by Jamie Wesley
He made a disbelieving noise. “You’re kidding, right? None.”
“Poor Tate. You’ll be okay.” She patted him on the thigh. A mistake. The hard muscle flexed under her palm as he accelerated the car. The contact sent a bolt of electricity through her palm. Casually, she hoped anyway, she returned her hand to her lap.
“You going to protect me, Doc?”
“You don’t need my protection.” But she wasn’t sure she didn’t need protection from her wayward desires.
“You sure about that? I have these visions of crazy brides running all over the place, screaming because the wedding dress they want isn’t available or something.”
“You’ve been watching too much reality TV.”
“I will have you know I only watch the highest caliber of reality TV.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, like what?”
“Sports.” The “duh” was implicit.
“Eh.” She knew the shrug in her voice would get to him.
The glance he sent her way was full of astonishment. She bit her lip to stop a laugh from escaping.
“You don’t think a World Series game seven, winner takes all, is exciting?” He sounded disgusted.
Noelle shrugged.
“Or a last-second pass to win a Super Bowl?”
This was too much fun. “I suppose it is.”
She listened, amused, as he launched into a detailed overview of the Cowboys’ last championship and their futile, but entertaining, attempts to win another one.
“So yeah, sports are way better than those wedding reality shows,” he finished up.
At the word “wedding,” her eyes slid to the invitation again. Should she ask him about it?
Tate made a turn into the market hall parking lot. “Well, we’re here. Let’s do this.”
Too late now.
…
“Hi, what’s your name?” Noelle asked, holding her pen poised above the publicity headshot.
“Dawn,” the woman standing in front of the table answered.
While Noelle signed the photo, Tate took a look around. He was really here. At the Tenth Annual North Texas Bridal Show. And what a show it was. Lace, silk, flowers, and some material called tulle covered every available surface. He only knew the word “tulle” because a handful of it had hit him square in the face on the way to their table. The perpetrator, a vendor in a hurry, had issued a hasty apology and continued on his way. It had been left to Noelle to charitably inform him of what had happened.
Thousands of women packed the hall, scouring booths for the perfect gown, invitations, limo, garter belt, flowers, and anything else remotely related to weddings.
A blonde, who looked to be in her forties, stepped up to their table. “Hi, I’m Rae. I’m so happy you’re here, Noelle,” she said. “I’ve wanted to tell you forever that you saved my relationship.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Noelle said with a wide smile. “Thank you. I’m glad I could help, but I’m curious about what I said.”
“At the time, my boyfriend and I had been together for three years, but things had gotten stale,” Rae said. “We’d fallen into a rut of the same old, same old. One day you suggested having sex every day for thirty straight days.”
Tate’s chair scraped across the concrete floor as he scooted forward.
Noelle turned toward him, frowning.
“What? There’s no way I’m missing this,” he said. She whipped around to face Rae again, but not before he noticed the red coloring her cheeks.
“Tell me more,” he said, grinning, to Rae.
“A few months ago, a woman called in, saying she was on the verge of asking for a divorce. They’d tried counseling, but things hadn’t improved. Noelle said in order to restore intimacy outside the bedroom that maybe they should try to restore the intimacy inside the bedroom first.”
Tate’s eyebrows soared. “For thirty straight days with no time-outs?”
“Yep,” Rae supplied, nodding vigorously. “So I decided to try it, too. It worked like a charm. We’re getting married.”
“Doc, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he murmured. But he’d started to wonder. Last night at the club, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on Rae. She held the photo up. “Here you go. I’m glad I could help. Thanks for stopping by.”
Damn, she had that instant-dismissal thing down cold. It only intrigued him more, especially now that he knew there was a ton of warmth underneath the chill. What would it take to melt the ice?
“Hi, can I have your autograph?” A young woman stepped in front of him, stopping him from wandering down the perilous path to nowhere.
Forty-five minutes later, he and Noelle had signed a slew of autographs and taken a ton of photos. It never would have occurred to him to attend a bridal show, but he had to admit it wasn’t a bad way to connect with listeners. He knew he had plenty of female listeners, but he hadn’t known that many of them were getting married. Or that they would drag along their husbands-to-be, who all expressed joy and relief at finding another male in the vicinity.
He flexed his cramped hand and offered a smile to the woman approaching the table, but she marched right past him like she didn’t see him.
“Hi, Noelle. I love you. You’re a saint, but seriously, how do you put up with him?” she said, pointing her thumb at him. “He’s such an asshole.”
An asshole who happened to be sitting right there. Stunned, he stared at the rude woman. Not everyone liked his strong opinions. He had the emails and Twitter messages to prove it, but to insult him to his face was an unfamiliar situation. And he couldn’t even call the woman out on her behavior. She was a listener, and he was representing the station, which meant no public arguments.
She didn’t look happy in general. Deep frown lines bracketed both sides of her mouth. Her arms were crossed, giving off a negative, stay-away vibe. Wasn’t she supposed to be happy? She was at a bridal show, which presumably meant she was about to get married, a dream come true for too many women.
