“What are you doing here?” I asked. The words fell from my lips uncontrollably.
This was a public place. Anyone could come here, even him. The man who asked me if I liked the sound of being in his bed wearing nothing but my fiery personality. The damn thought burned my cheeks up all over again.
“Come to see you,” he answered, stepping closer. I stepped backward.
“Why?” I raised my brows.
He turned his smile up a notch. “Well, don’t you have that article to write about me? Thought I’d give you my schedule myself. It would help us catch up.”
“Catch up?” He made that sound like we were old friends.
“Of course, plus I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.” He turned his smile up several notches, bringing out the dimples in full force. “I’m really interested to see what fiery looks like in my bed.”
I glared at him. This was really odd. He’d been hanging around town for the last three months, and sure, there was the article, but there had been no talk of the article the other night. Or, before.
“What’s this sudden interest in me, Cole? Did you wake up one morning and suddenly realize that I exist?”
He chuckled deep and heartily. “Nope, saw you from week one.”
“Week one?”
“Yup, at the cinema with your cheating beloved.” He nodded. “I figured I’d give you time to grieve after that bust-up in the restaurant before I make my move. Couldn’t have you thinking of that asshole while you’re with me. So, here I am.”
I bit down hard on my back teeth, stunned to silence. This was unreal, and I looked at him not knowing what to say to that. I didn’t think I’d ever come across anyone so blasé and blatant. He just spoke whatever was on his mind.
“No.” It was the simplest word to tell him.
“No? Again? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word so many times in one week. You do realize that’ll just make me want you more, right?”
“Cole, I think you hit your head or something. In fact, I’m gonna say I’m pretty sure you did. Maybe someone hit you with a football, or a truck, but you and me, we aren’t this. We aren’t these people. I am not your type,” I pointed out. It seemed like he’d forgotten.
“I never told you that.” He smirked.
I tensed my jaw to keep the frustration bottled in. “You didn’t have to say it in so many words. Throwing a person out tends to say a lot.” I nodded, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice and my expression.
“You were sixteen. You think I wanted my ass in jail?” He grinned.
That wasn’t the reason why. I’d seen him at school with many girls in my year the same age as me. It was pointless to entertain this madness any longer.
The best thing to do was be polite for the sake of business then walk away.
“Whatever…” I waved my hand, dismissing him. “How about I contact your PA and schedule a proper appointment to meet. The meeting shouldn’t take long. My office is just down the corridor.” I pointed toward the corridor adjacent to us, but he wasn’t looking.
He was looking at me instead. His gaze hadn’t left me.
Now he was shaking his head. “Not here. How about somewhere more casual? ” A cunning smile inched across his sensual lips.
My breath stilled. “Like where?”
“Leave it with me. I have a perfect idea.” A deep chuckle that verged on to menacing fell from his lips and I got that taunting sensation again.
Never could figure him out. He was smiling but I was pretty certain whatever this idea was could never be good.
The smile reminded me of way back when. Usually the smile meant there was something dead in my gym bag, or my locker. It meant Gage might have called him out on something or there was just some damn thing and I’d get the rough end of the stick.
“What is it?” I demanded. This was shit. Me getting so worked up with anxiety.
“You’ll just have to see.” His voice held that air of seduction again. Paralyzing and amplified with the intensity of his stare and those eyes.
Before I could reply he winked at me, tucked his hair behind his ear, and left. Left me staring after him.
I sighed with frustration. What the hell kind of a hell door did I walk through this week?
Chapter 4
Cole
Why did it feel so good to be bad?
Everything seemed to be on my side, making this little bet of mine with Denver so much easier than I thought it would be. I thanked my lucky stars when my PA, Trish, called me yesterday and told me about this little article the marketing agency wanted to do on me. It was so much the better when I found out that the person who would be doing it was none other than my dear Vanessa.
I had to agree with Denver and Matt that she played a mean game of hard to get. I really thought I’d reached some part of her when I made that comment to her the other night about her in my bed. I’d hoped it would break down that resolve of hers somehow.
But no, it did not. Not in the least bit. She was still uptight and still mad at my ass.
I saw it today, and truth be told, I could see that I really did hurt her way back when.
I knew I had and it was clear she still hung on to it. I also noticed from the disbelief on her face that she wasn’t buying my bullshit about ending up in jail because she’d been sixteen. I could almost read her mind as she’d wrinkled her nose at me. She didn’t believe me, and she was right not to. At the time, I was eighteen, and she was a day shy of seventeen. That, however, wouldn’t have stopped me.
So, what did stop me?
The truth, plain and simple, which no one would believe was this… I couldn’t do it.
I didn’t sleep with her because I was an asshole, and I wanted to sleep with her because I was an asshole. A double negative that left me in jeopardy. It was the look she’d given me. Filled with purity. And while I’d wanted nothing more than to dirty her up and pop her cherry, something stopped me. Something actually stopped me, and all these years, I’d always wondered what it would have been like to have her.
