by Lauren Layne
He grinned. “Oh, I know.”
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What is that? What is that tone? I don’t like it.”
Carter put a foot on the bench and leaned toward her. “Our deal, remember? I help you with the reunion, you see what it’s like to be a pro ball player.”
“Yes, well, I’d be delighted to play catch with you later, but right now I have work to do,” she said.
“We’ll ‘play catch’ at some point, but you owe me five practice rounds, and the first starts right now.”
Olive wrinkled her nose and looked at him skeptically.
“You know what percentage of my time is spent with a ball or bat in my hand?” he asked.
Delighting in the double entendre, Olive lifted her eyebrows and gave him a slow smile. “Color me very interested in those statistics.” She playfully reached out and dragged a finger along his shin, smiling wider when he knocked her hand away.
“Less than twenty percent,” he continued. “I spend more time in the gym than I do on the field, more time training than I do playing the game. So you’d better prepare your fine ass to see how it’s done.”
She perked up. “You think my ass is fine?”
“I think it will be once I get done with it.”
Olive batted her eyelashes and fanned her face. “Why, Mr. Ramsey. You presume too much.”
“I meant after you do some squats—you know what, never mind. We’ll start with arms. I’ll spot you.”
“No, thanks.” She went to breeze past him.
He shifted, blocking her path. “Unless you’d like to cancel our deal?”
“I’m not canceling anything. I just thought we could keep the whole baseball thing between us.”
“Afraid someone will see you at something you’re not good at?”
Olive gritted her teeth, hating that he’d hit the nail on the head. She prided herself in being competent at all things, if not the best in all things. So, yes, she did tend to avoid things she didn’t excel at, which included baseball or anything requiring hand-eye coordination. She didn’t particularly like when people noticed that fact, and most didn’t. The fact that he, a pretty boy who didn’t even live here anymore, had picked up on it after being around her for less than a week was disturbing.
But this wasn’t baseball. Or even a stupid work-sponsored softball game. She could do the gym, and do it well. And if he wanted to count a good old-fashioned workout as the first of their learn what it’s like to be me game, then she’d count herself lucky.
“You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” she asked skeptically.
“Why don’t we find out?”
There was an unfamiliar honeyed note to his tone that she didn’t like. Didn’t like at all.
She wrinkled her nose. “Cryptic and flirty may get you all the Manhattan girls, but up here in Haven, we women like it straight up.”
His eyebrows lifted, and she realized it was she who’d made the sexual innuendo, and rather than backing away from it, she lifted her eyebrows in challenge back at him.
Carter laughed and shook his head, apparently conceding the point to her, because he changed the subject. “You never said how you know Randal Wade.” He came toward her, watching as she picked up a weight and moved it to the bar for her bench press.
“We’re friends.”
“Huh,” Carter said thoughtfully. “Were you ever more than friends?”
“Have you ever met Randal?” she countered.
“We’ve attended the same charity things once or twice.”
“Okay, so picture him,” Olive said. “Now look at me.”
She glanced up to see if he’d done as she’d instructed, and was disconcerted to find that he was indeed looking at her, and looking rather . . . thoroughly. His gaze traveled from the tips of her neon-green cross-trainers, up over her bare legs and short shorts, and to the cropped tank that was neon green as well, though not quite the same shade as her shoes, and thus clashed terribly.
“You see?” she said, striving for nonchalance, even though she felt strangely tingly. Olive wasn’t unfamiliar with sexual attraction, but it had been a while since she’d experienced it firsthand. One of the consequences of living in a small town where you’d known everyone . . . forever. She’d known Carter forever, too, but at the moment it was really hard to look at him and recall the kid she’d gone to kindergarten with. All she could see was man.
“I see that you do this a lot,” he replied, blissfully unaware of her train of thought.
“Do what, try to get rid of people who interrupt my gym time? Correct.” She settled onto the bench.
“Work out,” he replied. “You’re strong.”
