Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats)

by Jeanette Murray

  “While the sentiment was a little crude,” Trey said dryly, “it’s true enough. It’s not often one of us finds a woman who can relate to our career like that.”

  “So true,” Cassie added, pointing at Kat with her spoon. “I work in the main offices, and I’ve still got a long way to go. I’ve been busting my ass to try to figure out this whole sport, and I’ve sort of got it down now.”

  “After how many seasons?” Stephen teased.

  Cassie stuck her tongue out at him. “Anyway, even though I know all this stuff about the sport intellectually, I’m not living it. You’ve got a unique position, for sure.”

  Kat nodded quietly, focusing on her cobbler, but did her best to catch a glance at Michael from under her eyelashes. He was quietly mixing the melted ice cream with the peach filling, creating a soup, and not having a bite.

  That wasn’t good.

  Chapter 21

  “Your friends are really nice.”

  Michael grunted as they pulled into the underground parking garage for their apartment.

  “And Cassie, she’s great.”

  He skirted around the corner, pulling neatly into his assigned spot. Two spots down, he saw Kat’s new car, safely tucked into its own spot. And felt the visceral pull of satisfaction. No, not satisfaction. Ownership.

  Caveman. He was a Neanderthal. Evolution was a lie.

  “Poor Mags, with the whole morning sickness thing.” Kat shuddered as she stepped out of the car. “I can’t imagine how that must feel. But she’s adorable, and Stephen… man, he loves her, like insane love, right?”

  She was babbling. He knew it, and he had a feeling she knew it too. But he let her. They walked through the lobby after swiping their security cards, then headed for the elevator. As the numbers digitally scrolled by, he heard her sigh.

  “You’re quiet. Are you mad?”

  “No.” He hesitated. “Though I’d rather you didn’t talk about your nipples in front of other guys anymore.”

  That surprised a snort out of her, then she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. “I thought it was a good excuse to get people talking about something other than why Mags left the table looking deathly ill.”

  “Point, point,” he murmured, kissing her temple. As the elevator stopped on their floor, he guided her to his apartment. No way was he letting her go back to her place.

  “I have to leave for work in an hour,” she said quietly. When he glanced at her, surprised, she shrugged. “I have to make some money, Michael.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. She’d be pissed if he offered any assistance. Her pride wouldn’t let her take it, and it would put something ugly between them. “I wish you didn’t have to,” he said honestly, opening his door and letting her in.

  She looked like she wanted to say something, then stopped.

  “What?”

  Closing the door behind her, she shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about the job Gary offered. Teaching lessons. Or coaching… I’m not really sure exactly what it all entails. But it’s just sort of there, swirling around in the back of my mind.”

  “Take it,” he said without hesitation. “Solves all your problems.”

  “Yeah.” But she didn’t look convinced. She rolled her shoulders, and he began to massage one as they walked toward the bedroom. By unspoken agreement, they’d come to the same conclusion… They were going to spend what time they did have tonight in bed.

  “Sore?”

  “Circuit training today. De’Shawn didn’t let me rest. I’m dead. Pulling beer all night is going to kick my butt.”

  He walked her to the bed, sat her on the edge, then crawled up behind her so she was nestled between his thighs. Then he began to massage, concentrating on the spots where she moaned louder and attempted to avoid his touch. Those points, he knew, were the ones that needed the massage the most.

  “Not fair,” she said on a gasp at one point. “You know how to do this.”

  “It’s good for you.”

  “But—ow!” She tensed when he hit a particularly sore spot on her forearm. “Most lovers give their partners sweet backrubs, where the point is to seduce.”

  “Most boyfriends,” he said, stressing the word, “don’t have girlfriends who are also professional athletes and need more than just a light touch to get the job done.”

  “The dangers of dating inside your work circle,” she muttered.

  He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, but didn’t let up on the pressure of his fingers. “It’s interesting,” he said, thinking out loud while her head bobbed and swung loose. “The conversation at dinner tonight made me think. I didn’t realize until tonight what sort of benefits there were to dating another athlete… benefits outside of the bedroom,” he added, nipping her jaw lightly.

  “Benefits?” she breathed. Her skin turned hot under his lips.

  “Sure. The bedroom benefits are obvious. Added stamina, flexibility, strong core for more interesting… positions.”

  She made a sound in her throat that might have been a laugh, or a groan, or a mixture.

  He kissed below her ear, then nibbled on the lobe a little.

  “But there are different plusses I hadn’t considered.”

  “Like?”

  Her voice was thready now.

  “Like, you can relate to me when I talk about the physical side of my job. It’s not just me complaining to someone who feels sorry for me but doesn’t get it. You do. You’re in the gym, same as me, working toward the same goals. You’ll come home with similar injuries. You’ll face PT like I will, coaching worries, travel shit. It’s all stuff that comes with being an athlete that you instinctively know. You can give me a rubdown sometime and put pressure exactly where I need it.”

  He did just then, and she moaned and fell back against him as if she’d suddenly become boneless.

  “There’s something sort of awesome about that.”

  “About what?” she breathed.

