Chapter 12
Natalia
I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready so I looked good for my date after the game tonight. It had nothing to do with the man who was going to be at the game. I repeat, nothing to do with Hunter Delucia.
Marcus was a great guy. Good job—a web developer for a prominent local utility company. Polite—opened my car door and pulled my seat out at dinner on our first date. Nice looking—medium height, medium build, maybe twenty pounds to lose. But who didn’t have an extra twenty to lose when they hit their thirties?
I hated that the answer to that question came as a visual way too readily available in my mind. Hunter didn’t have an extra twenty to lose, that’s who.
I took one last look in the mirror. My red skirt was the brightest of reds. It wasn’t short, yet it managed to pull off sexy because of the way it hugged my curves without being slutty tight. I’d coupled it with a simple, black button-up blouse that had feminine, capped sleeves and a pair of sandals that had heels, but weren’t too inappropriate for attending a high school basketball game before my date.
When I arrived at the gym in Izzy’s school, the game hadn’t started yet, but Hunter was already seated in the stands. He stood when I went to join him and pulled me in for an innocent kiss on the cheek. Although there wasn’t anything innocent about what I felt when near this man.
“You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
Hunter grumbled. “Poor bastard.”
I laughed it off, and we sat just as the girls jogged out from the locker room. Izzy was the third one in line.
“She’s the only sophomore on the varsity team, and she’s one of the tallest already.”
“Are both her parents tall?”
“Her father’s six foot two, and her mother was probably about five foot ten.”
“Was?”
“She died a few years ago.”
“Wow. Tough. Dad’s in prison and Mom died young. She’s lucky she has you.”
“Most days she doesn’t see it that way.”
“She’s fifteen. She sees what she wants to see in order to justify brooding. I’m not saying what happened to her is easy, but teenage girls will find a reason to brood even when there isn’t one.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“After my mom died, I moved in with my Uncle Joe and his wife, Elizabeth. He was much younger than my mother, so he felt more like an older cousin than an uncle growing up. We got along great, but him and his daughter—that was a whole different story. When Cara was about Izzy’s age, she was one big pain in the ass. Her life was perfect. Parents were happily married. Father’s a doctor. Mother stayed home to raise her. She was smart and beautiful—got the best genes from both parents. Yet she found a reason to growl at them daily. Never understood what the hell she was so angry about. I would have given anything to be in her predicament. She’s twenty-four now. Grew out of it, and now we laugh about it all the time.”
“I’m not sure we’ll ever get to the place where we look back and laugh at these years. But I get what you’re saying.”
“How long is her dad away for?”
“A few more months. He made some ridiculous deal by testifying against a federal regulator he’d bribed and got thirty months instead of the thirty years he deserved.”
“What happens when he gets out? Izzy goes to live with him?”
“I don’t know. I’m guessing so, but we haven’t started talking about it. Taking it one day at a time right now.”
The announcer came on to call the starting lineup. Hunter and I stood and cheered when they called Izzy’s name. She looked up at the stands and half smiled at us before her eyes shifted a couple of rows up, and suddenly the lame smile she graced us with turned beaming while she waved to someone else. Both Hunter and I followed her line of sight to a tall boy of Indian descent sitting alone on the top row.
“Who’s that?” Hunter thumbed toward the top bleacher when we turned back around. He’d only met her once, but there was a protective tone in his voice nonetheless.
I sighed. “It must be Yakshit.”
His brows jumped. “Pardon?”
“The boy she has a crush on. His name is Yakshit.”
Hunter shook his head and grumbled, “Another poor bastard.”
***
“You hit sixty percent of your free throws.” Hunter said to Izzy. “You have a great shot. But you can definitely do better. You’re flicking the ball with your thumb on your guide hand as you take your shot, which is making it spray left.”
“Coach said the same thing.”
“Have you tried squeezing your thumb and index finger on your guide hand together?”
“I’ve tried, but I forget when I’m in a game.”
“You need a shooting strap. Back to basics. A J-strap and at least fifty extra free throws a day after practice until you do it automatically without the strap on in a few weeks. I can grab you one.”
“Okay! What else?”
I looked at the time on my phone—it was almost seven-thirty. We’d walked around the corner to a coffee shop after the game so Hunter could give Izzy his thoughts. But the game ran late, going into overtime, and Hunter had to excuse himself for a business call that took close to a half hour as soon as we arrived. Now, I only had a half hour before my date, and it would take me that long to get Izzy home and get back to where I was supposed to meet Marcus.
Hunter caught me watching the clock and smirked. I wouldn’t put it past him to have sat outside for a half hour without really having anyone to speak to.
“Excuse me for a minute. I need to make a call of my own,” I said.
I stepped outside and pushed Marcus to eight-thirty with an apology. It would cut the date short, because I didn’t like to leave Izzy alone at night for long and always liked to be heading home by ten. I could have postponed, but I refused to give Hunter that satisfaction.
When I returned to the table, Hunter stood. “Are we keeping you from your date?”
I flashed him a sugary smile. “No, I pushed it back a half hour.”
Hunter and Izzy went back to basketball talk as I sat.
“When you’re shooting from long range—three-pointer distance—you should drop your elbow to get more power behind your shot.”
“I thought I was.”
“Not enough. You’re also leaning forward. Here, let me show you.” He stood and held out his hand. “Natalia?”
I reluctantly put my hand in his. He helped me slip out of the booth and turned me around so my back was facing him. Gripping my hip in one hand, he used the other to control my arm. I was essentially his puppet.
“You’re releasing here.” He stopped my hand above my head.
Without realizing it, I had leaned forward, following my extended hand. Hunter ran his fingers down my side outlining the arch my torso had formed. Chills broke out all over.
“See how she’s naturally bending here? Now watch her stance when she releases earlier.”
He again controlled my arms to mimic throwing a ball, but stopped my hand a little lower for a simulated release. Again, he ran his hand down my side. Only this time, he went slower. Izzy was so enthralled with the knowledge and advice he was sharing, she didn’t seem to see anything other than shot counseling going on. But, God, I felt it.
“See? No arch,” he said as his hand reached my hip. “When’s your next game?” he asked as we sat back down.
“Thursday night.”
“Sorry, I won’t be able to make that one. How about after that?”
“We have a game Saturday morning. But it’s an away game in Westchester.”
“Work on what we talked about. I’ll be at that one.”
Izzy’s face lit up. “Okay.”
By the time we paid the check, which Coach Delucia refused to let me do, I was already going to be late (again) for my date.
Izzy began texting away on her phone the minute we walked out onto the street.
I turned to Hunter. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday then?”
“I’ll pick you up. We can drive together.”
I said yes only because I didn’t like to drive over bridges. Sure you did.
“Izzy, say goodnight and thank Hunter.”
She looked up from her texting for two seconds and gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you and goodnight, Hunter.”
“You’re welcome.”
Izzy immediately returned her attention to her cell.
“Goodnight, Natalia.”
I’d given up on correcting him and telling him I preferred to be called Nat. But why did the way he said my name have to sound so damn decadent?
I cleared my throat. “Goodnight, Hunter.”
He gripped my hip and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. His head lingered close to my ear. “Don’t sleep with your date to try to get me out of your head. It won’t work anyway.”