One Night...with Her Boss

by Annie O'Neil

  Just two more weeks. She could do this.

  It was like a litmus test on how mature she was. Sophisticated city girl, coming up to the wilds of the North of England and having a free-spirited love affair...a free-spirited affair...with a man who was so ridiculously attractive it was insane that he was single.

  She needed to keep her cool. There were only a few more nights when she would be able to be held by him, touch him, make the most of those delicious kisses. Just a teeny-tiny handful of days until the final match and then life would return to normal. Ali would be on her own somewhere out there in the world. A warrior princess, standing her ground. Alone. Just the way she liked it.

  * * *

  “Maybe I should’ve bought two.” Aidan was looking incredulously at Ali. For a slender woman, she could pack it away.

  “I went for a run today,” she mumbled through her fifth slice of pizza.

  “Burning off excess energy?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Ali, I—”

  “Yeah?”

  She looked at him over the edge of her pizza. She’d been pretty quiet all night. Unusually so. Normally she talked through whatever they watched on television and tonight they’d just watched television. The atmosphere was all wrong. He wanted relaxed and happy Ali back.

  “We’re all right? The two of us?”

  “Of course—what do you mean?” She put on an expression of pure wide-eyed innocence.

  “C’mon, Ali. You know what I mean. The ‘girlfriend’ gaffe. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Not to worry.” She started picking at a piece of mushroom on her pizza, then sent it somersaulting into the empty box between them on the sofa. “It was as much my fault as yours. We work together. And play together. Everything is separate. I get it.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Aidan. I get it. Could we please not make me feel more mortified than I already do?”

  He looked at her in surprise. He’d thought he was the one who should be feeling mortified—not her. Lying about his true feelings...? He was most definitely not onto a winner with that tack.

  “You shouldn’t feel badly. I’m the one who stuck my foot in it,” Aidan persisted, not entirely sure why he had to get the record straight when in fact that was the last thing he was doing. “I just want to make sure we’re good.” He reached over and started to trace a finger along her arm in tickly little leaps and hops.

  She started laughing and swatted at him. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this anymore?”

  “Talk about what?” Shoving everything under the proverbial bed seemed to be working for them. Why change now?

  “Precisely.” She gave him a mischievous smirk.

  Something in the air between them shifted. The awkwardness was replaced with that crackling electricity they shared so well.

  “What do you want to do instead?”

  Aidan moved his hand up into her hair, tucking little strands back into place. Perfect. He drew his fingers along the thick swatch of hair that trailed down to her collarbone and traced that, too. He’d yet to complete the freckle-count on her décolletage.

  “Weeell...” Ali drew out the word as she moved the pizza box to the low table they’d been using as a footrest. “I could think of a couple of things. But I am terribly busy, as you can see.”

  Aidan pulled her onto his lap, no longer interested in the distance between them, however paltry. “C’mere, you.”

  He drew her to him for a deep kiss, savoring the taste of her salty lips. He could kiss these lips when they were sweet, salty—whatever. His focus narrowed. He traced his finger along her lower lip as her tongue darted out, ultimately capturing his finger between her teeth and drawing it into her mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  Two more weeks. That was all they had. He knew they hadn’t really cleared the air between them, but their bodies seemed to have a language of their own, and that would do for now. Ali was on his lap now, her thighs opening wide as she pressed her body to his, her hands holding on to the back of the sofa, her mouth teasing, urging him to commit to something deeper, something more intimate.

  He rucked up her shirt and ran his fingertips along her bare back as she dropped kisses and wicked little licks along his neck. Her skin was like silk. He pressed her tightly into him in the vain hope that her scent would be seared into his memory banks. The thought of losing her—not having her with him—threatened his composure. This wasn’t enough. Two weeks... Six weeks... It would never be enough. But it was all he had and he was going to be damn sure to make the most of it.

  “C’mon.” He helped her to her feet and took her hand in his. “I think it’s bedtime.”

  Ali slipped her arm along his waist and gave him a light squeeze.

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  * * *

  “Doc, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Afraid your teammates might start whispering, Mack?” Ali popped a second blood-soaked swab into the medical waste bin. “You’re beginning to look a bit like Scarface!”

  “That’s all part of the plan! The girls love it.” Mack gave her a wink.

  “Oh, yeah. We just love a good ol’ roughed up face. The more scars the better!” Ali laughed along with the rookie player. Mack was an up-and-coming star for the North Stars, and was definitely living up to his “Mack Attack” tagline. There wasn’t a scrum he didn’t want to be a part of.

  “Is that why you’ve gone off Dr. Tate?”

  Ali could barely stop her eyes from boinging out of her head at the question, and quickly busied herself with preparing the suture kit. How could she tell him that she and Aidan had shared just about every night together since “That Night” at hot yoga nearly three months ago?

  She might as well call their nocturnal liaisons Kama Sutra Class for all the new tiers of lovemaking she was discovering. Last night had been particularly illuminating. And intense. It was as if their bodies knew there wasn’t much time left and saturated every move with greater intensity. Microblasts of heat started detonating inside her as her body relived Aidan’s rhythmic movements as she—ahem!