I’d find out sooner or later. My plan didn’t simply involve the night before the game; it was just included.
Tonight, though, my mind would be free of the outside world because I was spending the evening with the most important person in my world.
My mother.
Mom walked into the room with the paint supplies. “I swore I ordered the Tennessee red,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Can’t find it anywhere.”
Her Texan accent was always stronger when she was flustered.
“You sure you bought it? Maybe you just looked at it and didn’t get it.” She was famous for doing that, especially when it came to buying paint. She shopped online a lot because most of the colors she wanted had to be ordered in.
“Boy, don’t you make fun of your mother.” She chuckled, setting the paints down near the easels. One for me and one for her.
This was what we did when we got together.
Paint.
Mom was an artist. She sold a lot of her art in Europe, and before she got sick, she ran a very successful gallery.
I’d almost lost her a few years back. Another parent gone, and if I had lost her it would have been in close succession to Dad.
He died four years ago.
When I lost Dad, a part of me died. If I’d lost her, though, the world would have ended. For me, it would have just stopped.
I looked at her as she grabbed the paint brushes and smiled.
She still wore a scarf because she didn’t like her hair so short. I tried to tell her that she looked beautiful and many women wore their hair short, but she thought I was just being nice. Nice wasn’t me. She knew that. She was the nice one, and I never got my personality from her.
I got that from dear old Dad. Something else to claim in similarity.
That was the one thing of his, however, that truly bothered me because it was that personality of his that made him think it
was okay to put my mother through all the shit he’d dealt her way.
Some said it was the stress of her life with him, and the constant cheating, that gave her cancer.
That was my aunt’s philosophy because she couldn’t understand why Mom stayed with Dad when she knew what he was like. Aunt Lurlene even went as far as to say that it was his death that mutated her cells. Not because he’d died, but of how he’d died.
Dad died doing what he loved most. Cheating on her. He actually died while in the act of doing it with a girl who was barely legal. It was a heart attack.
A heart attack while in the act of cheating with a football groupie, his final act in life to disrespect my mother.
Of course it was all over the press as like every other scandal Dad was involved in. And, just so there was no doubt in our minds as to how he’d died, the girl had given the National Enquirer a full testimony of the whole event, accompanied with pictures of the beach hut Dad took her to.
What had disgusted me the most was, that same weekend was Mom’s birthday. Dad had told us he’d be getting back late because of a work thing. Fucking hell, the man was evil.
The press made great work of highlighting how he’d spent his final moments with this girl instead of my mother on her birthday.
Four months after his death Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.
That was three years ago, and we’d had a long journey to get her to this point where she was cancer free.
“What are you painting tonight?” she asked as I walked over to her.
“Not sure. I was thinking of letting my imagination run wild. You?”
“The same.” She nodded.
I grabbed two chairs for us, and we both sat in front of our easels, ready to go.
“So, are you nervous about the new season?” she asked, glancing over at me.
“No.” I chuckled. That was probably a lie. There was a little part of me that was nervous simply because I was new. I’d trained with the team, but I hadn’t played a live game as part of their team. It was different. That was however as far as nerves went.
“Really? You join a new national team and you aren’t a tad nervous?” She raised her brows. “Sounds like you’re lying through your teeth to me.”
“Okay, I’m a little nervous. It’s going to be different, but I’m excited.”
She smiled and started setting up her paint. “I’m excited for you. It’s good to have you here, around again. I like living in the good O.C. The air is fresher.”
I laughed. “Mom, it’s the same Californian air we all breathe.”
“It is not.” She pouted. “Trust me, it’s different. Your father used to say the same thing. He couldn’t tell either.”
I didn’t say anything. No comment. I could talk big about Dad with anyone else besides her. It was hard. Weird even, and weirder because she always spoke about him like we’d been one big happy family.
She’d loved him. Too much in my book. She loved a man who didn’t love her half as much as she loved him, and she could have done better.
I glanced at her canvas as she started painting. Sometimes I’d wait to see what she came up with before I started.
No one knew I did this, and I planned to keep it that way. Private and personal.
Mom did a lot of fantasy paintings. She liked unicorns. I liked painting things a little bit darker, like angels with black wings, and what Mom called my porn fairies. This was the part that wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone who found out I did this.
I liked painting erotic fairies, basically the sexy version of Tinkerbell minus the clothes. They were all naked, but I never showed any private parts. There would be something hiding them in some way. Their wings, a flower or a bunch of flowers, or some kind of animal. What I focused on was the sexy up-to-no-good expression on their faces.
There was only one time when I’d painted the fairy naked, and it was a replica of my wild imagination.
After my little run-in with Vanessa ten years ago, my mind had conjured up the wildest vision ever. So, I’d painted her. Naked. Never got to see her naked, but that little pink set she’d bought just for me had left very little to the imagination.
