“Fine, I’ll fucking go,” I said.

“There’s my foul-mouthed sailor.”

Leaning down, he nudged my shoulder with his. Then he draped his arm over me and urged me toward the exit as he tossed my tea in the garbage and then hiked my bag up on his shoulder.

When we came out of the library, there was a dark blue pickup double-parked on the sidewalk.

Blane opened the door. “Your chariot awaits.” He slipped in the driver’s seat and buckled up. “You can take the boy out of the swamp, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the boy.”

“I like the truck. I wouldn’t expect anything less masculine or chauvinistic.”

“Exactly. Stereotype much?”

He put the truck in gear and turned onto College Avenue, and then headed to the main road out of town.

“You good?” he asked, adjusting the heat and tilting the vent toward me.

I nodded. “You?”

I noticed he had a leather jacket on that shifted with his every movement, and I imagined his muscles flexing underneath.

“Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?”

“Yeah, but I’m not telling.”

“Okay, as long as you still promise not to rape me.”

Without warning, Blane whipped to the side of the road and threw the truck into
PARK
on the shoulder. His eyes were wide as he turned to me.

“Cate, I was joking, but I hope you know I would never do something like that. It was a bad joke.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?” He stared deep into my eyes as if he was trying to show me the secrets of life.

“Yeah, women throw themselves at you. No need for rape.”

When he sucked in a sharp breath and banged his hand into the steering wheel, I said, “Okay, that was a bad joke too.”

“Good, so we’re clear. I’m a good guy?”

“The jury’s still out, but at least we know you don’t take advantage of short, chunky girls in the woods.”

“Cate,” he growled.

“I’ll stop,” I said, only to shut him up. I didn’t think I would survive another minute on the side of the road in close quarters with the man of my dreams. The way the ends of his hair curled up and caught the moonlight hypnotized me.

Yep, this feminist is now an alpha-male basketball junkie.

Blane put the truck back in gear and pulled back in the lane. We continued driving in silence until he turned down a rural road, dark with no street lights, that seemed to lead into a farm.

“Can we be here?”

“Don’t worry.”

We bounced down the rutted dirt road, passing a pasture and a barn, and finally came to a stop outside a sports court. It looked so out of place, a cement blacktop in the middle of nowhere with a hoop erected on either side.

“What’s this?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “Come on,” and flung open his door.

I followed suit, my hand shaking a bit on the handle, my heart fluttering even harder. And it wasn’t just the thought we were trespassing that made me shiver all over.

Blane opened a trunk positioned at one side of the court and pulled out a basketball and a blanket. He tossed the ball all the way from the other side of the lawn and it whooshed through the hoop, nothing but net. But he didn’t go and retrieve the ball that bounced and rolled to the other side of the grass lining the court.

Instead, he came and took my hand to lead me to the center of the court. With a flick of his wrists, he arranged the blanket on the ground and then said, “Sit down.”

I did, surprised that the wool blanket kept my butt warm on the cold surface. Or maybe that was just my butt fat.

Blane dropped down behind me, straddling me before pulled me back against his chest. I went willingly, but held my breath.

This kind of stuff didn’t happen to me. This was reserved for the movies and pretty girls.

“Nice, right?” he asked, his chest humming against my back.

I felt every syllable float between us. We were so close, I could feel each ripple of his abs. Surely, he felt my body shaking with nerves, my heart beating a frantic pace.

When I gave a small nod, he said, “This is a booster’s house, so don’t worry.”

“Oh,” I said softly, not knowing what else to say.

“He lets us come out here, and he knows I keep the blanket.”

At that, I tried to pull away.
Keep the blanket
? All too quickly, I realized I was being introduced to the Stealer’s Grand Plan of Seduction.

“Stop!” he said, and kissed along my neck. Like a fool, I allowed him access when he was trespassing all my feelings.

“What is all this?”

“The Stealer’s Grand Plan of Seduction.” When I pulled away from him, he said, “You said it out loud just a few moments ago . . . like when I spoke my thoughts aloud when we first met.”

I scrambled to my knees and turned to glare at him.

“No grand plan,” he said with a grin, holding his hands in the air in surrender. “I’ve never brought a woman here.”

I gave him the cocked eyebrow again, worried for a moment my eye might stick like that, because that’s what my mom would say.
Oh God, did I really just think about my mom right now?

“Seriously,” he said. “I keep the blanket here for me. I usually come out here after important games and look at the sky so I can thank whatever fucking lucky star for looking down on me. Boys don’t just get out of the trailer park, Cate. Guys like me don’t have the chance to go to school, to finish and get out, and then meet with agents and go pro. It just doesn’t happen. It’s a frickin’ fairy tale, and I can’t fucking believe it.”

That’s when I fell in love with Blane Steele. I’d secretly watched him play last year and had only met him in person at the beginning of this school year, but I was all-in. Hearing him speak about how lucky he was touched something deep inside me.

Of course, the love would have to remain my secret until the day I died, and I would lie to myself in order to keep having moments like this. Any normal woman would know this was a disaster waiting to happen. Boy meets girl, he has fun, she falls for him, and it ends in heartbreak. But I couldn’t be bothered right now with that.

“Maybe you’re just that talented,” I said. “Does it have to be a lucky star?”

“Cate, my mom was a teenage girl knocked up by a truck driver. This shit doesn’t happen in my world. We live in a trailer park, where all it takes is a tropical storm to rip our house off the ground.”

He pulled me back into his lap again and propped me up against his hard chest, and leaned forward a little to breathe in my scent. My heart stopped for a moment as his lips ran along my neck, sucking, licking, and nipping.