Catarina

“Tell us about your assignment, darling. Your father mentioned a football player of some sort?”

Spring greens salad hovering at my open mouth, I set down my fork without taking a bite. My father lowers his cellphone—where he was reading the Wall Street Journal, no doubt—and looks in my direction.

He knows about my assignment. I told him about it in detail earlier in the week. I also asked him to keep it to himself.

“You’re an awful secret-keeper,” I tell him with a frown.

He only smiles, which pops a dimple in one of his cheeks.

Insufferable old man.

“How do you tolerate him?” I ask my mom.

“You don’t want to know, Catarina.” She sends Dad a wink. I make a gagging gesture but I love them. I love that they’re in love, too. If they weren’t I don’t know what I’d do with myself. They keep me sane.

“Mia, my editor, wants a schlocky puff piece about dating bad boys, and she nominated me because it’s so apparent I’m into bad boys.” I roll my eyes. “It’s all for show.”

Mom laughs. “Sounds exciting. What does Northrop think?”

“He knows it’s for work and couldn’t care less. I’m not sure he has a jealous bone in his body.”

I take a drink of my iced tea and consider that I’d like if he had a jealous bone in his body. He’s so damned pragmatic all the time.

“Sensible men make great husbands. And North is right. You’re a consummate professional. You can handle a rowdy sports player.”

Has it become clear yet that my mother knows not a thing about sports? She may as well have referred to Barrett as a “ball thrower.”

“Since we’re milking the fish-out-of-water nature of our relationship I’m going to bring him here for a round of golf.” I gesture at the backdrop of Columbus’s most immaculate country club—one I’ve had a membership to since I was twenty-one.

“Splendid idea,” Mom says.

“Superb,” Dad teases.

“Oh, Hank, stop it.” She shoves his shoulder and they share a lingering gaze of love and adoration.

My heart squeezes in envy. North and I haven’t looked at each other like that in…well…ever. I take a bite of my salad and chew forlornly.

A word crashed into my head yesterday afternoon when he sent a text saying he was busy the next couple of days, and I haven’t been able to shake it. What word? Passionless. North has never been particularly warm, but I haven’t noticed just how little until recently. Maybe because by contrast my pretend date, Barrett, is passionate to the nth degree. He loves coffee. Hates olives. Finds lamb gyros “fantastic.”

Once the lunch plates are cleared, Dad takes his leave to practice on the putting green while Mom lingers behind to chat.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play nine with us? It’s such a gorgeous day!”

It is. The greens are lush and vibrant and the sky is an arrogant, disgusting, beautiful blue.

The kind of blue that reminds me of a certain former NFL player’s eyes.

“I’m sure, Mom, thanks. I have to get back to the office. Big date tomorrow!” I make a sarcastic gung-ho gesture: my fist balled while I sweep my arm in front of me.

“Now, dear, I didn’t raise you to be impolite. I’m sure this football man has a hidden layer and when you uncover it, you’ll find him to be delightful.”

Welcome to the world of Celia Everhart, where words like “splendid” and “delightful” make their way into everyday dialogue. I wouldn’t be surprised if a cartoon butterfly landed on her shoulder while we were talking.

“Clearly you haven’t met him.” I spare her the gory details of the female referee and how he lost his field reporting job as well as a few hefty sponsorship opportunities with a fast food chain and a brand of motor oil.

I shake my head in frustration. How could he have been so reckless? Does he have an anger problem, or is he so full of himself that he thinks he can get away with anything? Maybe passionless isn’t a bad way to be.

“When you two golf here, call us so we can meet him.” My mom’s eyes twinkle and her jaw drops like she just had the best idea ever.

“Um. No.” I bat my eyelashes. “Trust me. You won’t like him.”

“I like everyone.” Her top lip curls. “Except for that Matilda Hudson across the street. She’s a pill.”

“Well so is Barrett,” I tell her. “Except he’s also a hot-tempered redhead. I’d never let him ruin the world for you, Mom. Your outlook is too precious.”

“I had my wild days, I’ll have you know,” she tells me. And not for the first time. “I wised up and met your father and settled down and had a beautiful daughter.”

She stops short of pinching my cheek.

“No golf? Final answer?”

“I have to get back to work, but thank you.”

We air kiss and I bypass the valet. I’m more able bodied than many older folks who are members of this club so I enjoy the walk to my car. Plus, it really is beautiful. I’d like to soak in the sun before I venture back into Mordor to confront Sauron.

I’m referring to Barrett, in case you were wondering.

---

“Shame we’re not planning on kissing at the end of any of these dates,” Barrett says as he fiddles with the pens in my pen cup.

I send the email I was typing, barely holding back a snort. “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?”

He’s sitting on the edge of my desk, which I’ve grown accustomed to and have decided to ignore. Him taking up my space is par for course. I guess it makes sense. He made a living out of “huddling” so it isn’t like he’s accustomed to office life.

I lean over to shove a file into my desk drawer and then sit up, only to be confronted by Barrett even nearer than usual.

“It’s impossible to tell whether you like someone or not if you don’t touch them.” His blue eyes skate over my face, taking a brief inventory.

“It’s not impossible.” I clear my throat. Yes, he’s attractive. Even this close up where I can see the red and blond whiskers cohabitate on his scruffy jaw. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to fall over myself like Nanci. I don’t find celebrities—even low-grade ones like Fox—that interesting. “I haven’t touched you, and I know I don’t like you.”

I smile sweetly, but it falls away when he reaches out and strokes my face with the fingers of one hand.

“Must just be me, then,” he murmurs.

He has big hands. Nice hands. They’re a little rough and a lot tender, which isn’t what I’d expect from him. Using his thumb, he gently brushes the skin along my cheek, then closer to my lips.

“You can tell a lot from a kiss, Kitty Cat. Even one without tongue.”

My heart pounds and my breaths shorten. I tell myself it’s because I don’t like him and his posture is threatening, but my nipples are the first to point out that lie.

Fine. I’m attracted to him. Or not him per se, but to his magnetism. There’s a pull surrounding him.

His blues zero in on my mouth as he closes in on me. “Aren’t you the least bit curious? Your readers will be. I’m an unattainable bachelor and they’re going to expect a full report.”

His voice is low and rumbly like a far-off thunderstorm. The kind best enjoyed when you’re curled under a blanket while cradling a warm cup of tea. That there’s a single cozy element about him is as off-putting as the rest of him.

“I have a boyfriend,” I croak, a good reminder for both of us.

“I know.” His thumb caresses my lower lip as he tips my chin with his knuckles. “Think your guy would mind if you kissed me for the assignment? No tongue. Just so you can fully disclose how it feels to have my mouth on yours?”

His tongue sneaks out to wet his bottom lip and I suck in a sharp breath of…something. Terror. Or want. Could be want. That’s pretty terrifying.

Barrett grins—all teeth.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” he says, his voice raised. “Wouldn’t be worth it.”

I jerk my chin out of his grip. He slides off my desk and swaggers back to his. I’m frozen in a position of longing—leaning forward on the edge of my chair. My chin tipped and begging for more. With a haughty huff, I tousle my hair, open my laptop, and start writing. Or, well, I start hitting keys and hope it looks like I’m writing.

A quick glance over my shoulder and he flashes one of his smug smiles. His hands are propped on the back of his head, his legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of him.

For one insane, fleeting second I wanted Barrett Fox to kiss me.

And he knows it.