by Danica Avet
This wasn’t how I pictured my night going. I’d had every intention of coming home and working on the drill set for the show I plan to pitch to Mark later this week. It’s actually finished, because the whole finding out the guy I slept with is a married professional football player means I haven’t slept well and used my insomnia wisely. Now I’ll be entertaining one of my drummers and the one man who makes me wish things between us were different; that he wasn’t currently separated but free and clear. That he wasn’t a celebrity and I wasn’t gun shy.
“Help him to the sofa,” I tell Shaun, who’s looking around my living room with interest. “I’ll get some scissors and call Levi.”
“Hey, you’re not getting near me with anything sharp,” Cuba protests, even as he flops onto my couch.
“You should’ve thought of that before you let yourself get into this mess,” Shaun tells him.
Figuring Shaun can handle Cuba, I leave the room. I have the numbers of all the section leaders and, while I search through my junk drawer, I dial Levi. He picks up on the second ring, although it’s hard to make out anything due to the loud music wherever he is.
“Frosty!” he shouts in my ear. “Did you get my present?”
I don’t want to smile, but I do. They’re such goofballs. “I’m surprised you guys know who Euterpe is.”
He snorts and goes to a quieter location, although I still hear the party loud and clear. “I may not be a music major, but I know my Greek mythology, Frosty.”
“That’s wonderful. Now come pick up your pledge.”
“You sure you don’t want to keep him for the night? He’s a little young for this party, but not that young if you get my drift.”
“Levi, if you don’t pick him up, you’ll be doing laps for the rest of your college band career,” I threaten, discovering the scissors buried under a coil of twine. What the hell do I have twine in here for anyway? Junk drawers, the greatest mystery of modern civilization.
“Fine, fine. We’ll be there in fifteen.” He laughs as he hangs up.
When I return to the living room, Cuba’s talking at Shaun as though he isn’t sitting on my sofa with at least two rolls of tape keeping his arms and legs from moving, while Shaun walks around looking at my stuff. I try to see the room through his eyes, but it’s normal for me. The violin I’m trying to master sits on its stand. The walls are covered in Red Mask promotional posters, sheet music from some of my favorite songs, and a few concert posters. It’s not chic or glamorous, but then I’m a band nerd. Chic and glamorous aren’t in our vocabulary.
“Your place is nice,” Shaun says, catching sight of me out the corner of his eye. He shoves his hands in his pocket and gestures to a picture taken during my Red Mask days. “You’re the shortest person in the line.”
I roll my eyes and approach Cuba with the scissors. “Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. Sit still,” I order the squirming boy, who’s eyeing the scissors like it’s a butcher knife. “If you don’t stop moving, I’ll end up cutting you and then I’ll have to take you to the ER. How do you think that’d look to your mom?”
He goes as still as a statue. “Are you going to tell Mom about this? It’s just for fun, Frosty, I swear. I really want to be a part of Zeta Chi Mu.”
Kneeling in front of him, I slowly cut the tape binding his legs. “Mm-hm.”
“And the guys knew you’d be cool about this,” he continues earnestly. “Levi swears you’re the best drummer he’s ever heard. And not just because you’re a girl, either.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “That’s nice.”
Once his legs are free, I move up to his torso, shaking my head. The kid isn’t going to have any hair left, but that was his own fault.
“Are you dating Steady?” he whispers when I lean forward to ease the scissors between his arm and his ribs. I jump at the question and he squeals. “Don’t cut me!”
“Let me get that,” Shaun suggests, coming to stand next to us.
I’m blushing and jittery from the question so I gladly relinquish the scissors. Our fingers brush, a jolt of electricity traveling up my arm from the contact. Certain my face resembles a ripe tomato, I keep my gaze averted as I move away.
Standing back, I wrap my arms around myself as I watch Shaun cut the tape from Cuba. He’s careful about it, gentle even, although the lecture he’s giving the kid is enough to make him look like a whipped puppy. Even stranger, I agree with everything he tells Cuba. He could’ve been seriously hurt with this stunt, but I’m too conscious of Shaun Decker being in my home to add my own two cents.
My townhouse is a lot bigger than my apartment in Chicago, and a hell of a lot cheaper, but with Shaun standing in my living room it’s as though the space shrank to half its size. He puts his hands on his hips, still talking to Cuba about the hazards of hazing and my heart melts a little because he’s genuinely concerned about this boy he doesn’t know. It’s sweet and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from his earnest, serious expression.
Which of course is when he turns to look at me. His gaze instantly goes from concerned to heated and my blush resurfaces. I fidget, shifting from my left to right foot and back again as I try to think of something to get me out of the room.
“Do you guys want something to drink? I have soda or I can make some coffee.”
Before either one of them can respond, my doorbell rings and I sprint for it, just to get away from the temptation that’s Shaun. Seeing Levi, Pierce and Gary, two other section leaders, and a couple of guys who look familiar but I don’t know standing on my stoop, nearly has me collapsing with relief. The sooner I get Cuba out of my house, the sooner Shaun will leave.
Right?
Kate
I open my front door the following morning, eyes puffy from lack of sleep. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to make me look anything but exhausted and I blame it all on Shaun. Okay, well not completely. Levi and his merry band of brothers share part of the guilt for my lack of sleep.
