by Jamie Wesley
“Here’s your beer.” Steve slid the bottle closer to him. “Can I get you something?” he asked Noelle.
“Ginger ale, please.”
“You don’t want something harder?” Tate asked. “This place is known for its beers.”
“No, I’m good.”
He might have imagined it, but it sounded like her voice softened, hesitated, but her expression remained pleasant, so he let it go.
They watched in silence while the bartender poured the drink and placed it in front of her. “Can I get y’all anything else?” he asked.
Tate shifted toward Noelle. She shook her head.
“No, I think we’re good for now,” Tate said.
“Okay. I’ll be here if you need anything else.” Steve saluted and headed to the other end of the bar.
Silence again descended, while Tate tried to think of something to talk about. Work? No. Hobbies? Weak. “So where’s your boyfriend?”
Shit. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Should he say never mind? No, that would draw more attention to the stupid question.
Noelle took great interest in her beverage, running her fingers down the ridges in the glass. “Don’t have one.”
Tate made a noncommittal noise and did his best to tamp down the unexpected thrill that raced through him.
“I know, I know,” Noelle continued, raising the ginger ale to her mouth. “How can I give advice when I’ve never been married? I rely on training, observation, common sense, and hope.”
He held up both palms toward her. “I didn’t say a word, Doctor.”
“But you were thinking plenty of words.” She studied him with dancing eyes over the top of her glass.
Tate laughed, enjoying the moment. Enjoying Noelle.
Someone, a man, coughed behind them. “Excuse me.”
Tate and Noelle turned on their stools.
The guy, who looked to be in his late twenties, a few years younger than Tate, held out his hand to Noelle. “Hi, I’m Ford. It’s nice to meet you.”
She shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Noelle. This is Tate.”
The guy didn’t spare him a glance. “I’ve been a fan of yours for a while. My girlfriend made me start listening to your show. She broke up with me a month ago, but I still listen every day.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with your girlfriend, but I’m glad you like the show.”
“Absolutely. You’re the best,” Ford said. “You’re always so positive and give great advice.”
“Thank you. I try.” Red crept into her cheeks and she looked down. Noelle shy? That was a word he never would have thought to associate with the good doctor, who never had a problem letting him know what was on her mind.
“I really identify with your three Cs.” Ford stroked a meticulous goatee he must have spent an hour in front of the mirror grooming. “I think that’s what I’ve been doing wrong this whole time.”
Tate frowned. This dude was good. Too good.
Noelle’s face lit up. “Thanks. I’m glad I could help. All I want to do is help people, but I can’t ever be sure that I am. It’s nice to get positive feedback.”
“Do you mind if we talk some more? I could use some advice. I’m too shy to call into the show.”
But not shy enough to not walk up to a woman he’d never met before at a bar. Tate didn’t like the way the guy’s actions made him feel. Like he wanted to punch him in the face. Which was ridiculous. He had no claims on Noelle. Wanted no claims on her. He didn’t like her. Except that wasn’t true, was it? He was starting to like her—a lot more than he’d assumed was possible.
A concerned expression settled on her face. “About what? What’s going on?”
“I…I need some direction in my life,” Ford said, earnestness filling his beady eyes. “Someone to tell me that’s it’s going to be okay, that there’s someone out there for me.”
Tate stared at him. This fool was really trying to get one over on her, even if Noelle remained oblivious because she’d slipped into doctor mode. He heard rustling and craned his neck to identify the noise. What was Noelle doing? Seriously? She’d reached into her purse, taken out her wallet, and was now handing the guy a business card.
“Send me an email, and we can set up a time to talk,” she said.
Dude smiled a player’s smile. Tate could spot them a mile away. He should know. He’d written the player’s handbook, after all.
“I’ll email you soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Noelle replied.
Finally, the guy left. Tate turned back to the TV mounted on the wall behind the bar and took a hefty swallow of beer. He didn’t like to see a woman, who was too damn nice for her own good, being taken advantage of. That’s all.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No. What makes you ask?”
“The scowl on your face.”
Tate relaxed his features and forced his lips upward. “I’m fine. The Rangers need to win this game.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do they need to win?”
“Because they’ve lost the first two games in the series and don’t want to be swept.”
“Oh, okay.” They watched the game in silence for a few minutes.
He twisted toward her. “Didn’t you say that sports are mind-numbingly boring?”
Noelle took a sip of her drink before answering. “I said some people feel that way, not me. I don’t have a strong opinion either way except when they take over your life, but I feel that way about most things that cause discord in relationships. Truth be told, I’ve never paid much attention to sports. I try not to hate things I don’t know about.”
“Hmm.” He turned back to the TV and took another pull of beer.
“He needs to get some heat on that ball.”
Tate looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”
“Yes, I do.” Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t take her eyes off the action on the screen.
“Really?” He stared at her profile until she turned to him, stubborn denial plain on her face. He raised his eyebrows. And waited.
Noelle slumped. “Okay, maybe not.”
“I knew it.” He grinned. “Want to know how I knew?”
