Lucky In Love (Silver Bay Book 3)

by Amelia Judd

  Chapter 12

  FINISHING his last set of lat pulldowns, Ethan bit back a grin as Logan glowered through the plate glass window at the group of gawkers clustered on the sidewalk in front of the gym.

  “Every damn day,” Logan groused, the glower now directed at Ethan—the reason for all the commotion. “Soccer Boy, I told you to work out in the back of the gym. I’m serious, mate. Whenever you’re in the front window, you turn this place into a spectacle rather than a respectable workout establishment.”

  “Sorry, mate. My favorite machines are up front. Besides, I’ve only been in town a couple of months. Everybody will settle down once they get used to seeing me around.”

  “Way I hear it, you’re not going to be sticking around long enough for that to happen.”

  Ethan stood up from the machine and grabbed his water bottle. “I’ve heard that too.” He took a swig of water.

  “Also heard your old team isn’t doing well without you. Sounds like they’re willing to pay some serious money to get you back.” Logan narrowed his eyes. “I’d hate to see anyone around here get hurt when you waltz back to your old life.” He stepped closer, displaying his height advantage.

  Unfazed by the big Australian’s pissy attitude, Ethan flashed him a cocky smile and stripped his shirt off to use as a towel to wipe away sweat. Flashes exploded outside the window, and one woman actually squealed in excitement.

  “Christ,” Logan groaned and shook his head. “I don’t need the bodies of a bunch of swooning women blocking my doorway.” He yanked the blinds closed, barring both the gawkers and the sunlight from the gym. “If any of my clients complain about working out in the dark, I’ll tell them who to thank.”

  “Make you a deal,” Ethan said. “I’ll keep to the back of the gym until the town gets used to seeing me around if you’ll help me with Claire.”

  Logan stiffened. “Thought you were already dating her. What do you need my help for?”

  “I’ve tried to win her over with one romantic gesture after another. I’ve taken her on a sunset bike ride to a candlelit picnic dinner on a blanket in the sand. I’ve hand-delivered truckloads of flowers and chocolates. I stop by her office most mornings with her favorite coffee from Fresh. I’ve had her and the kids over for dinners that I actually cooked myself. We even watched Titanic and Dirty Dancing together.”

  “Christ.” Logan grimaced. “This entire conversation is giving me a cramp in my ass. What’d you do, search ‘how to be romantic’ on YouTube?”

  “Nope,” Ethan replied with a smug smile. “I used wikiHow.”

  “You doing all this to sleep with her?”

  “Hell, no. I’m doing this to show Claire she should keep me around. She’s smart, funny, nice to everyone—even her ex and his new wife—dedicated to her family, and fiercely independent. It’s obvious she doesn’t need a man to be happy. Which means I have to convince her that even if she doesn’t need me in her life, she wants me there anyway.”

  “For how long?”

  “Forever.”

  “You’re shitting me?” Logan asked, jerking back in shock.

  “I’m serious. I’ve never met anyone like her before. She’s the one. I know it in my gut. Her and her kids—we make a great team.”

  Logan cocked an eyebrow. “How long have you known her?”

  “Almost two months.” Ethan shrugged. “I’m a decisive guy. Always have been. First time I stepped on the pitch, I knew I wanted to be a professional soccer player. Nothing could’ve stopped me. Not my mother, the harsh Wisconsin climate, or even my own lack of natural talent. I just knew it was right, and I was willing to do whatever I had to do to make it happen. Feels the same way with Claire.”

  Logan grunted and eyed Ethan with a skeptical expression. “Never met a guy so willing to talk about love.” He shoved a hand through his hair and muttered something about the cramp in his ass getting worse.

  Grinning, Ethan tossed the sweaty shirt into his gym bag and grabbed a clean one. “I love her, man.” He pulled the shirt on over his head. “I’m not ashamed to admit it just because I haven’t known her long. How long did it take you to fall for Kat? A month or two tops, I bet.”

  The scowl on Logan’s face made it clear Ethan had him on that one.

