by Crowe, Liz
“What are you doing?” Marlo whispered as she passed by. “You need to get those to my table, remember?” She pointed to the full tray of drinks Kayla was holding.
“Shh,” Kayla said, turning Marlo around and pushing her toward the table where J.D. sat.
“You are a crazy bitch,” Marlo declared, but let herself be pushed. “Oh, hi there, J.D.”
Kayla poked her friend in the side, but she didn’t move, couldn’t move.
“Fine. Well, Kayla wanted to say ‘hey’ before she gets back to work. So here she is. Okay, Kayla, let’s get going…”
“Well, hello,” Kayla said, her eyes burning hot at the sight of him, of J.D. sitting there at her god damned restaurant dressed in his best and with a fucking date, best she could tell. “Nice to see you again.” Her feet were like giant blocks of concrete, un-liftable, un-moveable. She glared at him.
He pressed his lips together a few seconds. “Yeah, so, Makayla, I’d like you to meet—”
“Oh, I know who this is, J.D. This is your latest super star commentator, LeeAnn Thompson. I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m a big fan.” She batted her lashes at the beautiful red-headed, skinny woman who at the moment was sitting close to J.D. Baxter. Way. Too. Close. Rage rose in her chest, filled her throat, tinting her vision with red and black. Which was a bad sign.
She knew damn well what she was capable of when provoked. When she’d caught her shit head boyfriend screwing her teammate, she’d pulled a serious Mystic Pizza on him. She sometimes wondered if he’d ever managed to get the fish smell out of his ‘Vette. Her temper was legendary, but she’d kept it under wraps since that little episode. “Gosh, you’d think a big shot like J.D. here would take you to a nicer place than this dump, wouldn’t you, LeeAnn?”
“Kayla, come on, let’s get those drinks—”
Kayla held up a hand, silencing her friend as she kept her gaze pinned on J.D. He met it, his eyes shining with something she didn’t quite recognize. But it was on now. She was headed down a singular path and was not about to be distracted. She held up the lurid green cocktail with a grin. “How ‘bout a nice appletini, LeeAnn? You strike me as the type who might really love one of these.”
“No, I…”
“No. I insist. It’s on the house.” She managed to smile at the woman, then over at J.D., determined not to dump the damn drink over his damn head like she wanted to do. It wouldn’t do anything but prove what a whack job she was. And something about the man made her want to present herself in a non-bunny-boiling light.
She set the drink down ever so lightly, if she did say so herself.
“So, I brought LeeAnn here to meet you, actually, Makayla. She’s in charge of the documentary. I was hoping you might have a minute to talk.”
She backed away, shaking her head, hand trembling. “I … I’m working right now, J.D. I can’t.” LeeAnn exchanged a look with him that sent a bolt of something like fury down her spine. But she held onto her temper, tight. J.D.’s relationship with his sexy red-headed producer was way outside her business. She swallowed hard. “Enjoy your meal,” she managed before turning away from them and their perfection, blinded by ridiculous tears. She shoved past fellow servers and the bar crowd before she slammed the door of the tiny break room behind her, leaving six full tables unserved. A firing offense to be certain.
After a few minutes, someone knocked. She ignored it until Marlo appeared in the open door. Kayla hadn’t moved from the position she’d flung herself into, curled in a corner of the butt-sprung couch, knees to her forehead, arms wrapped tight around her legs. “Go away,” she muttered into her knees, without looking up. “Just leave me alone.”
“Oh, honey,” Marlo said, taking a seat next to her with a sigh. “I get it. You like him, right?” She put her arm around Kayla’s shaking shoulders and sat with her until Brad stuck his red face around the doorjamb.
“Do you mind joining us, ladies? I mean, if you’re finished?”
Kayla swiped at her eyes, blew her nose in the tissue Marlo handed her, and got up. “I figured you’d be firing me for ghosting all my tables.”
He frowned at her. “I should, but I can’t afford to on a short-handed busy night.” When she walked past him, he grabbed her arm, digging his fingertips into her bicep. She stared down at his hand then into his beady eyes. “You’re on probation, Kayla. Get your ass out there and help me get caught up, and I might let you come back tomorrow.”
Marlo smacked his hand off Kayla’s arm and guided her friend back out into the fray. “Just hold it together a few more hours, earn some tips, and we’ll get the hell out of here, okay?”
Kayla nodded and got her ass back to work before she not only lost her shot with J.D. but also at her one paying job as well.
Chapter Nine
“Earth to Jon David.”
J.D. blinked and found himself staring down into an untouched drink clutched in one hand. He’d stripped out of his coat and tie, both of which lay draped over the back of a nearby chair. He barely recalled doing it. He was that gone over the woman who’d bolted from the table and ignored them the rest of their meal. After a few touch-and-go seconds when he honestly thought she was going to tip a green-tinted drink over his head, or maybe over LeeAnn’s.
He was nuts for even thinking about her much less the obsession-level sleeplessness he’d been maintaining over her. What was this anyway? He’d never felt this way, not about any woman.
LeeAnn sipped her bourbon and studied him for a few seconds.