“No. I thought I was doing a good job faking it using the miniscule sports lingo I have in my arsenal.” She sighed. “But yes, tell me. What gave me away?”
He leaned in closer, catching another trace of her scent, and pointed to the pitcher on the mound. “You said he needs to get some heat on the ball.”
She stared at the TV, her face screwed up in confusion. “He’s throwing the ball so slowly.”
“Yeah, because he’s a knuckleball pitcher.”
Noelle spun toward him, putting their faces, their lips inches apart. The air between them sparked with an electric charge. After a taut second, she pulled back and looked down at her glass. “A what?”
Tate took another swallow of beer, hoping the comfort of the familiar would calm his suddenly jangling senses, and turned back to the TV. “Watch. See how the ball kind of goes crazy at the end?” He quieted as the batter swung and missed.
“Yeah.”
“That’s intentional. Unlike most pitchers who grip the ball with the pads of their fingers, he only uses the tips and then throws it, giving the ball the unpredictable trajectory. He’s not sure where the ball is going and neither is the batter, so he doesn’t have to throw it as hard as other guys.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” She sighed. “Guess that’ll teach me to talk about stuff I know nothing about.”
“You don’t like being wrong, do you?”
Noelle’s brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”
“That frown on your face. It’s the same one I see when I contradict you in a staff meeting or during the show.”
“Probably because what you’re saying makes no sense.”
; “You just proved my point,” he said, fighting back laughter.
Her lower lip stuck out. If she were any other woman, he would swear she was doing it on purpose to entice him, but he’d learned over the last few days that she didn’t believe in such frivolous games. She just hated being wrong. He was 99 percent sure she had no idea she’d poked the plump lip out. She definitely didn’t know the lip with its lush curve sent blood racing through his veins faster than a NASCAR driver in the Daytona 500.
Tate froze at that last dangerous thought. Distraction time. “Let’s get a table and talk about what we’re going to do about Mike and Shannon and the bet.”
A smile flickered across her lips. “So we’ve killed enough time hanging out?”
Tate laughed, surprised, but strangely pleased, that she continued to keep him off balance. “Yeah, I think so.”
Tate eased off the stool and waited while she did the same. He put his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the busy restaurant. If there was one thing his old man had taught him, it was how to treat a woman in public. With respect and chivalry. Too bad his father hadn’t felt the need to continue the behavior behind closed doors. Although, at breakfast that morning, he’d claimed he was a changed man.
They sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, which offered a modicum of quiet in the noisy bar. Noelle reached into her oversized purse, pulled out a notebook, and flipped to a blank page. “So did you figure out what your outings are going to be?”
“I think so.”
Her eyes flicked to him. “Care to share?”
“In due time.”
“Tomorrow is the first date.”
“Impatient?”
“I like to be prepared.”
Aww, there was that snooty tone she did so well. Knowing it would needle her, he said, “We didn’t decide what the winner gets.”
“You mean what I’ll win when Mike and Shannon stay together.”
“Pssh. They’ll decide that being exclusive isn’t worth it.”
“You actually believe what you’re saying, don’t you?”
“I do.” He tensed, waiting for the psychoanalysis to begin.
She intently studied him for a second, then relaxed against the bench seat. “Then it’s going to be great proving you wrong. How about this? When I win, you have to list on air the many, many reasons I was right and you were wrong and then admit that I know more than you about love and relationships. Oh, and that I’m a better talk show host than you. It’ll be the highlight of my year, trust me.”
She’d surprised him yet again. “Not going to happen. You’ll be too busy admitting you were wrong.” He paused. “You can admit you’re wrong, right?”
Noelle pursed her lips. “On those rare occasions it happens, yes.”
He laughed lightly. She definitely didn’t bore him. “When I win, not only will you admit that I am the better host and that I was right, you’ll call me Tate ‘The Great’ Grayson at my command and list the countless reasons why I’m great.”
“We’ll see.” Her lips curved confidently.
“Back to the first outing.” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What I’m planning on doing—it’s probably not your thing. I’ll understand if you don’t want to participate.”
“I’m up for anything.” Her voice and expression remained steadfast.
It was his turn to offer up a sly smile. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Six
Clubs weren’t Noelle’s thing. Never had been, never would be. She’d ventured out to a few over the years with little success. Alcohol, which seemed to cure the anxiety of other shy people, was never an option. And the flirting and blatant come-ons? She shuddered just thinking about them. She usually ended up in the corner, playing the inadequate wing woman and studying the mating habits of the human race.
But there she stood, determined to live up to her responsibilities. She’d played right into Tate’s nefarious hands. Not that she’d ever tell him, but he was right in one respect. She abhorred being wrong. No way was she going to let him win this bet, especially since she truly believed Shannon and Mike could make it based on the way Shannon had gushed about her boyfriend when they’d set up this excursion.
So, per Tate’s instructions, she’d come to Lush, the newest, hippest club in Dallas, according to her internet research, with Shannon and Caitlin, determined to show Shannon what else was out there.
“Ready to do this?” Noelle asked her charge.