  “Okay, Romeo,” Logan said, blowing out a resigned breath. “If you’re serious about making her happy, I’ll help. What did you have in mind?”

  “Excellent! I’ve got something big planned for next weekend. I’m going to need your help to pull it off. Or to be precise, I’m going to need your wife’s help.”

  Logan chuckled. “You’ve got balls. I’ll give you that.” He slapped Ethan on the shoulder as he walked past him on the way to his office. “Word of warning. Kat’s a tiger, and she’ll do things her own way. You’ll never be able to control her.”

  “I’m not trying to control anyone,” Ethan said, raising his voice as Logan walked farther away.

  “You sure of that?” Logan turned around to face him but kept walking backward toward his office. “You’ve told me all about what you want. Haven’t heard you say what Claire wants. I reckon that means you either don’t know or you don’t care.”

  “I want to make her happy,” Ethan snapped.

  “What if getting rid of your ass makes Claire happy?” The big bastard shot Ethan an arrogant smile. “Would you really do anything for her even if it meant leaving her alone?”

  A rare flash of anger burned through Ethan. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, mate.”

  Logan held up his hands in a don’t-shoot gesture. “Not too long ago, I thought I knew what Kat wanted without bothering to ask her about it. Luckily, I came to my senses before I lost her for good.” Logan smirked at him. “Can’t help but wonder if you, Soccer Boy, are going to get so lucky.”

  •••

  Pacing, Claire watched the street through the front window of her living room. The weeks she’d spent with Ethan since that first “soccer date” had flown by in a big, happy blur. It didn’t seem possible that the bachelorette auction was only a week away. Once it was over, she had no clue where that would leave her and Ethan. You couldn’t pretend date someone once the reason for the pretense was over, right?

  Who was she kidding? She’d stopped pretending a long time ago, but that didn’t mean they had any sort of a future together. She couldn’t let her weakness for fairy-tale endings delude her into mistaking their romance for true love.

  And, oh boy, had he romanced her. From flowers to candlelit dinners on the beach, Ethan kept one-upping himself. Not that she should have expected anything less. The night they’d met, Ethan had told her he only knew how to provide top-notch service—a statement he’d certainly proven true.

  Tonight was their final date before their agreement ran out, and she had no idea what grand romantic gesture he had planned for her. Seriously. How do you top a candlelit sunset picnic on the beach? Even though it would be a challenge, Claire knew he’d find a way to exceed expectations—world-class competitors always did.

  She wondered what Ethan would do if he realized her favorite times with him were the simple moments together doing stuff that felt real—that felt lasting. Would he change his tactics or would he press on with his all-things-romantic offensive drive? Then again, real and lasting likely didn’t interest him. If he planned to leave town once he worked things out with his mom, the short-term euphoria of romance might be all his schedule allowed. Which would make tonight their final date. Ever.

  Pushing away the unsettling thought, Claire again wondered where they were going tonight. Ethan had refused to tell her what he’d planned. Too bad surprises didn’t sit well with her. After a great deal of pestering on her part, he’d eventually fessed up to two details: they were going somewhere other than Silver Bay and she should wear a “nice dress.”

  After the bike-ride fiasco, she’d decided to follow his advice about her attire. Problem was, “nice dress” could be interpreted in a
lot of different ways. Should she dress for a wedding? A country club? The theater? A fundraiser? A night of dancing? The ESPYS? She didn’t know which stressed her out more—the idea of feeling overdressed or underdressed.

  She’d literally tried on every single dress in her closet. She had a number of perfectly fine outfits to choose from. Her role at Bennett Industries often required she attend company award ceremonies, dinners, and charity functions. She also had a few special occasion dresses that would work for a semiformal or black-tie event, but they would look horribly out of place anywhere else.

  She’d spent the entire day overthinking her options. Even at Ty’s soccer match that afternoon, she’d spent more time talking to Deb about what dress she should wear than watching the game. Her straightforward friend had told her to stop being such a wuss and ask Ethan what the hell he meant by “nice.” Unwilling to admit her ridiculous over-analysis of the situation to him, Claire had settled on a sleeveless black A-line with a matching black-and-white shrug. What it lacked in flare, it made up for in versatility. She tugged on the bottom corners of her shrug, wondering if she should leave it on or take it off.