  He smiled against the skin of her throat. She was putty in his hands. “About knowing your girlfriend not only respects what you do, but gets what you do, on a level you can’t achieve any other way than by doing. You’re a warrior, Kelly. That’s sexy as hell.”

  And I’m falling in love with you. Each and every crazy cell of your being.

  Of course, he kept that part silent as he let his hands wander up to cup her breasts. If he told her now, she’d bolt. He wasn’t sure he could survive it if she up and left him.

  Kat turned then, almost as if she’d heard his innermost thoughts, and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “Thanks for the kiss or the rubdown?” he teased, then quit smiling when she looked at him so seriously.

  “Thank you for seeing me as a warrior. That… I don’t know. It means a lot.” She curled a fist by her breastbone as if fighting off an ache. “You’re one of the good ones, Michael Everett Lambert.”

  A little piece of him unraveled at that, and he cupped her face and kissed her, pulling her down flat on the bed, and slowly showing her without words exactly how good he wanted to be for her.

  Chapter 22

  Breathing heavily, Kat patted Michael’s back so he got the message and rolled over, taking her with him. They settled together in bed, sweaty skin sticking to each other. She’d need another shower before work tonight.

  “Quit.”

  The word was murmured low against her hair.

  “I… shouldn’t,” she said weakly. “They’re expecting me.”

  “Take Gary’s offer.”

  “I want to,” she admitted. “I can’t keep working myself like this. Too old. I’ve already cut back on the smaller tournaments I used to hit.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed. It was so hard for someone else who made a living in a sport to understand, especially when he was a male, and on top of that, playing a beloved sport that raked in billions each year. “You mentioned we have a lot in common. The whole athlete-athlete thing.�
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  His hand crept up her bare back, rubbing circles over her cooling skin. The combination caused her to shiver. He rubbed briskly to warm her, then went back to the gentle circling motion.

  “But there’s some stuff that we’ll still never relate to. Like travel.”

  “We both travel,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but when you need to go somewhere for a game, how does that work?” He was silent. “You show up in your uniform—”

  “Suit,” he corrected. “We travel in suits. Uniform is only for games.”

  “Whatever. You show up at the designated time and place, you get on a plane—and that’s no commercial airline, is it?”

  He didn’t deny that.

  “Then you get flown out to the place where you have a nice hotel prearranged for you, eat food they provide for you, you have team trainers and staff to take care of all your needs, you play your game, and fly back the same way. Did I miss anything?”

  “Not in the big picture,” he allowed.

  Propping her chin up on her hands, she watched him. “When I need to travel, it comes out of my pocket. I use airline miles, or I fly the cheapest way possible, which usually includes several annoying connections. I’m playing in some bizarre places because I need the points to qualify for better seeding in Slams. I’m sharing a masseuse with thirty-one other women, knowing that masseuse may or may not have time to even see me. I’m paying for a dingy motel because I need my cash to last. I’m eating good food—if I can find it—because it’s something I can’t skimp on, but I can’t always find it when I don’t have a kitchen to make it myself. I’m spending ungodly amounts of money on stringing my rackets each time I play. And then I have to make it back home again. And the best outcome from that tournament? If I add up all my travel expenses, my rackets, the food… best odds is that I walk away from that tournament netting two grand if I win.”

  “Two… You’re kidding.” Michael blinked, then chuckled. “That’s absurd. Nice try.”

  Kat held completely still and had the satisfaction of watching the truth slowly spreading over Michael’s face.

  “You’re shitting me. You’re telling me you could win a professional tennis tournament and walk away with only two thousand dollars.”

  “Net,” she reminded him. “The full purse is bigger than that, but I have to consider my expenses. If I lose, I’m in the hole. It’s why I’ve started choosing my tournaments more strictly and earning money outside of playing. When I was young, I’d go anywhere, play anywhere I could for the experience, the exposure, the thrill. Now…” She sighed. “Too many injuries. I need to save my energy—and, well, money—for the tournaments that count.”

  “But the bigger ones,” he started.

  “Yeah, of course, the bigger the tournament, the bigger the payout. But there’s more competition and more expenses. It’s a wash, odds-wise, on winning more money. And none of this is taking into account paying for a coach whether I win or lose, court time… It’s money.”

  “That’s just fucked up,” Michael growled. “You’re ranked in the top one hundred players in the world.”

  “Women,” she added.

  “Whatever. And you’re barely scraping by on winnings.”

  “And endorsements. The few I have left,” she added quietly. “But now you see the ways that I’m never going to be able to relate to you. I’m not bitter. Okay, fine, maybe just a tad.” She held her forefinger and thumb apart an inch when he raised a brow in question. “Not bitter so much as jealous. But you simply play a sport that is more valued economically. I can’t change that. You didn’t create the system. You’re just doing the same thing I’m doing… playing a sport you love and reaping the benefits from it. Yours happens to come with more guaranteed benefits.”

  “Still sucks.” He kissed her, then guided her head back down to his chest.