Shannon was cute, a little shorter than Noelle’s five four. Noelle had noticed a few guys already checking out the other woman’s caramel-colored skin, button nose, and black hair styled into soft curls.
Shannon ran her hands down the front of the black dress that showed off her curvy figure and impressive cleavage. “I guess. I haven’t been part of the dating scene in a long time. I’m not sure I can follow Tate’s three Cs.”
Noelle mentally patted herself on the back for not letting a “pssh” slip out at the mention of Tate’s stance. Chill, cling-off, and change. A load of crap, but for tonight at least she had to go along with it. No way would she give Tate reason to claim she’d sabotaged the competition.
“Don’t think about following any rules,” she said. “We’re here to have fun. If you see a cute guy, let him buy you a drink. Or buy him a drink. Dance. Put your problems with Mike on the backburner. And hey, if the guy turns out to be a dud, take Tate’s advice and change. This place is crawling with men.”
Shannon took a measured breath. “Okay. I said I’d do it, so I’m going to do it. I haven’t gone out without Mike in forever. Tonight is about me and me only.” She pounded on the bar until she got the bartender’s attention. “Shots on me!”
Noelle’s gaze cut to Caitlin’s. Her producer’s eyes had gone wide with shock. Noelle gulped. What had they unknowingly unleashed?
An hour and a half later, she had her answer. Apparently, Shannon was a party girl in hiding who’d been biding her time until an opportunity to let loose and wreak havoc presented itself. Other than the black dress and soft curls, she bore little resemblance to the woman who’d timidly stepped into the club. Noelle wished she could blame it on liquid courage, but as far as she could tell, Shannon wasn’t drunk. She was simply reveling in the attention she received from the men in the club.
“Hey, baby, why don’t you give a brother a chance?”
For the love…Noelle tore her eyes away from a gyrating Shannon and glanced heavenward before turning to Ron, the man who’d decided he was Mr. Irresistible and she was playing hard to get. Earlier, while Caitlin and Shannon were dancing, she’d sat at their table minding her own business. He’d bought her a Screaming Orgasm because that’s what he could be counted on to “give all the ladies” and someone as “lovely” as her “shouldn’t be sitting alone.” She’d politely thanked him and listened to him self-aggrandize for several interminable minutes before making her escape by claiming a desperate need to visit the bathroom, only to return to find him hovering by her table.
Even if she hadn’t seen him, she would’ve smelled him. From a million miles away. He’d doused himself in an entire bottle of Old Spice. Seriously, the entire bottle. She’d politely turned down his request to dance. Finally, he’d taken the hint and left.
But now he stood in front of her again. Reeking. She didn’t know why she worried about hurting his feelings. He’d shown absolutely no sense of self-awareness. She very much doubted she could put a dent in his self-esteem, but she’d been raised to always be polite even to those who didn’t deserve it. The only person who made her forget her normal state of mind was Tate, but, hey, he did deserve it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t give it right back to her.
To Ron, she said, “I’m sure you’re a nice guy,” something she doubted greatly, “but I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”
That sounded good—courteous and impersonal. Surely he would get a clue and leave with a shred of digni
ty intact.
“Oh, come on, baby. How can you stand there pretending you don’t want a piece of this?” He waved a hand down his body. “I’ve noticed you looking at me all night.”
Yeah, because he was wearing a bright purple suit and she’d wanted to make sure they were at opposite ends of the club. Clearly, he had no intention of taking her polite hints. Time to break out the big, blunt guns…if she could. If he was a caller, she could at least assume he’d listened to the show before and was prepared for some tough love, but a random guy in a club? She had no idea how he would respond. Crap. She worried too much about hurting people’s feelings. “Look, Ron, I’m not…interested.”
“Why not? Look at me.” He held his arms out wide and raised his chin.
Because you’re a Creepy McCreeperson, who’s going to make me lose my mind in this club. “Because…”
“Because she’s with me.”
Noelle jumped at the sound of Tate’s lazy drawl behind her. She stumbled when he curled an arm around her waist and drew her in tight into the shelter of his hard body, her hand landing on his chest for balance. In any other circumstance, she’d elbow him in the stomach to force him to let her go, but she wasn’t dumb. She wanted Ron gone, and if Tate’s interference was going to make that happen, then so be it. She pasted on a smile and shrugged.
Ron scoffed. “Who’s this guy, baby? He can’t compare to me. You need to get with a real man.”
“I’m the guy who’s going to pound you into the ground if you call my girlfriend ‘baby’ one more time and don’t leave her alone. Now.”
Despite the loud, pounding music, Noelle heard the quiet menace in Tate’s voice. Ron must have, too, because his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down twice. He coughed and backed away, palms up. “Hey, hey, no need for that. No harm, no foul, right?”
Noelle glanced up and froze. The menace hadn’t stopped at Tate’s voice. His face, usually full of lighthearted humor, had donned a mask of anger. Hard, cold eyes drilled a hole into the self-proclaimed Casanova. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Ron whirled and disappeared into the crowd.