Chapter 13
Oz plugged in his phone to charge and lay down on the tilted pull-out bed, flipping onto his back and crossing his arms behind his head. It was just after six o’clock in the morning and he’d been awake for half an hour. He’d scrolled through all his social-media accounts, skimming past the Islamophobic comments that had become par for the course and focusing on the positive notes from fans, pleased to see the reactions to his performance on Saturday.
He’d replied to a couple of goading messages from Glynn asking about his whereabouts, quickly thumb-typed an e-mail to his worried agent, and stared unseeingly at an article about a bombing in Pakistan before he put the phone aside and gave in to his clamoring thoughts.
Last night had been one of the best and worst he could remember. Seeing those protesters in front of his house was like walking in to find the pig’s head all over again. He felt violated, outraged, impotent. Part of him wanted to get out of the car and confront them, show them how their actions affected a real, living, breathing person, prove to them that he was a good person who paid taxes and bought groceries and watched TV, not some America-hating, caricature terrorist with a suicide vest hidden in the basement.
Another part of him wanted Kate to drive away as fast as she could and never turn back. The thought of his neighbors seeing this spectacle, and of his name being forever affiliated with it in the annals of internet news sites, was beyond humiliating. He saw the bodyguards trailing him in Boise and Charlotte and cringed. Is this how he would be remembered? Not as an agile, impenetrable left-back but as the pitiable victim of hate crime. Would Citizens First ring louder in his legacy than anything he ever achieved? What if someone added an Islamophobic Incidents section to his Wikipedia page and he went down in history as a link from the article on xenophobia?
He turned onto his stomach, forcing his mind to the opposite direction.
Kate.
He closed his eyes, reliving the taste of her, the weight of her muscular body in his lap, her rare openness as bald emotion flashed across her face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed such a strong, hot connection with a woman. Maybe at the beginning of his relationship with his girlfriend in college, but even then he’d been only seventy-five, maybe eighty-percent confident they belonged together.
Kate had been a different person after their antics on the couch. No, not different—more. She’d been more of the Kate he kept seeing in snapshots, with the full picture still a long way off. Relaxed, joking, unself-conscious. She’d slipped into his T-shirt, he’d tugged on his briefs and they’d rigged the pull-out back into some semblance of working order. He’d helped her put on the sheets and gotten instructions on how to use the shower, but when he’d made a wry remark about their sleeping arrangements she’d balked. Hesitation had moved like a shadow across her sunny mood and then she was gone, back inside the shell from which he’d only briefly coaxed her out.
He wasn’t sure what his comment triggered. Would sharing a bed be too much like they were a couple? Was she worried about her job? His house? Maybe it was something else entirely, something that would never occur to him.
On paper they were oil and water. Yet in person they became kerosene and a lit match.
Because she stood up to him, called him out, didn’t let his wealth or fame or talent buy him any latitude. And because as much as he enjoyed and respected her tough exterior, he had to know what lay beneath. He’d seen glimpses of the soft, vulnerable core she was dead-set on concealing, and he’d seen her refusal to allow herself to be weak. She was so hard on herself. Unforgiving, demanding. He wanted to still her self-punishing hands and comfort her instead. Show her how unique and precious and beautiful she really was.
A floorboard squeaked. Light illuminated the edges of Kate’s bedroom door and he heard her voice, low and muffled. Dawn warmed the thinly curtained windows in the main part of the apartment as he mapped her movements. The gentle swish and thud of drawers, bare feet padding on a creaky floor, the uniquely feminine sound of a brush clattering against a vanity. He imagined her efficiently clasping her bra, yanking jeans over her long thighs, and shifted onto his side to make room for his burgeoning erection.
The light clicked off and a second later the door opened slowly. Kate edged out, then paused, probably listening to make sure he was still asleep.
“I’m awake.” He pushed up on his elbow.
Her loose hair framed her face, and he’d been wrong. She clearly wasn’t wearing a bra under that thin T-shirt.
“I’d ask how you slept, but I guess I know the answer if you’re already up.” She perched on the arm of the sofa, but he reached over and tugged on the hem of her jeans.