He tried his most charming smile. “Come on, now. I can’t be that bad.”
“He’s so negative,” the woman continued like he hadn’t spoken.
Tate frowned. He wasn’t negative. He loved life, but he was realistic about a certain part of it. His parents had turned marriage into a sport. He’d never been in love. Not really. He’d tried to play the game once, but she’d dumped him for a pro athlete when he made it clear he had no intention of living off his trust fund or joining the family business. After that experience and few others that hadn’t ended well, he’d learned his lesson.
“Ma’am, I don’t agree with everything Tate says, but I assure you he’s not an asshole,” Noelle said. Polite, but firm. “We’re a team. I don’t appreciate your language or your tone. I certainly don’t appreciate you insulting him.”
Wait? Was Noelle defending him? Her no-nonsense expression said yes. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. No, no pigs.
The woman’s frown deepened. “Well, maybe you aren’t the person I thought you were if you’re standing up for him.” She stomped off.
Noelle turned to him, an affronted look on her face. “Can you believe her?”
Warmth spread in the area close to his heart. Despite their differences, they’d started to build a bond. His relationships were usually so temporary he’d forgotten what that was like. If he’d ever known.
He liked it. He liked her.
…
Noelle hoisted herself into Tate’s SUV. He shut the door behind her, and she settled in the seat. The wedding invitation again caught her eye. The font was too small to see the names of the couple. She recalled the annoyed look on his face when he’d picked up the invitation earlier. He’d made it clear he didn’t believe in love, but he didn’t strike her as the type to begrudge other people, especially those he was close to, their choices.
She couldn’t help herself any l
onger. She picked it up when he got in. “What’s this? Going to a wedding?”
“Apparently.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Want to talk about it?”
“I’m not one of your patients,” he bit out.
Noelle flinched. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
Tate rubbed a hand across his face. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you.”
“Apology accepted.” She touched his arm. He glanced her way. She offered up a smile. “I’m asking strictly as a friend, not as a therapist. Do you want to talk about it?”
He stared out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles strained against his skin. “My parents are getting married.”
“They’re renewing their vows?”
“No. They’re divorced.”
“You’re not happy about them remarrying.”
“Got it in one.” He looked her way, shaking his head. “They’ve each been married three times. Lucky me, I got to be a front-row witness to their drama.”
Ohhh. Now she got it. Why he was so adamant monogamous love didn’t exist. “So you don’t think it’s going to last this time?”
“Let’s just say I have my doubts.”
“I can see why you would, but maybe they’ve grown up and are finally ready to put their family back together.”
“That’s what they say.” He shrugged. “But I’ve heard it all before. Why should I support the farce?”
“Because they’re your parents?” Noelle wanted to say more, but didn’t. She didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice trembling. Didn’t he understand how lucky he was to still have his parents, parents comfortable with showing and expressing their love? What she wouldn’t give to say the same about her own. She stared out the passenger-side window, wrestling her shaky emotions under control. This was about Tate, not her.
Silence filled the air for a few seconds, while Tate started the car and exited the parking lot. He glanced at her. “Thanks for defending me earlier.”
Happy to move on from the turmoil swirling inside her, Noelle said, “She was out of line.”
“Still you didn’t have to do it.”
Her lips tugged upward. “If anyone is going to insult you, it’s going to be me.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly.
“Seriously though, you’re not an asshole. A little misguided, a lot spoiled, but not an asshole.”
“Thanks, Doc. Keep the compliments coming. I feel my head shriveling in size as we speak.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em.”
“Don’t I know it?”
She glanced his way. “On a serious note, I owe you an apology for last night.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” He leaned closer to her, cupping his ear. “Could you repeat that?”
Noelle’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard her just fine. “I jumped to conclusions last night before I heard the whole story from Shannon.”
“Aww, yes. I remember now.”
Noelle shook her head. “Anyway, like I was saying, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I didn’t realize Shannon was going to have a meltdown when Mike confronted her about talking to another guy.”
“What did she expect to happen?” he asked, sounding utterly confused. “His girlfriend was about to get a number from another man.”
“I have no idea.” She perked up. “In any case, they put it behind them and left together, which means I won the night even though they were on one of your outings.”
Tate shot her a look. “They live together. It made sense.”
“But they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
“Rampaging hormones. You do know what those feel like, right?”
Air became a precious commodity in the small confines of the car. How did he manage to add that note of sexiness to his voice? And why did it work so well on her? “Of course. Did you expect me not to know?”
“Not at all,” he drawled.
Having no clue how to respond, Noelle stared out the window as Tate navigated the Mercedes through the city.
A few minutes later, he pulled into the city park’s parking lot, the tires crunching on the loose gravel. “Ready for some baseball?”
Umm… “I hope so.”
“I survived a bridal show. You can spend a couple of hours at a baseball game.”