The other two boys with Levi proved to be Titus Moody—Cuba’s older brother—and some random kid named De Groot. I never did get his first name, but they were football players who’d been at the party with Levi and decided to tag along with him for some obscure reason. I could understand Titus coming; it was his little brother who’d turned into a pseudo-mummy after all, but the other kid still baffled me.
I’d tried to get rid of Shaun several times throughout the night. Tried to get rid of all of the guys who seemed intent on sitting around my living room bullshitting about whatever they wanted to, the subjects ranging from class to band to football. But none of them would budge until I told them in no uncertain terms they needed to go.
Shaun was the last out the door at three this morning, with the threat to return. I was too tired from the long day and stress to pay much attention, but as I struggle to comprehend what’s in my driveway, I’m starting to think I should’ve taken his words to heart.
“Morning,” he calls from the open driver’s side window. “You ready?”
“For what?” I ask dumbly, staring at him without moving from my doorway. Is it too late to pretend I’m still sleeping?
His grin is a thing of beauty, one my brain is far too sluggish to protect me from, and my nipples stand up in appreciation. “For work. I’m giving you a ride, remember?”
“No?” How had I missed that?
He nods and opens his door, climbing down from the big, black truck as though he’s just stretching his legs. I’d had to hop in and out of the thing like a toddler last night, but Shaun makes it look easy. He’s wearing another Sauvage polo with khaki slacks. The closer he gets, the more details my fuzzy brain takes in. Like his damp hair and the small nick on his throat where he must’ve trimmed his beard, or the scent of deodorant, cologne and man that surrounds me like a drug, giving me a contact high.
“I told you I’d stop by this morning for breakfast,” he says, and I still don’t recall having that conversation.
I squint up at him, trying not to allow my weakness to show. I really just want to face plant right in his chest and inhale all that scent of sexy man. “Are you sure this conversation actually took place and isn’t a figment of your imagination?”
He laughs and I try to ignore the way the sound sends little ripples through my body. “Okay, you got me. I mentioned it, but you were too busy talking about a cadence or something to listen.”
I vaguely remember that. Shaun asking about it and Levi diverting my attention with a suggestion for a change in the cadence for this weekend’s game. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?” I ask, because I can’t think of anything else to say.
Shaun puts his hands up and smiles again. “It’s how I got my nickname. Steadfast determination and all that.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Even though everything in me is screaming ‘Yes!’. Other than his celebrity status and technically being married, he’s damn near irresistible. I clear my throat. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
His smile fades and I mourn its loss. “I wasn’t giving you a line last night, Katie. I really like you and want to get to know you better, and if the only thing you can offer is friendship, I’ll take it,” he says solemnly, making me feel about as low as a worm. “No pressure for more.”
Could I be friends with him after what we’ve shared? With the way my body practically vibrates like a tuning fork when he’s around? I just don’t know, but if I push the physical out of the way and think about the way we had fun together that night, or even last night—despite my grouchiness—I have a feeling Shaun and I could be good friends. As long as I don’t let my hormones do the talking for me.
Sucking in a deep breath, I nod. “Okay, friends. But that’s it.”
His smile is blinding and charming and makes my ovaries cheer with excitement. “Great. Now let’s get some breakfast in you before you take your hunger out on those poor kids this morning,” he says with a wink, reaching for my messenger bag.
“I can carry that,” I protest, but he’s already walking toward his truck.
“My mom raised me to be a gentleman,” he shoots back. He rounds the hood to the open passenger door. “And if you had stayed in the truck like I told you to last night, I’d have gotten the door for you.”
Trailing behind him, I grumble. “I lived in Chicago all my life. I can take care of myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
I sniff and reach up to climb into the truck, except I’m still operating on no coffee and my foot slips off the running board. I pitch forward, certain I’m about to meet the body of the truck with my face, when Shaun’s quick reflexes save me a trip to the hospital. His arm hooks around my waist, tugging me back against him.
For a moment, we both freeze. Especially when I realize the grip he has isn’t just on my waist. The big hand attached to that arm has somehow grabbed my right breast, cupping it firmly. My body responds before my brain catches up, the nipple hardening against his palm.
Oh shit.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting go of me. “How about I give you a lift up?”
I clench my eyes shut, cursing myself as I attempt to force my flush to recede. I feel like such a klutz, while at the same time my body clamors for more contact. “I got it. I forgot I was wearing these shoes,” I bullshit as I carefully place my foot on the running board once more.
This time, I grab the assist handle on the dashboard and pull myself into the truck, sliding my ass into the passenger seat as though I hadn’t just made a complete idiot of myself. Shaun hands me my messenger bag, his gaze searching my face, but I can’t look at him so I busy myself fastening my seat belt. After a few seconds, he closes the door and walks around to the driver side.
“God, Frost, get a grip,” I mutter, trying to ignore the burning imprint his hand left on me through my shirt and bra. “Friends. Friends, remember? Just friends.”
“You said something?” Shaun asks as he climbs in beside me, closing me in the cab with him, his scent doing its nefarious work on my hormones once more.