Strong. Not beautiful, not hot. Strong. She’d take it.
“Damn straight, I’m strong,” she said. “But news flash, strong is not what Randal Wade types seek in a mate.”
“Maybe it’s because you use the word mate.”
“I’m a biology teacher. What do you expect?”
He blinked. “You are? How did I miss that?”
She smiled. “You never asked. Why did you think I had the summer off?”
“Huh. I guess I hadn’t thought about it. Funny, though, that we were lab partners, and you turned out to be a science teacher.”
“Yes, hilarious. Now, much as I’d love to sit here and reminisce about our first-rate Haven education, are we going to actually work out, or what?”
He gestured to the bench. “I’ll spot you.”
“I don’t need a spotter.”
“For bench press? I think you do.”
“I’m not going for a PR. I know how many reps I can do safely with this weight.”
“This is my gig, remember? And the way I do this, safety comes first. How much do you usually lift?”
She told him, and he finished placing the weights before moving into a spotting position and lifting his eyebrows. I’m waiting.
Olive started to lift the bar, and his free hand immediately came nearer, ready to assist when needed.
She frowned. “Hold up. You can’t be my spotter. You’re down an arm.”
Carter smiled. “Sit up.”
He nodded with his chin for her to move, and curious, she did.
His long fingers wrapped around the bar, and the muscles of his uninjured arm flexed as he lifted the bar from the rack, lowering and lifting it with relative ease. He repeated the process, and with the third rep, she snapped at him.
“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re super strong. Quit hijacking my workout.”
He set the bar back, and she returned to her earlier position, doing her best to ignore him altogether as she finally got around to starting her set.
Only . . . it was harder than she expected to ignore your spotter. Almost impossible to ignore a spotter like Carter Ramsey.
The positioning alone was, um, intimate, with his crotch disturbingly near her head, his eyes watching her every motion, his hand hovering in the general vicinity of her chest.
The fact that it was him was so much worse. Tall, muscular, and she had to admit, this was a very good angle to observe all of his best features . . .
“Quit ogling me,” Carter said, never taking his gaze away from the rise and fall of the bar.
“Take it easy, Captain America. You’re the one who insisted on straddling my face.”
“Captain America?”
“You’re not hot enough to be Thor,” she said, pushing through the last rep of her set and replacing the bar. Normally she’d have pushed herself a bit further, but she didn’t usually have Carter Ramsey watching her every move.
He may not be Thor, but his presence was increasingly distracting. But also kind of . . . motivating. Before she knew it, she had finished her reps and did a double take when she saw what she’d just lifted. It was a PR after all.
But Carter had no intention of letting her gloat. He moved to the rack of free weights. “How about some incline dumbbell curls?” he asked,
picking up a dumbbell that was just out of her comfort zone, but doable.
Olive groaned. She hated curls—boring—but she did them, as well as every other exercise he threw at her over the next hour, her only breaks coming when he squeezed in a couple of exercises of his own, which together they figured out how to modify, given his out-of-commission left arm.
“What’s the tattoo?” she asked, noticing the same ink she’d seen the first day peeking out beneath the sleeve of his shirt—just enough to be visible, not enough for her to know what she was looking at.
Olive reached to flick a playful finger over the exposed skin, the gesture instinctive and friendly, though the second her finger touched his arm, she realized her mistake—the move was too intimate. His gaze snapped to hers, just as she snatched her hand back.
What was that?!
“You do this every day?” she asked hurriedly, striving to push past the moment. “This routine?”
“For my morning workout, it’s pretty standard.”
Her eyes bugged. “Your morning workout? You have more than one?”
“Every day,” he said, his tone holding no trace of gloat or taunt, just simple fact.
“Damn,” she muttered, squirting some water in her mouth. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you. It was challenging but also sort of . . . fun.”
He smiled, looking genuinely pleased with her praise. “I’m glad. Now, how about a quick five-mile sesh on the stationary bikes before we do our hour of stretching?”
