“I think you are.”
“Oh, please,” she said rolling her eyes.
As he walked across the carpeted living room towards her overstuffed couch, he said, “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Yeah.”
Cautiously, he lowered her to the couch.
Hovering over her, he asked, “Does your leg still feel okay?” He propped her ankle up on a pillow, and handed her the remote control for her television.
She reached down to massage her ankle. “It’s throbbing a bit, but I think it’s fine.”
He walked into the kitchen grabbed a glass and filled it with water. “Do you need anything else: a massage, icepack or warm bubble bath?” He handed her the glass of water. “I hope you say bubble bath.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Call me if you need anything no matter how late.”
“Chance, I’m not going to wake you up for anything.”
“I’ll have your car checked out and brought into work in the morning. Will you need a ride? I can pick you up.”
“I thought you lived on the other side of the river?”
The Susquehanna divided everything in Harrisburg.
“No, I live on this side of the river.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“You never asked.”
“It seems there’s a lot about you I didn’t know.” She motioned toward the glass of water. “Thanks again for everything, but I should be able to manage.”
“If you need me, you’ve got my number.”
She waved her cell phone in the air. “Yes.”
He hesitated at the front door. “I could spend the night, and leave in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that. I promise I will call you in the morning if I can’t handle it.”
“Just don’t try to use this as an excuse not to go with me next weekend.”
“Huh?” She hadn’t really taken his invitation seriously. “Oh, yeah paintball,” she smiled as she rubbed her ankle. “This pain might get worse.”
“Sooner or later you won’t have any more excuses.”
“Maybe, but then neither would you.”
Chapter Four
Paintball.
“Eight o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. You cut into my sleep time. How did I let you talk me into this Chance?”
“It’s only fair.”
“Fair?”
“Yeah, because of you I’ve had some nights with no sleep.”
“No sleep? I’m sure those nights had nothing to do with me.”
“Now, how are you going to tell me about my sleepless nights?” asked Chance.
“I haven’t had any sleepless nights.” She lied. “I’ve been working late or coming in early with you. So, why have your nights been sleepless?”
His delectable smile signaled Sinclair of his corporeal thoughts.
“Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“Then I won’t tell.” Chance pointed towards the top of a hill. “My friends are already at the equipment stand.”
A grass covered hill, studded with tent roofed tables bustled with activity. Twenty or more people suited out in helmets and colorful camouflage padded gear from their chests to their legs stood or sat at long wooden tables.
When they reached one of the tables, Chance said, “Everyone, this is my friend, Sinclair.”
Routinely, she scanned the grouping of pale faces for reactions. First reactions always told her a lot. Frowns or stares at her dreadlocks normally signaled her of anyone’s immediate disapproval.
Smiles and friendly voices greeted her in unison. “Hi, Sinclair.”
A tall, thin guy wearing glasses approached her.
“Hi, I’m Craig. Craig Jamison. Chance has told me a lot about you.”
She cocked her head towards Chance. “Really? Like what?”
Chance whispered into her ear, “I told him you can’t keep your hands off of me.”
“Chance!” gasped Sinclair. She elbowed him in the ribs.
Doubling over in mock pain, Chance massaged his side. “Just kidding. I told him you’re new in town.”
Craig chimed in. “He told me you’re from Georgia. I worked there for a few years for one of the local grocery store chains as a web manager.”
“Why’d you leave?” she asked.
“The people were nice, but I didn’t have family there. I like a little family around.”
“Yeah, me too,” she agreed.
Craig continued. “Do you think you’ll stay here for awhile?”
Chance and Craig waited silently for her reply.
“No. I like my job.” Not all of the people. “But I’m like you. I like a little family around, too.”
“You two keep talking. I’ll get your gear, Sinclair.” Chance scanned her full figure. “I think I know what you need.” He gave her a wink.
“You think you know what I need?” She knew what she needed too, him.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure about the helmet.”
“Okay.”
Sinclair noticed several of the women in their group and at other tables watched Chance walk to the equipment stand. Tight butt, rock hard thighs, and an incredibly sexy smile, she knew exactly what they were looking at. The same thing she’d imagined while sitting in a warm bubble bath listening to jazz. The same thing she’d wrapped her arms around, ran her hands across, and had taken her breath away.
Raquel Dickinson, even in military style camouflage looked as if she’d stepped off a runway. Slim but shapely, she sashayed over to Chance while he waited on their gear. After saying something into his ear, she returned to her table of friends. The anger on Chance’s face registered to Sinclair where she stood. Anger boiled inside of her as she remembered racing from her hotel room after Chance in Vegas to find that Raquel had gotten there first. The heifer was probably reminding him of their night together. Maybe it’s okay to shoot someone between the eyes with a paintball gun.
“Sinclair?”
Quietly, Craig stood beside her observing.
“I’m sorry Craig. I was distracted.”
“No problem,” he shrugged.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Chance told me you guys work some long hours.”
