Climbing back in bed, Clay relaxed enough to let images of sexy pencil skirts, tall heels, and blondes with a great laugh drift through his mind and lull him into sleep.
Chapter 5
“Frank, your coffee was sitting in the microwave in the break room.”
Kristen set the mug down, which she’d zapped again, beside the keyboard. Frank, the assistant that guarded the coaching offices, didn’t even look up as she did so. He never did. His wrists were permanently attached to the keyboard by a magnet…or so Kristen thought. Marge’s money was on an evil spell that would never let Frank stop typing. Cassie, Head Coach Ken Jordan’s oldest daughter, simply thought he was writing the next great American novel and never wanted to stop long enough to be social.
He was a mysterious one, that Frank.
With a shrug, Kristen turned to walk back to her desk with her own coffee and nearly plowed straight into Clay. Her own fresh cup of coffee sloshed over the rim and onto her white button-down shirt. Instinctively she pulled the shirt away from her torso to keep her bra from also getting the hot caffeine treatment.
“Holy…okay, wow. Sorry. Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”
“No,” she said, gritting her teeth. It wasn’t the heat that was the problem. It was the gross feeling of wet fabric and the fact that she’d have to fight like a monster to get the stain out of the shirt. “No burn. Just a stain the size of Texas.”
“God, I can’t…I don’t even have an excuse. I’m sorry. Here.” Clay cupped her elbow and dragged her back toward the employee break room. “Let’s…um…huh.” As if just now realizing the fact that he couldn’t very well just wipe the coffee off or ask her to remove her shirt, he stood there, hands up, as if he could magically recall the coffee.
“It’s fine. I have a change of clothes at my desk for this exact reason.” She fought to share a smile, proving she was, in fact, unharmed and that she wasn’t upset.
Because she wasn’t. It was an accident, and he clearly felt horrible about it.
“Let me make it up to you.” He handed her another paper towel, watching while she blotted daintily, then gave up and started swiping. “Let me take you out tonight.”
She glanced up from her task, surprised. “Seriously? Because you spilled coffee on me?”
“To be honest, I was originally going to ask you to come out for a cup of coffee this afternoon, but that seems like the punch line to a bad joke at this point.” He smiled wryly, handing her another paper towel.
Giving up all pretenses, she stuck this one under her shirt and began blotting her stomach. That he managed to keep his eyes totally on her face and not on the translucent white shirt were big points in his favor.
Unfortunately, they didn’t outweigh the major conflict in their nonstarter relationship.
“Clay,” she said with a sigh. At work…damn it. “I’m not sure—”
“How about my place? I can cook…something.”
His place…privacy. An easy way to set the record straight. Get in, eat a light meal, let him down with no audience, part as friends. “Yeah, okay.” She let the paper towels drop, then hissed in a breath as the now cold—and still soaked—shirt came in contact with her skin. “Wow, that’s almost worse than when it was steaming hot.”
Clay’s eyes held worry. “Swear you aren’t burned.”
“If I were, I’d be begging you to take me to the doctor. I’m no macho player. They don’t call me Wimpy Keplar for nothing,” she added for levity. She didn’t want him beating himself up about it.
“For this, I’m adding in dessert.”
“Better be a good one,” she said, then rolled her lips in. “Sorry, that was snarky.”
“I like the snark.” He bent and stole a kiss before she could think to evade, then motioned for her to go ahead out of the break room.
When she reached her desk, the receptionist’s eyebrows winged up. “Go swimming?”
“Coffee catastrophe.” Kristen dug into the bottom of her desk and pulled out her emergency outfit bag. She’d have to totally change, as the spare shirt didn’t match the pants she was wearing. But at least the shoes would still work.
“Ouch.” Marge gave her a wince that was sympathetic, then answered the phone as it rang. It was her main job as a receptionist to field the phone calls and take on the real crazies that walked in. Once she’d weeded out the true insanity, Kristen took it from there.
Kristen checked her watch as she walked toward the bathroom. She now had about five hours in which to run through the script and figure out how to let the wonderful man down.
Oh, who was she kidding? Clay would be fine. She was the one she was letting down.
Clay opened the door, sure to wipe the palms of his hands on his jeans before grasping the handle and pulling. And the breath caught in his chest.
Would it always do that when he saw her? Part of him hoped it would.
She smiled uncertainly on his porch, the waning light of day behind her. She wore a shirt with a lacy neckline, a cotton skirt, and glittery sandals. Casual and perfect.
“Hey.” He opened the door wide and let her in. As she walked by, he kissed her cheek.
“Hi.” She held up a bottle, which he hadn’t noticed before. “You didn’t mention the menu, but I brought white.”
“It’s chicken, so white’s good. Normally I’m more a beer guy, so I’m glad you brought the wine. I didn’t think about it.”
“Well, you didn’t let me finish.” From behind her back, she produced a six-pack. “I, too, enjoy a cold beer with dinner on occasion. So I brought these just in case.”
“You…might be the perfect woman.” He stole a kiss as he took the six-pack from her hand. “I’ll toss this in the fridge while dinner is finishing up.”
