The Sweet Spot
Page 15
“I’ve got a hundred yes-men telling me I’m amazing on the daily. Sometimes I buy into the hype. Sue me.” He grinned ruefully into the night and then stared at her silhouette in the moonlight. Her hair was tousled and cascaded down her naked back. He wrestled between wanting her frozen in time and begging for there to be light so he wouldn’t miss the smallest detail. She could feel his gaze and peered over her shoulder at him. She felt so beautiful when he looked at her that way. He was everything that had ever been said about him and so much more.
“I love it when you misbehave on purpose.” There was the quick flash of white teeth from his smile.
She joined him on the mattress, leaning on an elbow of her own, and they were face-to-face.
“It just feels wrong to always go out of my way to make you mad.”
“But that’s what makes it all the more delightful; you only do it for me. You carry yourself so well all the time. Responsible and respectable to everyone you meet. You’ve taken my secret and made it your own. Everything I have belongs to you. You could be shopping. You could be vacationing or partying. Instead, you spend all your free time trying to piss me off in the most outlandish ways. You’re so creative. You put so much effort into it, all because I opened up this new world for you. You’re navigating your way through it.”
Chase absently twirled a strand of her hair before neatly tucking it behind her ear, his fingers brushing across her jaw, then down her neck. He had so many different types of touches, and every one of them was comforting in their own special way.
He continued. “You flaunt our secret in front of the whole damn world and it’s become our game. The way you work around my pet peeves is sheer brilliance. Heaven forbid you should just tell me you’re in the mood. You’d rather slip your panties in my pocket right before a news conference, knowing I insist you sit in the front row when I do one. And wear a dress that’s tasteful and just long enough to prevent me from completely blowing my stack. You sit there demurely with your hands folded neatly in your lap, surrounded by other people, usually men, looking remarkably proper. And the second I look at you, you cross your legs and wiggle in your chair ever so slightly, as if you’re enjoying the fabric against your skin. But you and I both know it’s not the touch and feel of cotton either one of us is thinking about.”
Amanda suppressed a giggle. He was trying to pull off a lecture, but his voice was laden with affection and admiration. She moved closer to him, felt herself calming, and gave all the credit to his mere touch and his soothing, rhythmic timbre.
“Or when you were still full-time at the restaurant and you handed me a menu listing specials that you sure as hell better not have offered to any other customers.”
She recalled his face as he sat at his table that evening, after she placed the menu in his hand and politely engaged Troy Miller and the Kings’ outfielder, Sebastian Perry, whom she had seated opposite him. She stole glances in his direction and caught Chase’s eyebrows raise, then quickly return to nonreaction after he opened the menu and discovered her printed inserted list of graphic sex acts, complete with an abundance of naughty words. It took him ten minutes to peruse his options before ordering his regular. Her defense that night, which she yelped from across his lap, was that she thought she wasn’t allowed to say them. This time the giggle in her slipped out and she rested her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her.
“You’ve made this more about me than any woman ever has,” he said with love-struck awe. “It’s about you and me and no one else, even in a roomful of strangers. It tells me you’re thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of you when it’s inappropriate for us to show it.”
“I hate having to share you,” she conceded begrudgingly.
“Then maybe you only enjoy it so much because you know I do. And maybe you’ve embraced it because of the control it gives you over every other person who thinks they’re entitled to a piece of me, as if owning my heart isn’t enough for you, you brat.”
He crooked a finger under her chin and brought her face up to his. She leaned her forehead onto his. In bed was one of the few places they could easily be face-to-face. Then Chase brushed his mouth lightly over hers before setting her back just far enough to let her know he still had something on his mind.
“Which leaves us with one other thing that needs discussing. What’s this vendetta you have against happy endings?”
“Because it’s my history,” Amanda told him, trying to memorize his face in the darkness in case he began to fade away as she said it. “Because as soon as things start getting too good for me something awful happens. Every time I get too happy, I walk into a serving tray or fall down the stairs or am stricken with hives.”
“We all run the risk of getting hurt,” he told her.
“Yeah, but it happens to me only when I’m on the precipice of venturing out of my well-balanced comfort zone. Then look out, it’s humiliation station.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” he said reproachfully. “It sounds way too much like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly in response. “I’m lucky and have a lot to be thankful for. But I see it for what it is. I’m used to it.”
“Nobody should get used to settling,” he stated firmly.
“Spoken by the man who has everything.”
He paused before quietly asking, “Do you think I wanted to lose my father at twenty-four?”
Amanda was familiar with his macho posturing, his happy-go-lucky demeanor, even his anger. There was so much genuine sorrow behind the single question, a sadness that illuminated him in a different light. She’d been selfishly blinded by her own insecurities. Everything he had couldn’t replace the one thing he had lost. She shook her head in response, and her hands crept around his neck. She hugged him tight. It wasn’t a question that required an answer.
