by Meghan Quinn
It’s never too late. I could hop on a plane. I could join the boys and try to forget the burning feelings I have for Kate.
But, fuck . . .
I have that fundraiser Kate has been painstakingly helping plan, so there’s no point in flying to St. Louis to hang out in a hotel room when I just have to come back here a day later.
Which means I’m going to sulk and watch golf highlights. There has to be a movie on or something. Anything is better than this.
I reach for the remote when my phone sounds off with a text message. I glance down at the screen and see Kate’s name.
Immediately, I sit up and grab my phone, unlocking it to see what she wants. I haven’t spoken to her in fucking days, and knowing that we’re both in Chicago and both available at night, it’s been driving me to insanity. I’ve been desperate to contact her, to see if she wants to come over and hang out.
To hold my hand and watch a movie.
To share a piece of cake, using the same fork.
To let me strip her down to nothing and worship her body.
To wake up with her in my arms and make her breakfast in bed.
But I’ve held strong, even though I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
But since I haven’t contacted her, she hasn’t contacted me, and now that there’s a text waiting to be read, I just hope to God it isn’t about work.
With a deep breath, I read her message.
Kate: I like your hands.
Huh.
Okay.
Not what I was expecting at all, especially after so much silence. But I like it.
I shouldn’t partake in this text thread. I’ve held strong for so long. I pushed myself to keep from talking to her, especially after Roark’s phone call. But fuck, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face, nor can I stop my fingers from texting back.
Walker: I like your ass.
Settling into the couch, I wait for her to text back, happy to see the little dots bouncing on the screen right away.
Kate: Send me a dick pic.
My brow pulls together. That doesn’t sound like Kate at all. She’s flirty, but not brazen. She gives a little but holds back a lot. Her asking for a dick pic isn’t something she’d say, so either someone has her phone, or she’s drunk. That’s my guess, unless she had a change in personality.
I answer cautiously.
Walker: I think you and I both know the PR storm that would occur if I sent a dick pic.
Kate: You’re a smart man. Show me in person, then. Find me and whip your pants down.
Okay, she’s drunk. There’s no way she’d tell me to whip my pants down while sober. Hell, we dry-humped with my briefs on. Might as well have a little fun with this, though, especially since she’s drunk-texting me; it goes to show that I very well might still be on her mind. And I need a reprieve . . . a little one.
Walker: Next time in the hall, my pants are yours, babe.
Kate: Is that a promise? I really want you to press me against a wall and fuck me.
Walker: Tell me what else you want.
Kate: Your fingers inside of me.
Walker: And . . .
Kate: Your dick.
Walker: You know where I live, Kate. Come and get what you want.
Kate: Oh my God, she knows where you live?
What? I stare down at the screen.
Kate: Fuck, I mean . . . crap.
Walker: Who am I talking to? Kate or . . .
Kate: Oh hey, Walker. What’s up? It’s Vivian.
Jesus Christ. I drag my hand over my face. What the hell is Kate doing?
Kate: Just so you know, Kate’s face is bright red and I’m pretty sure I just humiliated her, but everything I said was straight from her head, if that matters.
Walker: When did she tell you?
Kate: I guessed about ten minutes ago. For what it’s worth, she’s right when she says your hands are hot.
Walker: Have her call me. Now.
Kate: Yikes. Okay.
I wait about a minute before my phone rings. I answer and hear scuffling on the other end, followed by the click of a door and a low, whispered, “Hello?”
“Are you hiding?”
“Maybe.”
I can picture it—Kate scrunched up in a coat closet, phone close to her ear as she tries to talk as quietly as possible.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
“Uh, you know, just having a girls’ night.”
“Are you drinking?”
“Yes. I’m of age, thank you very much, so I don’t see what the problem is.”
“What are you drinking?”
I can hear her swallow. “Just a friendly tequila.”
“Friendly?”
“Mmmm-hmm. Very friendzy, I mean friend-a-diddly. Friend zone. Tequila friend zone.”
Jesus Christ.
“How many shots have you had?”
“I want to say four. I’m going to be honest, it all hit me at once. I don’t feel as uh, coexisting . . . I mean . . . uh, coherent—yes, that’s the word. I don’t feel as coherent as before.”
“That’s what alcohol does to you.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “You’re not making this easy on me, Kate.”
“I didn’t mean to tell her. She just figured it out. Are you mad?”
“No. I’m just . . . what’s there really to tell? We had one night together where we didn’t even see each other naked. It was more like two humans trying to edge out their orgasms. That’s all.” I don’t know why I’m irritated right now.
Maybe because after I got off the phone with Roark the other day, I swore I would keep my distance—and I just broke that promise.
Maybe because Vivian knows when I wish she didn’t.
Maybe because Kate is drunk right now and isn’t going to remember any part of this conversation.
“They were good orgasms.”
They were, but that’s beside the point. Growing even more frustrated, I say, “I have to go, Kate.”
“Oh God, you are mad. I can hear it in your voice. Don’t be mad at me, Walker.”
“I’m not mad,” I spit out.