Olive started to laugh. Until she realized he wasn’t joking.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday, August 11
“Now, you know I’m not one to guilt, but my friends have taken note that my baby boy’s been back home for nearly a week, and just now are both of my babies coming over at the same time so we can have a family dinner.”
“But she’s not one to guilt,” Caitlyn said to Carter under her breath as she pulled the plate of her mother’s stuffed mushrooms closer to her. “And since when does four days round up to an entire week?”
“She brings up a solid point,” Carter agreed, reaching out for a mushroom and popping it into his mouth as he leaned back in the same kitchen chair that he’d once done his math homework in. “Also, what are the chances we can nix the Baby Boy stuff?” he asked with a grin toward his mother.
“But you are my baby boy,” she said, cupping his cheeks and giving him a fond look before patting just a little harder than necessary. “Who neglects me horribly.”
“Why is this guilt trip reserved for me?” he said, pointing to his sister, who was getting off easy.
“Because she sees me all the time,” Caitlyn said. “And I’ve been on bed rest, so I get a pass on account of Unborn.”
“Speaking of, are you sure you should be out and about?”
“By out and about, you mean plopped in this chair with my feet up?” Caitlyn said. “Don’t worry, I’ve done very little moving. One of the perks of being married to a firefighter is that even six months pregnant, he can carry me just about anywhere I want to go. The other perk is—”
“No,” Carter interrupted. “Just no. Where is AJ? Did he finally spot your horns and go running for the hills?”
“Mom sent him to the store.”
“You sent him to the store,” Tracy Ramsey corrected. “I said that the strawberry shortcake would taste just as good without whipped cream.”
“Whipped cream is the only reason to eat a fruit dessert,” Carter and Caitlyn said at the exact same time.
Their mother shook her head. “If you guys are going to do that Twin Thing, at least use it for something important.”
“Dessert is vitally important,” Caitlyn said.
Carter nodded in solemn agreement.
“Fine.” Tracy threw up her hands. “I know better than to go up against both of you. Carter, Baby Boy, what have you been up to since you’ve been back?”
“Probably the same thing he was up to back in high school,” Warren Ramsey said, half his attention on the television in the living room. “Chasing girls. Well, the one girl.”
“Still is,” Caitlyn said around a stuffed mushroom. “Only it’s a different girl.”
“Oh?” his mother asked too casually, as she topped off her glass of Chardonnay.
“I’d like to state for the record that I’m unimpressed with your acting,” Carter said to his mom. “You clearly know exactly who Cait’s talking about.”
“I can’t help it that I’m well connected,” his mom said with a shrug.
“That’s one word for it,” Carter said teasingly. “Who’s your source?”
Tracy pointed at her husband, whose attention on the TV had him completely oblivious to the conversation.
“Dad?” Carter asked incredulously. Warren was well liked in the community, but he didn’t exactly have his finger on the pulse of Haven’s gossip chain the way Tracy did.
“What?” Carter’s dad turned back to him, then did a double take when he saw his son’s expression. “What’d I do? What’d I miss?”
“How did you know that Carter’s been hanging around with Olive?” Caitlyn asked, sounding both awed and impressed.
“She came into the office this afternoon and mentioned it. I guess I said something to your mother. I didn’t realize we’d be having a family meeting about it, or I’d have taken notes.”
“Olive’s a patient?” Caitlyn asked, propping her chin on her hand and giving their father her best smile. “What for?”
Warren Ramsey gave her the usual don’t bother expression he used whenever someone dared to suggest he violate doctor-patient confidentiality.
“Oh, come on, none of your dermatology buddies have to know,” Caitlyn begged around another mushroom. “Psoriasis? Eczema? Funky mole? Not Botox, her skin’s too good.”
“Rash caused from skin being aggravated by, say, glitter?” Carter guessed.