  Before she finished weighing the pros and cons of going sans shrug, a tingle of unease slipped down her spine and tightened the knot in her belly. She’d experienced similar feelings of foreboding in her past and knew better than to ignore them. Sure enough, when she glanced through the window again, a familiar black car was pulling to a stop in front of her house. Oh crap.

  She hurried to her front door, knowing a show of strength to be her only hope. Straightening her shoulders, sensible shrug in place, she stepped onto her porch. The four doors of the car swung open, spilling a flurry of movement and excited chatter from the car. Like watching a tsunami approaching the shore, Claire braced herself and hoped for the best as the wave of feminine energy charged toward her.

  Wearing stylish frayed jeans, a snug red tee, and an ornery grin, Kat led the pack with a garment bag draped over one arm. Directly behind her, dressed in vivid orange, tiny Mrs. Dobolek—the Bennett kids’ childhood piano teacher—shuffled up the walk at an impressive speed. Looking more amused than enthusiastic, Hannah and Deb followed a few paces behind.

  Claire might not be a professional athlete, but she’d always been a fan of sports and knew darn well that often the best defense was a good offense.

  She summoned the no-nonsense tone she saved for stubborn employees or children or little sisters. “Kat, you’re a mother now. You should be in a car with modern safety features, not joyriding around town in a beat-up old Buick.”

  “No worries. That new tank of an SUV Logan bought has a crap-load of airbags and every safety feature known to man.” Kat waved off Claire’s concern with a flick of her delicate wrist. “I rarely drive Bruno anymore. But I do take him out on special occasions. He has sentimental value.” Kat looked fondly at her aging Buick. “He brought Logan and me together after all.”

  “I thought Mom finagled that?”

  “It took a lot to bring us together. We were both very stubborn people.”

  “Were or are?” Claire asked dryly.

  Kat grinned in response.

  “Ladies.” Claire forced a smile and looked at each woman in turn. “It’s lovely of you to surprise me with a visit, but I was just about to step out. Would you be available to stop back tomorrow instead?”

  “Oh, pumpkin. We heard about tonight’s date with Mr. Sexy Soccer Man.” Mrs. D shuffled closer and patted Claire’s arm. “We’re here to help, don’t cha know.” The older woman nodded her head with enough enthusiasm to actually jiggle her short, tight, heavily hair-sprayed gray curls.

  Claire cringed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “We plan to save you from yourself.” Kat eyed Claire up and down, shook her head in disgust, and stepped into the house. “Come on, ladies. We don’t have much time.”

  Blowing out a sigh, Claire motioned the others inside. “Ethan will be here in less than an hour. I’m not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish by then.” She followed the group to her kitchen.

  “We’ll make this room the center of operations.” Kat assumed command as if Claire hadn’t said a damn word. “Mrs. D, you can sit at the kitchen table. You’re in charge of keeping an eye on the time. Make sure to let us know when it’s ten minutes to go-time. Can you handle that?”

  “You betcha.”

  Kat turned to Hannah. “Sis, you can set up a makeup station there.” She pointed to the kitchen island’s far barstool and then focused on Deb. “You’re in charge of finding the black F-me heels she’s probably shoved into the back corner of her closet.”

  “What do they look like?” Deb asked.

  “You’ll know ’em when you see ’em.”

  “Got it.” Deb practically saluted Kat before she charged from the room.

  Traitor. Claire crossed her arms. “I’m not wearing those shoes, Katherine.”

  “Yes, you are.” Kat unzipped the garment bag. “Because once you hit Ethan with the one-two punch of those shoes and this dress”—she pulled out a glossy black sheath—“he’ll be putty in your hands. No. Scratch that.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “When he’s in your hands, he won’t be putty. And that works perfectly with our mission statement. Do you wanna hear it?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.” Kat displayed the shiny, seductively sinful dress in her upturned palms and sauntered to where Claire stood rooted in the kitchen archway. “Our goal is for you to score with one of the nation’s top goal scorers.”