Chase didn’t care if it showed as weakness. He didn’t always need to be coming from a position of strength. Not with her. And her reaction was everything he needed to break away from their given roles and comfort him. It only reinforced what he already knew: She was the person destined to share his life. He didn’t need money and he didn’t need fame. Everything he needed was in his arms, showering his face with butterfly kisses.
They held each other for a time, lost in their own thoughts, before Chase said, “We can’t be afraid to play the hand we’re dealt, Mandy. Bad things happen. If you’re happy when they happen, it’s the very meaning of a well-lived life. It means you’re not heaping misery on top of misery. We owe it to ourselves and our creator to make the most and sometimes the best of it. We only go around once. It’s not a dress rehearsal.”
Amanda knew he was, as always, speaking from the heart, and was fully aware of the advantages he’d been given. It also shed the final light on why she was so attracted to the brutelike side of him. If he was the one physically hurting her, then nothing else would have to, a fascinating paradigm.
“You’re right,” Amanda replied. “I’m sorry.”
Chase held her face in one of his large hands and stroked her hair with the other. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. You just need to promise me you’ll try to stop thinking that way. You’re entitled to your happy ending. I’m here to provide it.”
“I promise,” she said without hesitation.
“We’re a team,” he said before lowering his lips back to hers.
CHAPTER 12
AND SO THE King of Diamonds announced to all who were interested that he had found his queen, ending whatever speculation remained. Not a surprise. The pair had been inseparable for months. What did come as a surprise to many was his insistence that there be no prenuptial agreement. No matter who tried to talk to him about it, from his agent, Alan Shaw, to his lawyers, they were promptly shut down, with an accompanying threat that if there was any more talk of it, they were free to look elsewhere for employment. Those closest to him knew better than to voice their opinions.
But sometimes old habits are hard to break.
AMANDA AND HER MOTHER HAD an appointment with a highly recommended wedding planner. Catherine Cole was the strongest woman Amanda knew, with an innate elegance that Amanda strived to emulate, often feeling like she fell short. Catherine projected poise at all times, which always had Amanda double-checking to make sure she wasn’t slouching when in her presence. It was the sort of easy refinement that Catherine could turn on a dime and use to tear down any witness without them even knowing it. She was soft-spoken and crafty, often a lethal combination when combined with a nice-fitting business suit showing just enough shapely leg. Amanda said little as she watched her mother apply the same tactics to the wedding planner.
The planner they’d met was one of the best in the business, but she just grated on Amanda’s nerves. The overly made-up thirtysomething was too energetic and insanely enthusiastic, annoying traits that only intensified after she discovered who the groom was. Catherine was polite but direct, unaffected by the planner’s increasing excitement, as they discussed all the best scenarios for her daughter’s big day. After nearly two hours, Catherine did not confirm the woman had the job, but told her she would get back to her with a definitive answer within forty-eight hours. Then Amanda and Catherine left. They stopped for lunch before going back to Amanda’s apartment to begin going over the pile of brochures about venues, food, and flowers.
“That planner lowered her fee,” Amanda said, staring at the mountain of glossy paper on the table.
Catherine looked up from the catering-hall brochure she was reading. “Being able to say she handled your wedding is invaluable, from a business standpoint.”
If she hadn’t been raised by Catherine, Amanda would’ve thought she had just been reprimanded, but it was really just the tone Catherine incorporated when stating the obvious.
“Isn’t it funny how that works?” Amanda said blithely. “Those who can afford to pay the most get the best deals?”
“One of the perks of being a celebrity, I imagine.”
“She said Chase’s name so many times she sounded like a commercial.”
Catherine sat back in her chair and took off her reading glasses, a clear indicator she had already tuned into Amanda’s inner turmoil. She studied Amanda, saying nothing.
“Guess I’m going to have to get used to that,” Amanda said uneasily, under the weight of her mother’s analytical gaze.
“Yes, you are,” Catherine replied astutely. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Of course not.” Amanda lifted her chin and sat up straighter in her chair. She should’ve known better than to think she could put one over on Catherine Cole, not when it was one-on-one.
“That’s good, because from here on out, you’re going to be walking a tightrope.” Catherine didn’t mince words. “Your father and I were just discussing this.”
“You were?”
“He seems to think you’ve lost interest in the restaurant.”
Amanda’s instinct was to deny. She had been wavering about the Cold Creek for months. But always in the back of her mind was the feeling that her parents would view selling it as the wrong choice. A foolish choice somehow equated with giving up all her rights and independence. And a slight against all they had done for her.
“We’re both very proud of you.” Catherine smiled slightly at Amanda from across the table.
“Maybe that’s why I feel so torn,” Amanda told her honestly. You didn’t hide things from Catherine. She was an expert at getting to the truth.