“Nope,” I say with forced cheer. “So where are we going for breakfast, bud?”
He shoots me a wry glance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “I thought we’d stop at The Pancake Hut,” he says, backing out of my driveway. “Do you need to let your friend know you already got a ride?”
“Shit,” I mutter and fumble for my phone. “I can’t believe I forgot about Mark.”
“I’ll take that as a small victory,” he says softly, so softly I’m not sure I heard him correctly, but before I can ask him to repeat himself, Mark answers.
And I’m saved from a confrontation I’m not sure I want to start. Because friends aren’t jealous of each other, they don’t want to jump each other’s bones and they don’t get wet because they happen to be accidentally groped by said friend. I can do this. I know I can.
Shaun
“Why is this taking so fucking long?” I growl into the phone.
I lean against the fender of my truck, staring at the band annex, waiting for Katie to emerge. In the last week we’ve developed a routine that was part torture, part bliss.
“The earliest it’ll happen is six months from the agreement, which she still hasn’t signed,” Madison tells me, sounding tired. “She’s still in the treatment center, so I can’t get to her and although I’ve spoken with her attorney about your conditions, there’s been no response yet. I’m sorry, Decker.”
Yeah, well so was I. With Denise hanging over my head, I can’t move forward with Katie and it’s just about killing me to be her friend. I’d had Madison set up an account for Denise’s “treatments” and residency fees. It’d been my hope that paying for everything would soften her enough that she’d sign the fucking agreement, but so far that hasn’t worked well. Denise keeps hiding from Madison and she won’t accept my calls.
“Yeah, sure. Not as sorry as me,” I mutter and hang up. My tolerance of Denise’s bullshit has hit an all-time low. I want out of this marriage. I want my life back. And I want Kate in it permanently.
I thought I knew what pain was. I’ve pushed my body to its limits for well over two decades, have sustained career-ending injuries and surgeries to correct them, but nothing I’ve been through could have prepared me for being friends with Katie. That first morning I brought her to work was only the first of many, each one a new lesson in restraint.
Every day since the night of the rushing prank I show up on her doorstep bright and early, take her out to breakfast, and do my best not to sling her over my shoulder to carry her right back to bed. Why? Because Katie first thing in the morning is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It isn’t like she goes through a lot of effort to get ready. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t wear makeup, which means when she opens her door her skin is all rosy and her eyes droopy with sleep. My woman doesn’t fully wake up until she’s had at least two massive cups of coffee, meaning the full hour we have before I drop her off is torture.
Then there are the evenings. I swipe a hand over my face. The evenings are the best and the worst.
The doors of the annex open, expelling chattering students, some of whom eye me with mischief. I haven’t made a secret of my interest in Katie and while we’re playing the friends card her band students and coworkers seem to see through the charade.
Our arrangement works for us and gives me the chance to ogle her, like now. The Marching 300 practice every day without fail, meaning Katie goes from the prim and proper professional in her slacks and blouses in the mornings to down and dirty in a baggy T-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes in the afternoons. Since I have team meetings and practices with the team every day, our schedules work out perfectly.
She finally emerges, hair pulled up into a stubby ponytail, her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, a stack of files in her arm, talking with that Levi kid. They’re always talking and, while I know it’s purely professional on her part, I seem to have developed a complex ab
out younger men since Denise. I see Levi with Katie and I want to beat the shit out of the little snot, especially when he makes her laugh the way he does now.
I scope her out because I can’t help myself. She doesn’t wear shorts that expose half of her ass, although I wouldn’t mind it in the privacy of either of our homes, but the ones she wears for practice expose a good bit of curvy, muscled leg. Her face is red from the sun and probably exertion, because she helps to pack away equipment. Some tendrils of hair stick to her cheeks from the humidity and she’s the sexiest woman alive in my mind.
Katie notices me in my “usual” spot and smiles. That’s another thing that’s become routine with us. Instead of running away from me, or glowering like a bear with a sore paw when she sees me, she smiles. Call me a sap, but it does a number on my heart to know she’s happy to see me.
Telling Levi goodbye, she hurries over to my truck, not even noticing that he pauses to watch her ass. I do notice and I stare the little shit down until he gives me a chin lift before moseying in the opposite direction. It all happens without Katie realizing I’ve once again marked her as mine, which is for the best. She’s determined to keep things on the friends level.
“Hey,” she says, coming to a halt in front of me.
Honestly, it’s torture to see her smiling up at me, green eyes gleaming behind her glasses.
“Hey, you ready?” My greeting is abrupt, yeah, but it’s better than mooning at her like an idiot.
Nice and slow, Decker, I remind myself.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
Instead of just bolting for the passenger door like she did the first time she rode with me, Katie’s learned to wait for me to open it for her. I take her bag and the files and wait to catch her if she trips again. She doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop me from eyeing her rounded ass with every intention of grabbing those cheeks if she does slip.
Torture, plain and simple, to have her right there and not touch her.
But the fun is only beginning as I get behind the wheel. I inhale and do my best not to let my dick get hard. The scent of flowers and female sweat is like a fucking aphrodisiac. I just want to bury my nose in the crook of her neck.