“You’re growling. You just growled at me. That’s being mad.” Her voice is slurred, so unlike the Kate I know.
“Think what you want. I have to go.” Before she can respond, I hang up and toss my phone to the side.
Hell.
My anger escalated quicker than I expected. At first, when I saw her name, I got excited, but as our conversation went on, I was reminded that this isn’t going to work.
And for one significant reason . . .
Kate deserves to date someone. To be taken out, to be spoiled. I want to give her that, but I can’t. I’m too high profile for her to be seen with me. To be honest, I’m not really mad at her—I have no right to be mad at her. I’m mad at myself, mad at the situation. I knew better than to get attached to someone who’s off-limits, and that’s exactly what I did. I grew attached.
Chapter Forty-Nine
WALKER
My phone rings, waking me from a deep slumber. I peep open one eye and try to focus on the screen.
The lobby.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice two octaves lower than normal.
“Mr. Rockwell, I’m so sorry to wake you this morning, but I have a Miss Kate Chapman here to see you. Can I send her up?”
My head pops up. “Kate Chapman?” I ask, rubbing my palm against my eye, trying to comprehend what’s going on. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight thirty, sir. And yes, Miss Kate Chapman is here.” He whispers, “She has coffee with her if you need some.”
“Yeah, sure, send her up. And put her on the approved list.”
I hang up and stretch my arms over my head, shifting from side to side, and then swing out of bed and head straight to my bathroom, where I take a leak, brush my teeth, and put on a pair of sweatpants. By the time I finish, there’s a knock at my door.
/> I pad across the floor, still feeling half dead from the abrupt wake-up call and the mere three hours of sleep I got.
I don’t bother looking through the peephole, since I know who it is, and swing the door open. Kate stands on the other side of the door holding a drink carrier with two cups of coffee notched into it and a brown bag sitting atop the cups. I give her a quick once-over. She’s wearing black leggings that hug her hips and legs and a loose-hanging sweater that’s falling off her shoulder, showing off a lace bra strap.
Sexy.
I glance up at her face, which is completely devoid of makeup, and her honey-brown hair, which seems to follow no rhyme or reason as it sits perched on the top of her head. She’s hot when she’s casual and it’s doing nothing to help tamp down the need I have for this woman.
“Hi,” she croaks out, her voice hoarse.
I grip the doorframe and stare her down. “Morning.”
I watch as her gaze travels from my pecs, down my stomach, straight to my crotch. Keep staring like that and she’s going to see a hell of a lot more than a slight bulge in my pants.
“Eyes up here, Kate.”
“What?” She snaps her head up. “Yes, of course.” She holds out the drink tray. “This is for you— well, and me. This one is mine.” She plucks a cup from the holder right before handing it over. “Thought you might want some coffee this morning, and a cheese danish. Do you like those? If you warm it up in a toaster oven, it’s magic.”
I prop the door open more and say, “Come toast it for me.”
“Oh, sure,” she says nervously, moving under my arm and taking the bag with her to my kitchen.
I shut the door behind her and bring the to-go coffee cup to my lips and take a sniff. “What is this?”
She looks over her shoulder. “A white chocolate mocha.”
My nose crinkles. “Why did you get me that?”
“I got it for me, but accidentally drank from the wrong one. I’ve been nursing this black coffee all the way here.”
I step into the kitchen, saddle up behind her, and reach around, taking the black coffee from her and replacing it with the sugary drink.
“I drank out of that,” she points out as I take a sip.
“As if I care. If I had it my way the other night, you’d have sat on my face while I ate you out, so sharing your drink doesn’t faze me.” Fuck. Why do I keep saying that shit to Kate? I’ve never been shy with women, but I had some decorum back in the day, when I attempted to date or hook up. But it’s been too long. I want this woman. I can’t have this woman.
Her eyes widen before she takes a step back, feeling for the counter as she makes her way to the toaster oven in the corner. “Eating me out, huh?” She nervously laughs. “I don’t know why I just said that, ignore it.”
“Fine.” I lean against the counter, one hand propped up on the marble surface, the other bringing the coffee to my lips. She must be wearing some sort of gloss or balm because the lid smells fruity. After I take a long sip and rub my lips together, letting the leftover balm spread over my mouth, I say, “Why are you here, Kate?”
She sets the toaster and then turns to face me, regret in her eyes. She doesn’t beat around the bush. “I wanted to apologize for last night. It was completely unprofessional to not only drunk-text you, but drunk-dial as well.”
“I told you to drunk-dial me.”
“Yes, well, I could’ve used more common sense.” She pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I was being foolish. It won’t happen again.”
“Good,” I say, taking another sip of coffee, eyeing her from over the lid.
She looks to the side, her lips folded together. “And I spoke with Vivian already this morning. She apologizes as well and she said her lips are completely locked. She won’t speak a word.”
“Not worried about it,” I answer.
She brings her hands together. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up and your danish is toasting, I best be on my way.” Coffee in hand, she starts to walk out of the kitchen, past me. I hook an arm around her waist, coiling her back into my chest so she’s facing away from me. “Oh,” she gasps, one of her hands falling to mine.