His dad gave him a surprised look, which told him that he’d guessed correctly, and Carter grinned as he filed it away. He was rapidly learning it never hurt to have some ammunition in his back pocket where Olive was concerned.
“And,” his mother chimed in, “Lynn’s son works at the gym and saw you two working out together.”
“Just think,” Caitlyn said. “I had to use all my manipulative power to get Carter to hang out in Haven while he’s injured by dangling Felicity, and the real carrot was here the whole time.”
“I do like Olive,” his father said.
“Oh my God!” Carter said, plowing his fingers into his hair, exasperated. “I am not seeing Olive Dunn.”
“Well, technically you are seeing her. A lot,” Caitlyn pointed out.
“Because we’re neighbors. And because you tricked us into that ridiculous arrangement,” he snapped at his sister.
“Oh?” Tracy said again.
He pointed at his mother. “Stop with that.”
“Okay, but this is something I don’t know,” Tracy said, setting her spatula aside and joining them at the table. “What arrangement?”
“Ooh, I get to tell,” Caitlyn said, doing a happy dance in her chair. “So, I asked Carter to help Olive plan our high school reunion, since I’m not much use because of the bed rest thing. They started sniping at each other, and Olive basically pointed out that all Carter does is play the same game all day every day for the past hundred years, and how hard could that be . . .”
“Ah,” Tracy said in understanding, looking at Carter. “And you decided to prove to her exactly how hard it could be. That’s what the workout was about?”
That’s what the workout was supposed to be about. The plan had been to show her just how hard staying in top shape was, and he’d fully expected her to wave the white flag in five minutes.
But she’d proven him wrong. She’d been pushing herself, yes, but she also hadn’t been close to calling it quits. Even more surprising, she’d seemed to enjoy the strenuous workout.
Most surprising of all, he�
�d enjoyed working out with her.
“Pretty much,” he said noncommittally to his mother. He loved his mom. But if she thought even for a second a woman had piqued his interest, she’d start shopping for a mother-of-the-groom dress.
And if she did get that in her head about a woman, it sure as hell shouldn’t be about Olive.
He took a sip of beer, wondering how to bring it up casually, then decided his family would see right through him anyway, and went for the question he really wanted to ask. “I don’t suppose any of your connections knows if the rumors about Felicity are true. Is she coming back for the reunion?”
The room fell silent for a moment, and Carter understood why. Until Caitlyn had mentioned her name on the phone to get him to come to town, they hadn’t talked about Felicity in years. His mom and sister had tried ten years ago to get him to talk about their breakup, and even his dad had seemed curious, but Carter had remained stubbornly silent, and eventually they’d let it drop.
“Is who coming back for the reunion?” Carter’s brother-in-law asked, coming into the kitchen carrying two cans of whipped cream, because he knew the Ramsey twins well.
“Felicity George,” Caitlyn said, reaching up to pat her husband’s cheek. “You remember her, she and Carter dated our senior year?”
“Sure,” AJ said, opening the fridge to put the whipped cream away. “Cute brunette. Soccer player. Her cousin works with me at the station and just mentioned her today—she’s staying with him and his wife when she gets into town next week.”
Caitlyn stared at her mom. “Wait. Have AJ and Dad both out-gossiped us today?”
“I think so,” Tracy said, sounding equally awed, before turning her attention to Carter. “So are you thinking of . . . reconciling with Felicity?”
Something like that. Maybe. I don’t know.
Even though she’d been his primary reason for returning, he wasn’t in any big hurry to get in touch. Every time he thought about it, he felt a little . . . tired. Or maybe it was just good old-fashioned nerves.
“It’ll be good to see her,” Carter said, as noncommittally as possible.
“Anyone mind if I watch the game?” Warren interjected quickly, accurately sensing the sharks circling and wanting no part of it. The question was asked casually, as though out of politeness for leaving the family discussion to watch TV, but Carter felt his father’s gaze on him and knew that he was really asking if Carter minded his dad watching his team play even when he wasn’t on the field.