She’d became the naked fairy.
The only person whom I’d ever showed that painting to was Mom. It currently resided with me in my bachelor pad on Redondo Beach. Along with all the others.
As I thought of it now, I knew what I would paint. Tonight, though, Vanessa would be wearing clothes.
If she ever saw that first painting, she would probably call the police on me, or call me a perv. All this bravado, and I actually didn’t know how I was going to break down that wall of hers.
It wasn’t even about the stupid bet anymore. The last few days had fanned the flames of something that had already been alight. My plan was to butter her up. I’d do that and see where it got me.
I started painting, and we worked in silence until I finished doing Vanessa’s face.
“Her again?” Mom asked, sounding intrigued.
I glanced over to her, surprised at her comment. “What’s that, Mom?”
She laughed and pointed to my canvas. “Who is she?”
“Just a girl from my mind,” I lied.
“Of course, I forget the Buchanan men lack emotion. I was hoping some part of me rubbed off on you.”
I motioned to all around me. “I’d say it did. Here I am, doing my second love in life.”
“Second?” She gave me a pointed stare. “Boy, you can paint with your eyes closed. It comes easier than playing football, and I wish you’d share your talent instead of hiding it. So, that doesn’t count. I share my talents.”
I laughed. “Mom, I have an image I want to preserve. Plus, some things are for you to enjoy.” I steadied my hand and ran the brush over the canvas, creating the delicate structure of Vanessa’s neck.
It was graceful and elegant, just like the rest of her.
“Like her?” Mom intoned after watching me for a while.
I glanced over at her. “Just my imagination, Mom.”
“You’re being precise, like you memorized the fine details of how she looks.” She chuckled. “Can’t fool an artist, son.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “How can you tell?”
“Your hands. They give you away boy. It’s okay. I’m sure you’ll let me know who she is when you’re ready. I take it this is someone you’ve seen recently since coming home. Would be nice to be introduced to an actual girlfriend instead of the…” She pulled in a breath and pressed her lips together with disapproval. “The groupies.”
Now the way she said that was exactly the way I expected her to sound when she talked about Dad. The disapproval. She didn’t have to worry about me like that. I was a lot like him in many ways, but I was the perpetual bachelor who loved beautiful women and having fun. That was me, and that would be what I’d do when I got my hands on Vanessa.
Unlike Dad, I wouldn’t be getting married or having any children. Nobody who could be affected in any way by my frivolous lifestyle.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom.”
“I do. You’re twenty-eight, Cole. Time to calm down a little and not be so wild.”
I laughed. “Mom, please, people like me wild.”
“Not everyone is going to like wild,” she cautioned.
And that proved she was absolutely from another time entirely. Women loved wild.
“Women love nice guys who have the ability to be deep and meaningful. I went with wild when I picked your father.” She looked away from me and continued painting. “Nice would have been… nice.”
Nice.
She gave me an idea as I contemplated her words.
Vanessa liked nice. Maybe that was the way to reach her. Play nice.
I smiled to myself. Nice with a mingle of wild.
Mom might just have given me an idea.
Chapter 5
Vanessa
The Diva’s Guide to Great Sex, by Madam Phoebe
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Is this what it’d come to?
A sex book.
I’d found it in my bag at lunchtime. Wrapped around it was a little pink bow and a tag that read:
Read it. You will thank me. Love, Mia.
As none of my sisters had ever bought me anything like this before, I kind of couldn’t chalk it up to one of their antics. Also, as I knew Mia was actually being genuine, I thought I’d give it a try.
Give it a try as in I went home early, slept for two hours, then picked it up just now to take the plunge and read it.
My guide to sex.
God. I couldn’t believe I was twenty-six and still a virgin.
There was nothing wrong with it for most people, especially if you were religious or even waiting to lose it with that special someone on your wedding night.
I was none of the above. I used to have all these ideas of how I would lose it.
Most of which started with Cole. Then, after him, I definitely thought it would happen in college, and it nearly did, except I averted it. Twice.
It was then that I realized I might have a problem. I’d worried that my guy would take one look at me the way Cole did and criticize me or make some comment that would make me feel like I wasn’t good enough. I knew nothing was further from the truth, but once it got stuck in my mind, it was difficult to remove it.
I cringed when I flicked over the page and saw a whole chapter devoted to giving the perfect blowjob.
Shit. I hadn’t even done that. Most people I knew had at least done that, never mind the other stuff.
Me though, no. I’d done nothing at all.
My phone pinged next to me on the sofa. I picked it up and saw a message from a guy I was talking to online from Perfectly Matched.
His name was Connor. He seemed nice enough, but there was something missing for me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It could have been his jokes. They were just lame, but he kept making reference to them like he’d planned them and wanted to keep them going for as long as he could.
Not Before Game Night (Bad Boy Bachelors of Orange County Book 4) Page 4