He tried his drink, but it tasted like so much rubbing alcohol. He set it on the table and got up, needing to pace, to think, to figure out what in the hell was happening to him.
“Go on, J.D. Beat it. I don’t need you pacing around, reminding me that you don’t want to sleep with me anymore.”
He stared out into the darkening night, his mind drifting and wandering yet again, alarming him in the extreme. “It’s not you,” he said without turning around to look at the woman whose pleasant company he had indeed enjoyed many times after his divorce.
“I know that,” she said. “I realized that the day we ended it.” A comfortable silence descended between them.
“Am I crazy? I mean seriously. What the hell is it about her that’s turning me … into this?”
“And what sort of ‘this’ do you mean, exactly?” She sipped her bourbon, her expression neutral.
He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The aroma of syrup filled his head, pissing him off and intriguing him in equal measure.
“This stupid, high-level obsessive. I mean, I wanted her for the documentary, don’t get me wrong. She was interesting enough, from a distance, from the research we’d done. But I never thought I’d… I mean when I actually met her I… Oh fuck me, I am so screwed.”
LeeAnn sighed and set her drink down. She rose from her seat and walked behind him to knead his shoulders.
He sighed and closed his eyes. “That feels great, thanks.”
“I always could tell when you were getting yourself wound up about something.”
“Yes, you could.”
“So, you think you … might want something more from our documentary subject than just a documentary subject.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
“I … don’t know. Yes. No. She’s so unbelievably frustrating, but also so … vulnerable. I want to help her.”
“I’m guessing she may sense that about you, and she kinda strikes me as someone who would resent it.”
“Resent what? Me wanting to help her?”
“Yes, you overcompensating, sweetheart.” She gave his shoulders a final squeeze, then smacked the back of his head.
“Ow,” he said, not turning to face her. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” She patted his shoulder.
J.D. resisted to urge to take the easy road. To leave Makayla and her way-too tempting sexy body, voice, and lips behind and pick things up where he’d left them with LeeAnn
. Ever since she’d agreed to join his growing staff, she’d made it clear she’d be amenable to it. It would be, as he’d already established, easy. No bumps or lumps or aggravations. No shoulder chips, no assumptions about him and his life. No bullshit.
But he already knew himself well enough to accept that he was past that, past wanting it easy. He wanted Makayla Franklin, pure and simple, every last curvy, five-foot-nine-inch, temper-prone, smart-assed inch of her. God help him.
“I’m going to find her,” he said.
At the exact same moment, LeeAnn said, “You should go find her.”
He jumped up, chuckled, and ran a hand down his face.
“Oh God don’t,” she said, walking around the couch to face him. “Being cute like that isn’t playing fair.” She put her hands on his shoulders, her body near his, doing the exact opposite of what it used to do for him many years ago. “Go on and find Makayla before you drive yourself as crazy as she is. Y’all might just prove to be the perfect fit.”
He pressed his forehead to hers a few seconds. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. For not punching her in the nose? For not pouring a pitcher of beer over her head? For understanding?”
“Ah, it’s nothin’, doll.” She wandered back over to the table and picked up her drink.
He hesitated, wondering once more if maybe, perhaps, he should stay here. Rekindle that hot thing they used to have. LeeAnn was gorgeous, whip smart, with a sexy Georgia drawl that used to turn him into a raging horn dog. She’d also been a real tiger between the sheets.
“How’s that sweet little girl of yours anyway?”
J.D. sighed. “She’s great. Still awesome. Still the biggest tomboy on the planet, despite her mother’s best efforts.”
LeeAnn waved a hand. “Go on, Jon David. If you stick around her another minute, I can’t be responsible for my behavior.”
He nodded and headed for the door. “You’re right. You always did know me better than … almost anyone.” He stopped and put a hand on her shoulder.
She closed her eyes. “God damn it, get out of my condo and go find the crazy bitch. Toss her over your alpha male shoulder or whatever it is you feel like you should do with her. Although, I will reiterate my warning that she might just kick you in the balls after you do that. She’s been through a lot and probably doesn’t want anyone tossing her over their shoulder.”
“Well, shit, now I’m confused.” He was. But he was also resolute. He had to see her, to talk to her, to … well, everything he wanted to do was pretty clear in his mind. How she’d take it was anyone’s guess.
LeeAnn sat with a sigh. “Go. Please. And make sure she’s at Friday’s production meeting. She’s the perfect subject for it, you know. Make that happen for me, J.D. You promised, remember? It’s the only reason I left my perfectly nice job in Atlanta.”
“Well, now I’m not so sure. I don’t want her to think … well, you know, that I have ulterior motives or something.”
LeeAnn’s pealing laughter made him frown. “Honey, men are nothing but a passel of hormones, all wrapped up in ulterior motives. Don’t kid yourself. Just get her there, okay? How you do that…” She flapped her fingers at him. “God, just go already. I’m sick of looking at you.”
He saw how shiny her eyes were. He figured she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d left behind in tears. He’d never understand women, no matter how many of them he counted as friends. But she was right. He had to go find Makayla. It felt like a momentous night. One where he’d either get her out his head once and for all, or stuck deep in his life. So deep he couldn’t pry her out with a crowbar—and he wouldn’t want to.