  “Sheesh, Kat.” Claire grimaced. What if my kids heard you say that?”

  “Come on, give me a little credit. I know they’re playing at Deb and Mike’s house while you’re on your date. I heard you’re planning to pick them up by nine o’clock.” Kat tsked and looked at her with a clear expression of pity. “It’s a Saturday. You should enjoy the night with Ethan, not rush home after dinner.”

  “My kids have a bedtime, Kat. I’m not going to make them sit around late at night at Deb’s house and wait for me to finish partying with my boyfriend.”

  “Of course not. That’s why I’m going to pick them up from Deb’s after you head out on your date. I’m staying with Ty and Grace here tonight so you don’t have to worry about a curfew.”

  Claire’s spine straightened. Even if well meant, it still grated on her nerves when anyone tried to control her life. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “Ethan did,” Kat said, raising her hand to halt the protest forming on Claire’s lips. “He also wanted me to pass along a message to you.”

  “What?” Claire asked, crossing her arms.

  “He asked you to trust him.”

  The simple request deflated her anger in one long, slow exhale. Ethan deserved her trust, and she’d give it to him. “Okay.”

  Kat’s eyebrows shot up. “I expected a bigger fight. I know how hard it is for you to relinquish control.”

  “I trust him.”

  “Glad to see maturity has vastly improved your taste in men,” Kat said. “I never understood what you saw in Jackass.”

  “Even though I appreciate your undying loyalty, you should probably stop calling him Jackass. The divorce wasn’t completely his fault. We should have never gotten married.” Claire shrugged. “I was too young and naive then to know the difference between sex, romance, and love.”

  “And now you know?”

  “Absolutely. Sex fuels the body, romance fuels the ego, and love fuels the soul.”

  “Holy shit.” Kat’s eyes went wide. “Romance fuels the ego? Bitter much?”

  “Not bitter, I’m just tired of people confusing romance and love. Unlike love, romance doesn’t last. Sure, it’s nice when Ethan gives me flowers or compliments my appearance or plans a candlelit dinner. My ego enjoys the attention and the knowledge that he’s attracted to me. But the resulting feelings of excitement and mystery, aka romance, shouldn’t be the foundation of any relationship.”
<
br />   Braced for Kat’s opinionated response, Claire stared her down. She’d meant what she’d said. No matter what Kat thought, Claire didn’t feel bitter about it, only tired. Tired of bucking society. Tired of trying to stop romance from making any important decisions in her life.

  Kat gave one curt nod. “I understand.”

  A jolt of surprise snapped Claire’s head back. “You do?”

  “Yeah. You don’t trust picnic baskets, sunsets, or long walks along the shore. Got it. But we can still try to get you laid. Now go put on this dress.”

  “You’re relentless,” Claire groaned.

  “I’m trying to return a favor. You once told me that I should enjoy the blinding-hot sex that comes at the beginning of a relationship and then get out before either of us were stupid enough to make it permanent.”

  “You ended up pregnant.”

  “I ended up with an amazing son and husband, but that’s not the point.” Kat shrugged a shoulder. “You encouraged me to have a little fun. Now I’m doing the same for you.”

  “Maybe we’ve already slept together.”

  “Oh, puh-lease.” Kat rolled her eyes. “Ethan looks at you like a starving man eyes a side of beef. And you look at him the same damn way. Except I can tell you’re trying to fight the desire rather than embrace it. You’d both look a hell of a lot more content if you were actually getting some.”

  Claire couldn’t deny it. While her daily fantasies about having sex with Ethan tantalized and tempted, she’d fought those fantasies for fear of losing even more control of the unwieldy situation. But somewhere along the way, she might have lost control anyway.

  “Even though she needs to finesse her delivery, I agree with Kat,” Hannah said, unpacking a small bag of cosmetics.

  “What do you think, sis?” Kat asked with a devilish grin, extending the dress to her. “Ready to change?”