  She waited to speak until her voice wouldn’t sound like a choirboy’s. “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, we thought you and Tatey had a thing going on a few weeks back—but obviously even the powerful Harty-attack couldn’t tear down the fortress of The Monk’s heart.”

  Well... That’s partly true.

  “Okay—here’s the part that’s going to hurt.” Ali picked up the needle and was just about to take the first stitch when Mack quickly turned away.

  “What? You’re not afraid of my needlework, are you?” Ali asked, but she too turned to see what had caught her patient’s eye.

  “Harty!” Jonesy staggered in, his huge hand covering his face, blood pouring everywhere, “Just got a hands-off.” He plopped onto the second examination table in the room and tilted his head back.

  “Holy crow, man. Who did that?” Mack looked enthralled.

  Little boys. The lot of ’em.

  “Looks more like a hands-on to me.”

  Ali tried her best not to recoil. Ballet stars very rarely had bloody noses, but these guys collected them like badges of honor—and once their noses started spurting they were like unstoppable geysers. At the very least she was developing an incredibly strong stomach.

  “Hey, Jonesy. Harty and Tate have broken up.”

  Ali tutted and tried her best to look nonchalant. Since when had her social life become a discussion point for the team?

  “What? No way! I thought you two were cute together. Are we supposed to be like your girlfriends and ask you what happened? Or can we skip that part and let everyone know you’re back on the market?” Jon
esy sent her a sympathetic yet hopeful look through his bloodied fingers.

  “No way! You’ve both got the wrong idea. There’s never been anything going on between us. Ever. Never.”

  Ali lied through her teeth with a slice of genuine horror thrown in. And a splash of admiration for the fact that their “sleeping together” plan had made the atmosphere between them at work seem visibly cooler. Even if it had done the total opposite to her heart. She was still wrestling with that one—big-time.

  And as for the couple part? Hmm... Aidan had insisted upon regular reminders on that front. A big, fat no-go zone.

  Not that she’d protested. They were having fun, weren’t they? Just two adults enjoying each other’s company. In various stages of undress, mind, but there was no doubting they were enjoying one another. For now. Besides, this sort of explosive attraction never worked out long-term. Short-term suited them, Ali insisted to herself: a limited edition couple.

  “But when did you break up?” Mack persisted. Since when was he a stickler for details?

  “There was never anything to break up from! We were never a couple. You boys have clearly suffered too many head injuries.”

  “What?” Both men protested in unison. Concussions were taken seriously. “Any doubt and you’re out” was the coach’s motto.

  “Enough! The both of you.” She wagged a stern finger in each of their directions. Then scowled.

  Rugby players needed tough love. It was a world away from the ballet, where cosseting and cajoling worked a treat. She grabbed an ice pack from the well-stocked mini freezer.

  “Jonesy, put this on your face. Mack, sit still like a good boy and let me finish these stitches—otherwise you really will look like Scarface. I’m going for a Southern Cross effect. Will that suit?”

  “Yes, miss.” Mack responded meekly.

  “These boys giving you guff?”

  “We’re all good!” Ali forced herself to reply evenly to the sound of Aidan’s voice.

  She refused to turn around, focusing fastidiously on the stitches she’d begun. If she was going to continue this highly successful charade, going weak-kneed when their eyes met would be a bit of a giveaway.

  “Grand. Lockhart—my office when you’re done.”

  “Yup! Just give me a few minutes with these lugheads and I’ll be there.”

  “Ooh. Harty’s in trouble!”

  Ali couldn’t stop herself from swatting at Mack’s arm with a bonus glare. It was a bit like wafting tissue paper at a steel beam, but a girl had to try.

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Jonesy blurted from beneath his ice cubes.

  “Since when do you quote Shakespeare?” Mack guffawed.

  “Since I got my degree in English Literature, with a special emphasis on the Elizabethan era. We’re not all noodleheads like you, Mack.”

  “I knew it was Shakespeare,” the player retorted.

  “Hoo! Color me impressed!” Ali meant it. “Do you have plans to do anything with it, Jonesy? Your degree?”

  “I thought I’d go back and get my Masters in teaching once we show the South who dominates the world of rugby. It’s not like this gig is going to last forever, and I don’t think I’d be any good at coaching. The sidelines aren’t my gig.”

  “Impressive. Not everyone plans for the future. There you go, Mack. All done.” Ali tied off the stitches and pressed on a bit of tape. “That should hold your brains in for a while.”

  She gave him a grin and a “scoot” gesture. Time to sort out Jonesy’s nose.

  She was really impressed, and strangely proud of this player. It wasn’t as if she’d known the man for long, but in the short time she had they had developed a really solid working relationship—heavy with ribbing. She was seriously pleased for him. He was smart to plan for the future. It was something she’d have to do, since this little secret liaison thing with Aidan was obviously not going to carry her off into the sunset. Not that she’d ever banked on that scenario coming to pass.