  Kat sat quietly for a moment, her ear pressed to his chest. She let the soothing, heavy beat of his heart lull her into a meditative state. Could their lives be like this? Could she work at the tennis center with Gary, playing in the tournaments she deemed most valuable, not worrying as much about money, about her reputation with sponsors and the media? Could she and Michael have a future? To answer that, she had to know…

  “You’ve never asked.”

  His hand stilled for a moment in her hair. “Asked what?”

  “If I really released the video. The sex video,” she added, as if that needed clarification.

  It didn’t. They’d both known what she meant.

  He was silent for a while. Long enough that she began counting the beats of his heart while she waited.

  Chapter 23

  “I don’t need to.”

  Her breath released on a whoosh of air. Then she squeezed him closer, attempting to burrow in. “I’m going to go in tonight. I can’t leave them in the lurch, it’s too last minute. But I’ll give my notice.”

  “Good idea. Maybe we can drop this whole fake persona along with the job?”

  She grimaced. “It’s not all a persona, you know. I do love to dance. And I’m not a serious person. Never will be.”

  “I’m fine with that. But the troublemaking, the idea of living up to a reputation…”

  “Yeah. I know.” She breathed in the scent of them combined. It should have been disgusting… but it was soothing instead. “You’re right.”

  Michael kissed the top of her head and held on.

  Keep holding on. Please, please. Let me be happy.

  Two days later, Kat observed the office she’d once made love to Michael in. “So… this is mine, as far as the eye can see.”

  “Yeah. All fifty-two square feet of it. Don’t get too excited.” Gary reached into the pocket of his shirt—a florescent pink one this time, with blue and gold pineapples printed all over it—and handed her a single key. “Gets you into all the locked storage so you can get to the equipment for lessons. When you’re a sure thing, you can have a key to the building.”

  Kat grinned at him. “Aw, Gary, you know how to sweet-talk the ladies, don’t you?”

  “The desk stays, the chair stays, the rest… bah.” Gary waved his hands in dismissal of the boxes in the corner, the few framed photos on the walls left by coaches of the past. “Do whatever. Just don’t paint, and don’t ruin the carpet.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a sharp salute, which he rolled his eyes at. “Hey, can Thomas string a few of my rackets later?”

  “Sure thing. He’s got those girls again—fuck all knows why they keep coming back since they clearly aren’t interested in the sport. After that, he’s free. You need to start taking over some of those clients, especially the giggly ones. Maybe you should watch, see what you’re up against.”

  Kat grimaced at the reminder of the two cute high school-aged girls, who looked country-club perfect in their bright white tennis skirts and court shoes that hadn’t seen a hint of dirt. They did more chatting than ground stroking, and she knew they drove Thomas up a wall with their attempts at flirting. “Why are you punishing me?”

  “You wanted the job. You do the job. Now get yourself situated and come back out. We need to start looking for partners for you.” Gary knocked on the open door, then left her with the mostly empty office.

  Hers. All hers. She walked over to the desk, sat down at the chair, then gripped the edge of wood when the chair nearly tipped her backward. “Whoa!” That would have to be fixed.

  Digging into her bag, she reached for her cell phone, which she’d kept off since walking into the center two hours before. She needed to call Michael. Or maybe text. She knew when his flight left for L.A., but… how long did that take? Were they still in the air? Maybe she’d text now, asking him to call her later so she could tell him the news over the phone.

  Oh, holy shit in the woods, she was in deep with this guy. She wanted to tell him news on the phone? God, it had to be love. She never wanted to talk on the phone. This was a true sign.

  The se
cond her phone turned on, she was bombarded. Texts, voice mails, e-mails, Twitter and Facebook notifications. She laughed, letting the phone do its thing and catch up. But the notifications just kept coming…

  Whoa, something big was happening.

  She opened her texts first, ready to send one to Michael, but noticed Sawyer had sent her… over a dozen? In two hours? And from the preview, he was using shouty caps. What the…

  ANSWER THE PHONE, KATRINA.

  JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

  I SWEAR TO GOD, KAT.

  ANSWER ANSWER ANSWER FUCKING ANSWER

  TELL ME THIS ISN’T WHAT I THINK IT IS.

  The last one included a link. With shaking fingers, she tapped the link, waiting for it to load on the tennis center’s slow Wi-Fi. And when it did, she let out a gasp. Her stomach clutched, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to throw up or pass out.

  No, no, no, not again.

  No.

  Chapter 24

  The second Michael dropped his bag on the hotel bed in the outskirts of Los Angeles, he reached into his suit jacket and used his thumbnail to flip the ringer from “vibrate” to “on.” And his phone immediately rang. In his haste to answer, he fumbled the phone. He wanted it to be Kat. Needed it to be Kat.

  Probably should have created a specific ringtone for her by now. That would have made more sense.

  The phone finished ringing before he managed to fish it out. But before he could even curse, it began again. He looked at the display, saw Sawyer Grade’s name, and sighed. “Yeah, Sawyer, what’s up?”

  “Jesus, man, I’m sorry.”

  “What?” Michael toed off his shoes and went to put them in the closet, out of the way. “What the hell are you talking about?”