“It smells good, whatever it is.” She followed him to the kitchen, setting the wine on the countertop and propping a hip in an out-of-the-way location. “What is it?”
“It’s unhealthy, I have to warn you. Tons of cheese in this one.” He waited to see if she would wrinkle her nose in distaste.
“All the good stuff has cheese. At restaurants, whenever the server starts reciting the specials, he never has to get farther than ‘three cheese’ anything before I’m sold.”
That had him laughing, and he grabbed a pot holder to pull the chicken dish out. “Well, our arteries might hate us after this, but let’s live dangerously.”
“You’ve got some veggies simmering on the stove. It’s all about balance.” She smiled and offered to get a beer for them both. Once she’d popped the tops, she added, “Here’s to a good, healthy evening of company even if the dinner won’t be.”
It was an odd toast, but he clinked his bottle with hers before taking a good swallow. “Just let me plate the meal, then we can take it into the dining room. Why don’t you take the drinks in there and wait for me?”
Kristen grabbed his bottle and followed in the direction he pointed. As he used a spatula to pull out the chicken and slide it on a plate, he heard her small gasp of surprise and smiled to himself.
Yeah, you’ve got this, Clay. You’ve got this.
He’d gone above and beyond. From the delicious dinner—which he’d admitted he got the recipe for from his sister, who got it from a Tasty video on Facebook—to the explosion of candles and flowers in the dining room, to now the heavenly dessert they were partaking in, Clay had truly made the evening amazing.
And now she was going to deflate the whole thing like a pocketknife into a bike tire.
“So if you got the dinner recipe from a Tasty video, did the dessert come from there as well?” She took another bite of the moist lemon cake and bit back a moan.
“No, that…came from the local bakery.” He fought a laugh and shrugged. “I can only do so much. I won’t even lie. Not mine.”
“You know, being able to select a good dessert is nearly as impressive as making it yourself. It’s like…delegating or something. No points lost.”
Clay smiled and settled back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The position stretched his shirt in all the most delicious ways, scrambling her senses. This new, jeans-and-a-tee-and-bare-feet version was yet another layer to the man she was getting to know. She liked them all.
Well, maybe minus “football coach” Clay. But she could ignore that part.
“Explain?”
“Well, even the best leaders have to delegate. If you try to do everything, you’ll fail. Gotta know what battles to let others fight for you.”
“Lemon cake was a battle?”
Kristen set her fork down on the empty plate and grinned. “Hard fought, well worth it.”
“Good.” Clay stood to clear the plates, and she grabbed her own before he could. He let her carry her own to the sink, then she stayed with him while he began washing. From the tidiness of his house, she could tell he was the kind of person who wouldn’t let dishes sit in the sink for long.
Then, almost as if he caught himself, he jerked the water off. “I’m sorry—habit. We don’t need to do this right now.”
“No, it’s fine.” Kristen smiled and reached across to turn the water back on. “Do whatever you normally would.”
Except her arm wouldn’t reach quite far enough to the lever, and so she was simply draped across his chest and upper arms.
Clay moved slowly, enough that she had plenty of time to step away and avoid it. But she didn’t want to. Was tired of waiting, tired of wanting. And so when he kissed her, she kissed back. The countertop bit into the small of her back, but she ignored the bite of discomfort as Clay’s mouth meshed with hers. Their tongues twirled together, their hands started roaming, then groping and searching blindly for hems to pull up or waistbands to push away.
His large hand cupped her breast through her bra, finger and thumb twisting her nipple inside the cup enough to have her gasping. She broke the kiss to pull in a deep breath so she could continue...and something inside her flipped. Some tiny part of her mind remembered the real reason she was here.
“Shit,” she muttered, sucking in another breath as Clay’s lips cruised down her neck.
“What?
“This wasn’t…I mean I wasn’t…okay, we have to stop,” she finally managed in a breathy voice. Because literally, she was struggling to catch her breath.
“Uncomfortable? We can shift,” he offered.
“No, I mean, this won’t work.”
“Granted, we’re not a bunch of teenagers, but I’m in pretty good shape for a guy my age, and you’re no slouch either.” To prove his point, his hands drifted down her ribcage, over her waist, then clutched at her hips.
“I’m doing this wrong. Clay, hold on.”
Finally sensing her seriousness, Clay pulled back. His brows were scrunched together in concern. “You okay?”
“No. I mean yes, I am, but…okay. Distance.” With a deep breath, she slid to the side. He allowed her, his arms dropping to his sides. “We can’t see each other anymore.”
Clay’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. A stubborn expression passed over his face, and he crossed his arms. “This isn’t going to be some sort of coworker bullshit, is it?”
“No, that much I can promise. It’s not that. It’s…kids.”
“Kids.” He seemed to process that, then threw his hands in the air in obvious frustration. “I don’t give a shit that you already have a kid. He’s not even a kid, really.”
With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Not my kid.”
“Not following. Where’s the problem?”
“You want children.”
He blinked. “And you…eat them for breakfast?”
“I don’t. Want them.”
“Little late by like, seventeen years.”