“Come here.”
She hesitated. He wrapped his hand around her ankle. “I said, come here.”
She sank down beside him so slowly that he grew impatient. He pulled her the last inch to the mattress and drew her against him, sliding his bare leg between hers so she could feel what she did to him, finding her mouth so she knew how much he liked it.
She eased into his arms, trailing her tongue lightly over his lower lip before pulling back with a smile. “Good morning.”
“Hi.” He tapped her nose. “How are you?”
“Tired. And the bearer of bad news.” She winced. “The patrol guys from your neighborhood called at six for their shift-change update. Protesters still in place.”
“I figured. It’s a public holiday. Hopefully they have to work tomorrow so they’ll go home tonight.”
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed. Do you have plans today?”
He shrugged. “Sean is having a barbecue this afternoon. He gets a good view of the Centennial Park fireworks from his balcony. I have training tomorrow morning, though, so I won’t stay late. And you?”
“Driving out to Jasper to see my mom, sister, and niece.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“I’m not.” She sighed. “They’re fine—they’re a handful. Anyway I need to hit the road by eight so I’m in time to see my niece’s Brownie troop in the Independence Day parade. I’ll take you out to the training complex to get your car. I hope Glynn won’t mind you turning up to his place so early?”
The image of the queen-size guest bed in Glynn’s loft was instantly appealing, and the recollection that his friend had bought the same high-end coffeemaker he had in his own house was a triumph.
But the notion of spending his day off without Kate was…disappointing.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
Her brows shot up. “Beg pardon?”
“I’m at a loose end. I can’t go home, and I’m not in the mood to answer my friends’ questions about the last couple of days. I want to spend time with you. Or is it too early for me to be introduced to your family?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Too early in what? This was just a casual thing, right?”
“Of course,” he assured her—and himself—as he quickly pulled tight the loose reins of his self-discipline. He hadn’t wanted to say so at the time, but Kate had been on the money when she’d said she wasn’t his Miss Right. He was on the lookout for something serious, something forever—he’d told himself as much a thousand times in the last few weeks. She could be his Miss Right Now, but that was it.
“Fair enough.” He held up placatory palms. “I take it back.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just—”
“We’re keeping this casual. I get it.”
She nodded eagerly. “Casual. Exactly.”
“And discreet, obviously. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble at work.”
“I appreciate that.”
“No problem.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, her expression thoughtful. When she raised her gaze to his it was brighter. “Actually, no. I like you, Oz. I like you a lot. Let’s do this. Not coming to Jasper with me—it’s too soon—but the rest of this. Us.”
Concern that he was about to have to deliver another letting-her-down gently speech stiffened his shoulders. He really wasn’t up for that right now.
“Not long-term,” she clarified before he could respond. “That’s not what I’m looking for.”
“Neither am I,” he interjected quickly, and her smile showed her relief.
“Perfect, we’re on the same page.”
“Spell out to me what’s on that page,” he urged, still unconvinced.
“I don’t think I’ll offend you if I say we both know that we’re not going to be together forever. You have a plan, I need to make a plan, and I seriously doubt they’ll end up in the same place. I won’t be able to map out my future if I’m being pulled off course by a relationship, but if I know this is only short-term, I can work around it. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” He frowned, digesting what she said. “You’re saying this won’t be the end for either of us, but we should enjoy it while it lasts.”
She snapped her fingers. “Exactly. I guess those Harvard degrees are worth something after all.”
“You’re the one who came up with the idea. It’s a good one. No expectations, nothing heavy. We’ll take advantage of this spark until it burns out.”
“Because it will,” she reminded him, and although he nodded, his heart seemed to drop slightly lower in his chest.
He brushed it aside. Kate was right. They had to be pragmatic, fit this warm, bright thing around their plans instead of changing them to suit it. Physical satisfaction, short-term emotional connection, and when Miss Right finally appeared, no hard feelings.
“I’m willing to give it a shot,” he agreed.
She grinned. “We’ll make it work.”
“We will,” he promised, drawing her in for another kiss.