“We were proud of you long before you started a business,” Catherine said before leaning both her elbows on the table. “It’s not easy being the wife of a successful man. Sometimes you feel as though you’re lost in the shuffle. He gets all the accolades, but you deserve them, too. Behind every great man is usually someone who bolstered his ego when he needed it, watched him struggle in his rise to the top, often picking up the slack. When you’re a wife that falls to you, often while having to multitask if you want to pursue your own ambitions.”
Amanda listened quietly, folding her hands in her lap.
“But if you’re partners with someone you love, you don’t really mind. Both of you know you share the glory. After your father was appointed to the bench, he made sure he did everything in his power to support me in return. My success gave him the opportunity to reassess what he wanted from his own life. And now the cycle begins again. If he makes this senate run, I’ll be the one standing beside him, doing my best to convince everyone I can that he’s the right candidate.”
“So you really can have both?” Amanda asked.
Catherine smiled. “You certainly can if that’s what you want.”
And in that one sentence, Catherine summed up the root of Amanda’s problem. She didn’t want both, but was scared if she picked one, it would look like she was throwing away the other. “What if all I want is to be with Chase?”
“I would say he’s a nice something to want.” Catherine laughed a little.
Amanda grinned. “I get the feeling being his wife is going to be a full-time job.”
“Then make sure you do it to the best of your ability. We’re very fond of Chase, Amanda. But this has to be what you want. He won’t always be as prominent as he is now. And both your dad and I have the feeling his happiness is directly tied to yours.”
“Sometimes the attention he gets is overwhelming,” Amanda confessed.
“You can handle it. I raised you to be a strong woman,” her mother told her confidently.
Amanda nodded her head and held back the giggle, wondering just what her mother would think if the strong woman she raised found some of her greatest pleasure in being spanked like a bad girl.
THE COLES WERE CORRECT IN their assessment of Chase. He wore his devotion to Amanda like a heart on his sleeve, sort of. Not quite as bizarre as his staunch refusals to even discuss a prenup, but close.
“What the hell is that?” Troy asked him in the locker room one evening in late August.
Chase quickly finished pulling down the undershirt he was in the process of putting on and muttered, “Shit.”
“You got inked.” A Southern boy’s translation for you fucking hypocrite.
Chase was one of the last men standing in the locker room when it came to getting a tattoo. He steadfastly maintained he didn’t personally have anything against them, except when it came to his person. He admired them on other players, but when it was suggested, Chase would laugh it off, promising that after he got his first surgery scar he’d think about it. The general consensus was he didn’t get one because he thought he was so damn fly, he’d consider it a blemish. Or he was a wuss that couldn’t take the pain.
“What of it?” Chase tried to sound confrontational, but it wasn’t in his nature. He had gotten it in a spot that wasn’t conspicuous, and with a few minor adjustments was able to keep it hidden for several days. He had gotten careless.
“Come on, man, you gotta let me see it,” Troy pressed, determined to get a good look.
Chase rolled his eyes and lifted his right arm up, dragging his undershirt with it. It was along the top of his rib cage, hard to spot with his huge bicep covering it if you weren’t looking for it. It just happened to catch Troy’s eye when Chase was getting dressed. Troy leaned in closer, confounded and amazed, not qu
ite sure what he was seeing or how to react.
It was a peppermint stick, like you’d hang on a Christmas tree. At the top of it, where it curved to make the hook, were big blue Sailor Moon eyes and a full black mane that flowed to the middle of the stick part. The tip was made to look like a pert little nose and there were full, pouty lips to match. It actually sort of looked like her.
“It’s really three-dimensional. I don’t get it.” Chase was sure Troy said it to force him into an explanation. Chase rolled his eyes again. As soon as he answered, the entire locker room would know that he was completely whipped. It was something he considered before having it put there, but it didn’t change his decision. He didn’t care who knew how much he was in love. One way or another, he was about to take some ribbing.
“It’s a Mandy-Cane,” he said in the deepest voice he possessed, then blew it by blurting, “The sweetest candy on God’s green earth.”
Troy looked from the tattoo up to Chase’s face, then back to the tat one more time, before standing and taking a few steps to create a healthy distance between them.
“Dude, I’m embarrassed for having just heard that,” Troy said, like he might actually cut Chase some slack and keep his discovery to himself out of pity if nothing else. He raised an eyebrow and, keeping one eye on Chase in case he was about to get tackled, Troy announced to everyone within shouting distance, “Guys, look who finally got a tattoo!”
Most of their teammates wandered over to have a look. Opinions on its placement ranged from Chase wasn’t willing to completely abandon his playboy status and didn’t want to advertise by getting it on his bicep, to it looked like something a chick would get, like a Hello Kitty caricature.
All were in agreement that it was the corniest shit they had ever seen, because guys are like that.
Chase grinned, trying to keep his machismo from a full frontal assault and let them all speculate, wondering what kind of abuse he’d take if they knew it was placed there so she would always be close to his heart and secure under his arm, forever protected.