  Medicine was the only thing she could rely on. But it would be a shame to go all ostrich on herself again—sticking her head back into the medical sandpit of no return. She’d enjoyed setting up the clinic. A lot. And it had eaten up her entire life. That would definitely help keep her mind off Aidan. Maybe she should set up a new one. But where?

  Jonesey plonked himself down in front of her, unveiling a blood-slathered face.

  America, maybe?

  * * *

  Aidan stared at the whiteboard as if it would help give him some answers.

  The only sound in the locker room was the ticking of the clock. He’d never realized how much time elapsed between each second.

  He rubbed his eyes, then gave it another inspection.

  Nope. No good. That day’s skinfold results just weren’t going to help him find a way to tell Ali their late-night trysts had to end.

  He kicked one of the towels lying on the ground straight up and into the basket on the other side of the room. If only it would be that easy to deal with his father. The man really had unbelievable timing. They had a perfectly amicable long-distance relationship, and now he wanted to come home and show off a new bride...

  He let himself sink onto one of the benches, holding his head in his hands. Unbelievable. Two tiny weeks left with the love of his life and now he had houseguests.

  Tick. Tick.

  Hold on a minute.

  Love of his life?

  No dice. He wouldn’t be going down that street again. He couldn’t. Not after everything life had thrown at him. Five years of holding vigil for a woman—a life—that would never happen. Had it been worth it? Was it worth changing the rulebook now? For this woman who’d whirled into his life, knocked everything sideways and seemed intent on whirling straight back out again?

  “Hey!” Ali leaned through the locker room door, giving it a quick knock as she poked her head into the room. “Couldn’t find you in your office. Is everything all right?”

  “No.”

  “Oh? It’s not Rory, is it? He hasn’t been sneaking into the weight room again? I’ve told him—”

  “No.”

  Ali walked into the room, the door swinging back with into place with a hushed thwffft.

  Tick. Tick.

  “Aidan?”

  Ali stood in front of him, her brow working on the beginnings of a furrow. Just look at her. The most wonderful creature he’d ever known.

  Just two more weeks! All he’d wanted was to make the most of these two past weeks with her—this amazing woman he was finally beginning to realize he loved. Was that so much to ask? Did everything he planned have to be swept away before he had a chance to see it through?

  Hadn’t he paid enough penance for Mary’s death?

  Couldn’t he just have two more weeks before he had to say goodbye?

  “I’m presuming this isn’t a guessing game and that you are eventually going to tell me what’s going on?” Ali nudged his foot with her toe.

  “Yes—sorry.” He pushed his hands onto his thighs and stood up. He might as well look her in the eye when he did this. He owed her that at least.

  “I’m afraid our nocturnal trysts are going to have to end sooner than I thought.”

  From the look on her face, the news had hit her hard.

  “And you thought the locker room was a good place to let me know?”

  “Ali, I—I didn’t want to draw things out. Now seemed just as bad a time as later.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  She gave him a thin smile and looked away. He could hardly blame her.

  “That’s your fake I’m cool with it voice, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it is a bit out of the blue, Aidan. I thought we were—” She broke off to look around the r
oom and ensure they were on their own. “I thought we were enjoying ourselves.”

  “We were! Are!” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s my dad. He’s coming to stay.”

  “Oh!” Her face brightened. “Well, that’s not so bad, is it? You can sneak over to mine.”

  “He’s coming with his new wife.” Aidan tried to weight the words with the depth of meaning they held for him.

  “Why are you looking so gloomy? That’s great news! Isn’t it?”

  She peered at him for answers he just didn’t have the heart to give. When none were forthcoming, she, too, stared at the skinfold analysis, as if it would offer some code of understanding as to what was going on here.

  “You could still come over to mine, couldn’t you? It’s not like you’re sixteen and need your father’s permission for a sleepover. Besides...” A bright smile lit up her face. “It would give the newlyweds their own space while they stay with you.”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Ali.” Aidan tugged a hand through his hair, fighting an urge to howl at the moon... He looked up at the ceiling. Well...just howl. “You and I were meant to be short-term anyway—with my dad here, there would just be too many secrets to worry about keeping. We’d be best just to nip it in the bud now.”

  A sharp, searing look of pain passed across her eyes as she slowly turned to leave the room. If he could’ve pulled her into his arms and told her everything was going to be all right he would’ve. The churning in his gut told him he owed her more than he was giving her—and the best but most painful way to do that was to let her go.

  “Ali, I—”

  “Please don’t, Aidan. Really. I get it. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just get back to work in lieu of you rubbing some more salt into my wounds.”

  “This was hardly what I wanted, Ali. I just received my father’s email. I’m still reeling myself.”

  “From what, exactly, Aidan? A visit from your dad?” She threw her hands up in bewilderment. “That sounds like a nice thing to me. The money I wouldn’t give to have my mum back for a just a few hours, let alone a proper visit... You’re lucky to have him.”