I lean over her shoulder, getting a good view of the rise and fall of her chest. Speaking closely into her ear, I say, “This can’t happen between us. This has to stop.”
“I know,” she breathes out heavily.
“We need to put an end to it.”
“Agreed.”
“No more calling. No more texts.”
“If I could, I would delete your phone number, but I unfortunately need it for work.”
My nose drags along the sensitive spot behind her ear, making her nipples harden automatically. “You’re going to find someone else to date.”
“What?” she asks, surprised. “Why?”
“I need you off the market, a no-fly zone where I’m concerned, or else I’m going to continue to be tempted to do things like this.” I span my hand across her stomach and then slowly drag the hem of her sweater up and slip my hand under to touch her scorching-hot skin. She gasps, and I press a light kiss across her neck, my lips moving languidly over her skin, taking in her sweetness. Her head leans to the side, giving me more space.
Goddamn it.
“I—I don’t want to date anyone right now.” She lifts her arm up and tangles her fingers through my hair. I set our coffees on the counter behind me and bring my other hand to her hip, holding her against my erection.
“I’ll set you up with someone.” My hand slips past the waistband of her leggings and the tips of my fingers stroke her thong. I know it’s a thong, because when she walked to the kitchen, I checked out her ass and there wasn’t a panty line in sight.
“You . . . God,” she moans quietly as my fingers move down an inch. “You don’t know anyone other than baseball players.”
“Not true. I know a few Grizzlies.”
“Football players?” she asks, her hips straining forward, seeking my fingers, but I keep my hand in place, not moving any farther down, even though she’s started to grind against my cock. A sheen of sweat breaks out over my skin from the restraint I’m showing.
“Yeah. Some guys I trust with you.”
“Is that what you really want?” she asks, slipping her hand onto mine and moving it down another inch before I stop her.
“No,” I growl, my fingers dancing dangerously close to her slit. “You know what I really want.” I glide my finger lower, over her crest and then back up.
“Fuck,” she moans, her head pressing against my chest. “You make me want things I can’t have, Walker.”
“Exactly.” I press my lips into the swell of her shoulder and then slowly up the column of her neck, my muscles twitching with the urge to flip her around and take her mouth against mine. “That’s why we need to end this. Today.”
“End it, then.” She slips my hand down and spreads her legs, swiping a finger across her arousal.
I growl against her skin, my body going stiff. She’s so goddamn wet and needy.
“Do you feel that?” she asks. “That’s what you do to me, Walker. Every time I’m around you, this is what you do to me.” She moves two of my fingers along her clit, her body trembling against mine. “Whenever you see me in the hallways of the stadium, or at an event, just know, this is what I feel like, wet and begging for your masculine hands to touch me.”
Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of me.
I bite down on her neck and then soothe the spot with my tongue, lavishing her skin.
With my hand gripping her hip, I pull her against my aching cock and repeat her words back to her. “Do you feel that?” I ask, my lips dancing against her ear. “That’s what you do to me, Kate. Whenever you walk into a room, or call out my name, or talk to me on the phone, this is what you do to me.” I grind her against my hard-on and she gasps. “You make me hard, you spike my arousal, and you make it impossible for me to think straight whenever I’m a
round you.” I move my hand up the column of her neck to her jaw, where I hold her in place, her pulse racing against my hand. “Know that whenever I see you, I’m not thinking about baseball or my career, but instead, trying to stop myself from fucking you.”
I pass my thumb over her plump lips and then turn her head to press a soft kiss against her cheek. On her sigh, I turn her head a little bit more so I can press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her hands fall behind her and grip my hips, holding her in place as I turn her head just one more inch. I hover there, both our bodies vibrating with need, the need between us so palpable that it almost feels as if the air is choking me. I lick my lips, and she mirrors me. The temptation is drawing me forward.
One taste.
That’s all.
Just one single press of my lips against hers.
I grip her jaw tighter.
But I hesitate, knowing if I take her mouth the way I want to, I won’t stop. I’ll want more, and not just one night, I’ll want many.
Still gripping her tightly, I practically growl when I say, “Get your perfect ass out of here before I do something we’ll both regret.” I release her and shift away, turning my back to her, hands on the counter. The tension in my back rolls like waves as I wait for her to leave.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she walks up behind me and places her hands on my waist.
I steel myself, wondering what she’s going to do.
She slides her hands around to the front of my pants, where my straining erection waits. Her fingers glide over the tip, wet from precum. I hiss out a breath and warn her, “Kate. Leave. Now.”
She doesn’t say anything. She dips her hand past the waistband of my sweats and grips my cock, wrapping her small, firm hand around it.
“Fuck,” I groan, my chin falling to my chest as my teeth grind together. “Kate . . .”
She grips me tight but doesn’t move her hand. “Don’t fucking tease me again,” she hisses. “Don’t act like you’re about to kiss me and then don’t. You know I want you, you know this passion I have doesn’t seem to be evaporating, so don’t dangle yourself in front of me and then take it away, or else I’m going to do the same thing.” She squeezes me even tighter and then moves her hand down my length and all the way back up, slow and long strokes.