She raised her chin. “Never said I couldn’t. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
Noelle marched ahead of him toward the baseball field. Tate hung back a step and took in the nice view from the swing of her black hair down her lean back to the impressive ass. She was wearing those damn jeans again.
“Hey, Coach, why did you bring a girl?”
Tate swiveled his head to the right where Marvin Arnold, his starting shortstop, approached. “Marvin, we’ve talked about being polite and respectful.”
The boy’s face scrunched up in embarrassment, then he threw his scrawny shoulders back. “Right. Sorry.” He held out his hand and stepped up to Noelle, who’d turned around. “Hi, I’m Marvin. What’s up?”
Not great, but better.
Noelle sent Tate an amused look over the boy’s head before solemnly shaking Marvin’s hand. “Nothing much. I’m Noelle.”
“Pretty name.”
She smiled. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”
Marvin kicked the ground with a dirt-encrusted sneaker. “It was nothing.”
“Oh, but it was. The nicest compliments are the ones that come straight from the heart.”
Marvin looked up at him, the dark brown eyes that dominated his round face beseeching. Tate moved closer to save his player before Noelle totally confused and embarrassed him with her psychology talk. “Hey, man, are you the first to get here?”
He usually was, taking the opportunity to spend some alone time with Tate, the only steady male influence in his life.
“Yeah, my mom dropped me off a few minutes ago.”
Tate bit back a frustrated sigh. He’d tried to talk to Rhonda about the dangers of leaving her nine-year-old son unchaperoned at a public park, but she always dismissed his concerns, saying Marvin could take care of himself. The worry flitting across Noelle’s face let him know she shared his concern.
“Okay,” Tate said. “Can you make sure the dugout is clear?”
“On it, Coach. I’ve been working on my swing.” Marvin ran off.
Tate and Noelle followed at a slower pace until she stopped abruptly and whirled toward him.
“Wait. I thought you were playing,” she said.
“I never said that.”
He could see her racking her brain for a shred of evidence to discredit his statement, but of course she came up empty.
“You’re a coach?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Of a youth team?”
“Yep.” He didn’t bother hiding his grin.
“Oh.” They resumed walking. She didn’t speak again until they’d almost reached the dugout. “Marvin seems nice.”
“He’s a good kid. They all are.”
Noelle looked over the park. He tried to see it through her eyes. The city had done a great job of renovating it, placing a baseball field in the center of the park, which had once been run-down and in disrepair, weeds and trash everywhere, but now boasted plentiful trees, a basketball court, a running path, picnic tables, and benches. Still, they were in a working-class neighborhood. Nothing fancy.
“This probably isn’t what you’re used to,” he said.
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Surprised, he eyed her. “Why?”
“Look at the car you drive. You didn’t pick that up at the junk lot. And I recognize an expensive designer watch when I see one.”
“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”
Noelle crossed her arms. “Don’t I? Can you prove
me wrong?”
Funny enough, he wanted to. A week ago, he wouldn’t have given a rip that she thought he was a spoiled, fun-time guy who wouldn’t know hard work if it bit him in the butt. What she didn’t know was that he’d stopped accepting money from his parents the day he graduated from college. He’d turned down a job at his family’s multimillion dollar company, Grayson Electronics, to strike out on his own. He’d never once regretted his choices. “Remember what you said earlier about jumping to conclusions?”
She frowned, but Marvin ran up to them before she could respond. “The dugout’s clear, Coach. Do you need me to do anything else?”
“Why don’t you show me your swing?” He followed Marvin out to the field, but couldn’t resist a look over his shoulder. Noelle stood at the dugout entrance, a considering light in her eyes.
…
Noelle wiggled on the metal bench searching for, and not finding, a more comfortable position. Sports weren’t her thing, but the kids looked so cute in their matching uniforms of red jerseys and white pants. According to one of the parents, Tate had bought everything for them—uniforms, bats, and gloves.
“Strike!”
Noelle winced at the umpire’s call. Despite the team’s professional appearance, they weren’t faring well on the field. It was obvious the other team practiced a lot more often than Tate’s team, the Wranglers, did. Tate said he could only get the team together once per week due to his and the parents’ schedules.
Ricky, who’d struck out, trudged back to the dugout, bat dragging behind him through the dirt. He plopped down beside Noelle and hung his head. She surveyed the dugout again. His teammates mirrored Ricky’s stance, the chatter that had filled the space before the game now mostly gone. Tate stood at the front of the dugout with his hands on the shoulders of another player, Chris, giving him a pep talk.
She couldn’t help herself.
Noelle stood, wiping away the sweat dripping down her forehead, and clapped her hands twice. “Hey, guys, can y’all gather around for a second?”
The kids looked at each other, then Tate, who nodded his okay, and then back at each other. Marvin was the first to stand. The other boys followed his lead. They were so cute with their earnest, sweaty faces. “Listen up. I’m not liking your body language.”