She could tell he was trying to keep things light. Maybe that was the adrenaline from the kiss talking. Maybe his interrupted lust was pushing for this to be a short conversation. But it was important. Too important to screw up. So she walked back to the dining room table. Clay followed, and when she sat in the seat she’d occupied for dinner, he did the same with his own seat.
“Kids and me…that phase is over.” She smiled a little, remembering baby Isaac. “I love being a mom, always have.”
“You’re great at it,” he said quietly.
“He’s made it easy. But the fact is…I’m thirty-eight. I’ve got one year left with Isaac at home, and then he’s off to college. I’ll miss that booger like crazy, and I’ll sob three boxes’ worth of tissues when he goes. But then…it’s me. And my turn. And my quiet. I’m at the end of the mommy phase, and while I’ve loved it, I’m looking forward to seeing what the next step brings.”
Clay nodded slowly, his eyes a little glazed and staring at a point beyond her left elbow, as if taking it all in.
“I saw the way your eyes lit up yesterday, talking about your nephew.” She said it low, hoping he was hearing her, the sincerity of her words, the heart behind them. “How you talked about wanting kids, wanting to be a dad. It looked good on you. You’d do the whole thing proud. We just want different things, you know? Neither of us should have to compromise something so important.”
He just kept nodding, not speaking, and she wondered if she was going to have to call for medical assistance in a moment.
So this…is what true regret feels like.
Clay absorbed what Kristen was saying, but none of it stuck. They were perfect together. They had serious chemistry. They laughed and everything flowed when they were spending time alone. He liked Isaac. Isaac liked him. There was no ex-husband drama to dampen things.
How the hell could this happen?
“I… Okay.” He shook his head to regroup. “How set are you on this whole kids discussion?”
“Pretty much all the way.” Her smile was sad, and if he were a betting man, he’d be willing to put a lot of money on the odds she was feeling the same sting of regret he was. “I won’t ask your feelings on the subject, because I saw it yesterday. Your eyes honestly lit up at the idea of being a dad. It happens sometimes, you know? Maybe if this were ten years ago and Isaac was still seven…” She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Damn,” he said on a growl.
Her laugh was a little wistful. “Tell me about it.”
She angled her chair out more, and he mirrored the motion so they were essentially knee to knee.
“Clay,” she said, laying a hand on his wrist, leaning forward. “I can tell this is important to you. And believe me, I am not going to walk away from here today without questioning my sanity. But motherhood…I’m on the back nine. You want to start playing on hole one.”
“Two sports she’s heavily involved in, and she picks neither for an analogy,” he muttered…because his throat was too clogged to be serious.
That made her snort with humor. “I’m thankful that you’re the kind of guy that I can still go to work with on Monday and not feel awkward with. You were right, when you first asked me out.”
“Right about what?”
“That we’re both adults. I know we’ll transfer this into a smooth friendship.” Her smile was a little brittle, as if she were forcing it too hard. “You’re such a good man that I know—”
He couldn’t take it any longer. He reached for her waist and hauled her toward him. On instinct, she let her knees land on either side of his thighs on the chair.
“Whoa.” Looking a little wide-eyed, she sank back on her haunches, which put her perky little bottom straight on his knees. “That was a ride.”
No, but this will be.
He cupped the back of her head and pulled her toward him. Had she resisted an inch, he would have let her go. But she came willingly, molding her torso against his. Their lips met almost with clumsy eagerness. Her breasts pressed into his chest. Hands—both his and hers—roamed and skimmed. Her nails scratched through his short hair, making him moan.
And then he stood, his hands under her thighs. Taking the hint, she wrapped her legs ar
ound his torso tightly. She didn’t argue as he walked toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. At one point he bashed his elbow into a doorjamb, but it was barely a blip on the radar. He paused just before crossing the threshold into the master bedroom and managed to pull his lips away from hers. Letting her legs go one at a time, he propped her back against the wall just outside the door so she had balance. And he waited for her attention.
She whimpered in protest, and his body nearly combusted.
“Kristen,” he said, fighting to even his breathing, “if we go in there—”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t let me—”
“Yes,” she said more firmly, then pushed at his shoulders until now he was the one moving backward and she was pushing him in.
Chapter 6
Kristen kept her hands firmly on his shoulders until he was through the doorway and nearing the bed. Pushing and prodding him along step-by-step.
Of course, “pushing” was a bit of a stretch, as the man was far too big to actually push anywhere. He let her, and she liked it. It empowered her more, gave her choice additional validation.
When she pushed him down on the bed, he fell willingly, taking her with him. Flush against him, body to body from chest to knees, Kristen could feel with certainty the hard outline of his erection against her hip. Then he rolled, and she was beneath him, laughing a little at the whirling.
“You keep spinning and pulling and carrying me, and I’m going to puke like a kid on a carnival ride,” she warned, then laughed outright when he ducked as if avoiding a projectile. But instead of pulling back up, he stayed down, pulling her panties out from under her skirt. A moan, low and unexpected, escaped her lips as his hand covered her, as fingers explored her. “Clay,” she managed when one of those fingers slipped inside her.
“Wet,” he responded in a rasp. “So fucking wet. You want this.”
She nodded, then her head moved back and forth as his thumb found her clit while, simultaneously, a second finger entered her.
Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats) Page 5