He knew he was entering dangerous territory, even as he tingled all over at the thought of her. He needed to focus. He wanted her for this documentary even more. LeeAnn was right about her being the perfect focus feature for it. But that only made this whole thing that much more confusing, and borderline painful.
He was nervous. More nervous about anything concerning a woman than he’d been … well, ever, in his whole damn life. And that went a long way toward convincing him he was doing the right thing, regardless of the fact that the woman in question had come within a split second of dumping a drink on his head not two hours ago.
Chapter Ten
J.D. lurked around the outside of The Grange, arm hanging out of the open window of his SUV for at least an hour, watching as the place emptied out and went into shut-down mode. He saw waiters clearing off patio tables and closing the umbrellas. He squinted at the others inside, sweeping, mopping, talking, and laughing, unable to lay eyes on Makayla. After spending another forty minutes trying to find her amongst the scurrying staff, tapping his fingers on the car door, he got out and stood a while, ankles and arms crossed, waiting for her to emerge.
Marlo walked out after a few minutes. “Hi, J.D. Kayla went home a couple of hours ago. She might be—”
He jumped back in his car and sped off. He spotted her sitting on the stoop in front of her building eating ice cream, so he stopped a half block away and killed the lights, content to watch her a few minutes. Gripping the wheel, he fought the urge to jump out and run to her, throw her over his shoulder, and whisk her away from this crappy excuse for a life.
But LeeAnn’s words kept bouncing around in his head—that bit about her resenting him wanting to help her. Between that and his own instincts, he knew damn well she wasn’t the type of woman who’d want him to do that, at least not the way he was currently inclined to do.
He waited a bit longer. Her deep brown skin glowed like spun silk under the weak street lights. His mouth watered at the sight of her working the ice cream down to a nub, occasionally licking random drips off her arm.
“Lucky god damned ice cream,” he muttered into the overly warm SUV interior, shifting in his seat to accommodate his embarrassing boner. She finished with a flourish, sticking each of her fingertips between her full, sexy lips, then leaning back on her elbows and dropping her head back.
He tossed around the various options for his next move and settled on one. One he hadn’t had to utilize since college. The good old play-it-cool, be-a-buddy, let-her-make-the-first-move gambit. At this stage, he knew it would be the only way he could get her to agree to be in the documentary. And that was his goal after all.
Right?
Right.
He forced himself to contemplate that motive for a few moments. Sure, she’d be perfect for it. She was a known entity on the women’s soccer scene, still, despite her self-deprecating attitude. She’d been one of the most promising stars to emerge from one of the usual star-making D1 programs for a while. And she’d proven herself to be more than capable of playing at a next level—making a women’s pro league team and the national team all in one, amazing, year.
And then, of course, it all came raining down around her ears. The documentary would feature her to tell its larger story about the fate of women who were just as talented, athletic, and capable as a lot of men he knew who played the sport they loved and made a hell of a lot more money doing it.
His inner competitor, the guy who’d started DSN with his own money and worked night and day to ensure its success, wanted her for the project so bad he could taste it. He groaned when his lust-addled brain settled on that—tasting it, tasting her.
And then the solution hit him. He grinned at himself in the rearview mirror.
You know your own self-imposed rules. Your employees are off limits. Off the menu.
Not available to him for anything other than promoting, or otherwise empowering. He realized his own habit of hiring women he’d had relationships with—that he’d slept with. But he liked to think that it only spoke to his good taste.
He had a type, without a doubt. Makayla fit the type. But something about her was … more. A weak word, he knew but the only one he could conjure at the moment.
And …back to the original question, dumb ass. You actually go so far as to hire
her, she’s no longer available to date.
Yeah, but I also manage to do what I want for her. To help her out, detour her away from this shitty life trajectory.
He knew he had to do it—that he wanted to do it. And he would do it by God. Even if it meant putting her out of his reach, on purpose.
Motivated, he hit the ignition button again and pulled his black, overloaded Grand Cherokee out into the road, then over to her, window rolled down. She didn’t even open her eyes before she spoke. “Do yourself a favor and leave me be, Mister Man. You’ll be better off.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he called out, leaning over onto the passenger’s seat to take in the length of her muscular legs, the indescribable rich hue of her skin, and the awesome halo of hair. He hadn’t been lying when he said he loved her hair. He adored it. And right now, he wanted to bury his face in it, preferably with them both naked and skin to skin. He clamped down on that and refocused on his newly discovered mission. “Come here a second, please.”
She opened her eyes but remained on the steps, her legs askew, staring at him. “No,” she said.
He cursed under his breath when she hopped up and started striding down the sidewalk. He shadowed her, letting the SUV coast along the curb.
Finally, she turned to him and leaned into the open window. “You can’t have me, Baxter. And that’s good ‘cause trust me, you don’t want any part of this hot mess.” She stepped back onto the sidewalk. “Beat it, hot stuff. Go find one of your TV sweeties for company. I’m over you.”
“Get in the damn car already. Let’s go eat something. I’m starving.”
She tilted her head and shot him that look that had knocked him on his ass the very first time he’d seen her.