“Yeah. Do you work at Carni’s, too?”
“I used to, but now I work for one of the local credit unions as a web director.”
“Oh, do you like it?”
“It’s good. I travel a lot.”
“Really? Where?”
“Last year, I went to Hawaii.”
“I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to go.” Sinclair’s thoughts strayed away from Craig and back to Chance. “Craig, does Chance know Raquel well?”
“Huh? Raquel?”
She’d turned her back on Chance to face Craig, pointing toward the equipment booth. “Yeah, Raquel, the red head that just spoke to Chance.”
Hesitantly, he said, “From work. You know.”
The sound in Craig’s voice told her what she needed to know.
“Oh, I get it.”
“Uh, No. I mean. It’s a work thing. Her father is the V.P. of Perishables, Michael Dickinson.”
She didn’t notice Chance’s return. “What about Michael Dickinson.” Chance glared at Craig.
“I asked Craig a question that’s all.”
“A question about what?” Chance’s eyes locked onto Sinclair’s.
Sinclair reached for some of the gear Chance had draped over his arms, and walked to a nearby bench with an empty spot. “Nothing important. So, show me what to do with all of this stuff.”
“I will leave you two alone. We’re going to divide up into teams in a minute,” Craig said over his shoulder as he rushed away.
“Sinclair, what’s up?” Chance paused. “What was your question?”
Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Nothing really.” Seated, she focused on shifting the gear he brought her around on her la
p. “We were having a conversation about Raquel.”
“Raquel works with us.”
“I know. That’s not what we were discussing.” Chance shuffled some of the gear in his hands. “She didn’t have anything important to say. She thinks the world revolves around her. If her father wasn’t a V.P., she wouldn’t have a job.”
“Isn’t her father the one that took you to Vegas? The one that extended your contract, and personally requested you stay again?” asked Sinclair.
“Yes, but...”
“But what? You do not have to explain anything to me. I get it.” He’s just a friend.
After tightening her pads to her body, he placed several different helmets on her head until one fit snugly.
Chance lifted her visor.
“Sinclair, I know what you’re thinking. But, there’s nothing else going on with Raquel.”
“Chance, really you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Then why do you keep asking questions?”
”It won’t happen again. I shouldn’t be so nosy.”
“Next time, if you have a question. Ask me.” He flipped the visor down, covering her eyes. “How does the helmet feel?”
“Fine, I guess.”
He grabbed her hands, and pulled her from her seat on the bench. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll make sure you’re on my team so I can watch you.”
“Watch me?”
“Yeah, I’d hate for you to get hurt on my watch?”
“You think I can’t do it?” Sinclair said with irritation.
“I didn’t say that. You’re always in heels and...” He took hold of Sinclair’s hand. “...look at these manicured nails.”
She yanked her hand out of his. “So, you think I’m some prissy girl like your Barbie girlfriend?”
He took her hand again and squinted at her nails as he flipped her hand over in his own. Comparing their sizes. “I don’t want to be blamed if you break a nail.”
“Okay, I’m on the other team. And you better watch your back.”
“And if my team wins, what do I get?”
“What do you want?” Sinclair asked.
“I’ll tell you when I win.”
His thin lips curled into a sensuous smile.
“Goodness boy, is that all you think about?”
Chance reached for her waist, and pulled her close. “No. But I do think about being with you. I know you think about being with me.”
Sinclair wiggled away from him. “I think about a lot of things.”
“Me?” asked Chance.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Sinclair readjusted her pads.
“Do what? Ask questions?”
“No, put me on the spot.”
“You don’t have to answer now, but soon,” insisted Chance.
“Yes,” said Sinclair.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes,” said Sinclair as she walked towards Craig’s team. The morning dew hadn’t seeped into the soil. The grass beneath her sneakers squeaked. But nothing was loud enough to block the sound of her heart pounding.
“Craig, who’s team am I on?” she called out.
Wide-eyed, he said, “I thought you’d be on Chance’s team?”
“No, I’ve been challenged. Who’s on your team? Is there room for me?”
“There’s room.”
“Great. So, what do we do now?” She placed her right hand on her hip, and waited for a response.
“Here, take a look at this map.” He spread a map of the paintball course out on the table in front of them. “We are here,” Craig pointed to a highlighted area on the map. “We’re going to do all four courses. The first one is the easiest. But they get harder. And people get crazy by the end. They’ll jump out on you from all over.”
“What do you mean?”
“Military style. Kamikaze style. There are a lot of bunkers and stuff. Great places to hide. The last course is my favorite.” smiled Craig.
The thought of worming her way through brush on her stomach splattered in mud dodging worms and other bugs clinching a paint gun sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. “So, I’ve got to crawl around on my belly and stuff.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. There aren’t any big mud pits or anything.”
“Oh.” Thank God!
“Just stick with me in the beginning, and when you’re comfortable do your own thing. Just keep your head low.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want anybody to get a good shot at you. If they hit you square on then you’re out until we switch courses.”
“Oh, got it.” She snapped the visor of her helmet closed.
Gently, a hand slid from her shoulder down her arm to rest on her hip.
“Sinclair.”
She spun around to look into Chance’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”
“Are you scared?” she asked laughing softly.
“Scared? I think I can handle it.”
“Uh huh. We’ll see.”
Squatting behind a tree, Sinclair couldn’t believe she’d almost made it to the end of a course. Raquel’s pack of commandos had been gunning for her all day.
Killed instantly during the first course Sinclair watched most of the round from the sidelines. Raquel Dickinson’s undeniable fascination with Chance was nauseating. She stood quietly and listened as Raquel and her lipstick entourage cheered at Chance’s every move.
By the end of the third course, she grew tired of the cheer squad and was determined not to join them on the sidelines again.
She was wrong.
Counting the Barbie squad on the sideline, she’d missed one girl. Veronica. Standing on the fringes of the course with the cheerleaders, she’d learned the names of Raquel’s two sidekicks, Veronica and Bridget. Unlike Bridget, stalwart and husky Veronica proved to be Sinclair’s biggest competitor.
Once again, Sinclair bided her time on the sideline until the third round ended.
Waiting for their captains, the teams regrouped.
“Good luck, Sinclair.”
Three words from the waxen, red haired Barbie put all eyes on Sinclair.
“Sinclair.” Chance marched off the course toward Sinclair. “You ready?”
“Definitely.” Locking onto Raquel’s glare. Sinclair challenged her. “Thanks Raquel.”
Chance wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her down the path to the fourth course. The feel of his arm around her body calmed her.
“What did she say to you?”
“Nothing, but your girlfriend’s trying to kill me.” Sinclair griped.
“Girlfriend?”
“Yeah. Why else would she and her team of Barbies take me out first every time?”
“I noticed them trailing you, but—”
“But what?” She was more annoyed than she should be. “You need to control your women better.” Her words were harsh, but she was annoyed.
“She’s not my woman.”
“She was your woman in Vegas.”
“What?”
“I saw you two on the elevator.”
“What?” The frowns in his brow softened, and although his words were terse, they were softly spoken. “Nothing happened in Vegas.”
“You don’t have to lie.”
“Why would I.” He turned to walk toward Raquel and her crew. “You don’t care. Remember.”
“Whatever. Where are you going?”
“To take care of this.”
She reached out for his arm. “No, stop. If you want to help, help me win.”
“Okay.”
Standing in the middle of a patchy field of grass, Sinclair fantasized about the feel of his lips against hers again. How his arms wrapped firmly around her, as his hard body pressed hers into her mattress. What happened in Vegas definitely didn’t stay.
“What are you thinking, Sinclair?” Chance asked.
“Huh?” She felt l
ost for words. Standing in the middle of a fake warzone holding onto Chance, all she could think about was going back to Vegas or at the very least taking him home.
“You looked like you were thinking about something.”
“No, nothing. Trying to figure out how I can beat these girls.”
“Raquel and her group hang around me. Keep your eyes on me and I’ll let you know what to do. Do you watch baseball?”
“Sometimes.”
“Okay. Watch for my signals.”
Parting ways, they walked to their respective teams. He kept his eye on Sinclair throughout the game. Several times he tested her to be sure she paid attention to his signals. She did.
Sinclair called them Barbies. They did remind him of Barbies. Barbie meets G.I. Joe. They laid on their stomachs covered in muck shooting guns. At the end of each match they sat on the sidelines primping and cheering.
Bridget had gone down effortlessly.
Sanding the rust off his truck was easier than scrapping Veronica and Raquel off of his ass.
Bracing against a rock at the edge of the field flanked by them he watched Sinclair stealthily slink between two medium sized Aspens. Cone-shaped seeds from the trees sprouted from the tips of her locs as if they belonged.
He couldn’t hear her words, but he read her lips.
“Run.”
He obeyed.
Scurrying from his enshrouded position, Chance ran to a nearby tree. Raquel matched his pace narrowly escaping Sinclair’s red pellet as it burst on the ground beside her leg.
“Ouch.” Hapless, Veronica dropped her gun, and clutched her paint stained arm with her left hand.
“Veronica, I can’t believe you were hit,” shouted Raquel.
Chance and Raquel watched as Veronica sulked off the field. The sound of an acorn crunching grabbed his attention. Raquel’s gaze followed his.
Noiselessly, Sinclair approached them crouched behind a makeshift barricade. Regal, she stood in front of the couple. A burst of air released a single pellet; it whacked against Raquel’s chest. Raquel smeared her hand in the red paint. She stared at it in disbelief. Shock then anger swept over her face. “You won this one, Sinclair.” Chance was left defenseless and trapped as Raquel lumbered toward her lipstick entourage.
Chance imagined steam bellowing from Raquel’s helmet.
Sinclair raised her visor. “Tell me where you want it.” She winked at Chance.
Love's Chance Page 5