Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron

  “Did you have something else in mind?”

  “Maybe a little something, yeah.”

  “‘Little,’ huh? So the bed is a compensation.” She looked at him for a long moment, then sat up and laid her hands on his belt buckle. “Remember what I said about you being in charge, but only for a while?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Time’s up,” she said. And she moved incredibly quickly, hooking her legs around him, shifting, pulling . . . He had no idea what she did, but it ended with him flat on his back on the bed, Zara straddling him with a satisfied look on her face. “My turn now,” she said.

  And Cal had no problem with that whatsoever.

  Sixteen

  ZARA’S BODY WAS stretching and moving before her brain was completely awake, and there was a moment of almost frightening disorientation when her hand came into contact with something cold and metallic by her head. She jerked her eyes open and blinked in the dim light. A cast-iron headboard. She was in bed. Not her bed. Whose bed? How . . .

  It came back to her. She looked around, but Cal wasn’t there. There was a large window at the far end of the room, and the sky through it was showing the first signs of dawn. And Zara was waking up in a strange bed, alone. Not ideal.

  She sat up and groped around for her clothes. She’d been stupid to wear the dress; it made her walk of shame that much more obvious. And it had probably made her look desperate the night before. What the hell had she been thinking?

  Where was her other shoe? She’d carry them downstairs and put them on at the door, she decided, so their clicking wouldn’t foil her escape.

  She had her dress on and was crouched over, reaching under the bed to search for her shoe, when she heard steps on the stairs behind her. Play it cute or cool? How would she handle this?

  But when she turned and saw the look of honest confusion on Cal’s face, she found she didn’t want to “play” it any way at all. “Why are you up?” he asked.

  “Why are you up? What were you doing?”

  “I went downstairs to use the bathroom—I thought it would be less likely to disturb you. I guess it didn’t work.” He was wearing his boxer briefs and nothing else, his hair was adorably tousled, and he looked like he needed to be wrapped in a cozy blanket and snuggled back to sleep.

  But that wasn’t Zara’s role. “I was just going to head home,” she said, trying to sound efficient. “If I get a couple hours sleep in my own bed, it’s not like I spent the night technically. Right?”

  “Why would it be bad if you spent the night?” He looked completely puzzled by everything she was saying and doing. He approached her cautiously and said, “I can make us breakfast. Now, I guess, but I was thinking maybe a bit later? We could sleep some more?”

  Damn, a big part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with him. But it would be too much. Too intimate. It had been one thing the night before when they’d had sex as an excuse, but now? “I’m okay. I have food at home.”

  He looked at her for too long, until it seemed like he was looking through her. Then he said, “Zara Hale, get your ass back in bed and go to sleep.”

  She blinked. It was an order, so she should rebel, of course. Who did he think he was to be bossing her around like that? But somehow she didn’t feel the need. It was an order on the surface, but underneath, it was an opening. It gave her an excuse. She was going back to bed because he wanted her to, not because she wanted to. It wasn’t her weakness that made her want to cuddle, it was his.

  She set down her one shoe, looked at it, and said, “Your house ate one of my shoes. You owe me a shoe.”

  “Okay. Go to sleep now, and I’ll give you a shoe later.”

  “You’d better,” she grumbled. She kept her dress on, but she slipped back under the covers and turned on her side, her back toward Cal’s side of the bed. She felt the mattress shift as he lay down next to her and she braced herself. Would he be wrapping his arm around her, pulling her in for a full spoon? And if he did, would she be able to stand it or would it be too much, too fast?

  But he didn’t do it. She felt the ghost of a touch of pressure along her back and realized that he was lying on his side, too, his back to her. They were bookends facing away from each but still touching, however gently. It was perfect. It was exactly as much as she could handle. And with that slight contact, she was able to let herself drift off to sleep.

  When she woke up the next time, there was daylight streaming in through the windows, and when she rolled over, the other side of the bed was empty again. Damn, Cal was pretty good at sneaking around without waking her up.

  She stumbled to his bathroom and cleaned up a little, brushing her teeth with his toothpaste and her finger, then took a deep breath to call up her courage and headed for the stairs. When she got to the top of them, she saw her shoes, both of them, lined up in the middle of the tread where she couldn’t miss them. It was enough to make her relax a little, and she hooked her fingers into their heels and headed down the stairs.

  Cal was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, sitting on one of the stools at the counter, reading the paper. He saw her and stood up, smiling. “Morning. You want coffee?”

  “Sure.” She wanted more than that, she was pretty sure, but she couldn’t say exactly what. She wanted to touch him. Not for sex necessarily, although that would certainly be fine, but just for . . . just to say good morning. A hug, a quick kiss, some gesture of affection. Damn, that was it. She wanted him, but that part was easy. It was the liking him that she didn’t really know how to handle.

  And she was too chicken to experiment, so she just trailed after him over to the coffeemaker and let him pour her a mugful.

  She set her shoes on the floor and added milk and sugar to her cup, aware of him watching her a little too closely. “What? Am I doing it wrong? Is this not the proper way to drink coffee?”

  “Calm down, Grumpy.”

  “Well, what are you doing?”

  “I’m watching how much stuff you put in, so I can make it for you next time.”

  Next time. He might just mean if she had another cup of coffee that morning. It wasn’t a marriage proposal or anything. No need for her to get too happy or too scared about any of it. She took a sip of her coffee and made herself turn to look at him. “Thank you for the shoe.”

  “You realize that it’s not a new shoe, right? I just found your old one.”

  “If that’s how you want to play it.”

  And when he smiled at her that way, it somehow made it clear just how stupid her paranoia was. This was Cal. It was okay if she wanted to touch him.

  So she set her mug on the counter, and he leaned forward just as she stretched up, and their kiss was sweet and affectionate and exactly what she’d wanted.

  When he pulled away, he licked his lip gently and said, “Breakfast? Does being in training mean you have to eat something special?”

  “At this stage? Just healthy stuff—whole grains, unsaturated fats, lean protein. I’ll worry about making weight later on.”

  “So no bacon?”

  “Damn. I love bacon. Maybe a little bit?”

  “And toast, and eggs? And fruit?”

  “Sounds good. Should I do something?”

  “You can sit. Drink your coffee. I like you watching me.”

  So she sat. He fried a few slices of bacon and poached eggs and cut up fruit and she felt like she was being taken care of. Sure, there were other people who cooked for her sometimes, but most of them were paid for the service, or were making a meal for a group. This? Just Cal, and just her. She liked it.

  And when they were done eating and she felt another burst of anxiety and thought it might be time to escape, he asked her to help him with the dishes, and of course she couldn’t say no to such a reasonable request. The warm water was soothing, and Cal’s arm brushed against hers as they
worked. She felt herself relaxing again, and when she had washed the last dish and dried off, she turned to Cal and tucked a few fingers from each hand just inside the waistband of his sweatpants. Then she looked up at him with her eyebrows raised, waiting for the verdict.

  His smile was the only answer she needed, but she was happy to take his kiss as supporting evidence. “Upstairs,” he murmured.

  “Not here?”

  “Condoms are upstairs. I could go get them, but I’m afraid I’ll be gone for five seconds, come back, and you’ll have gotten spooked and taken off.”

  She hadn’t known she was quite that transparent. “Upstairs, then.” She took his hand and led him back to the bedroom, stopping halfway to get rid of his T-shirt.

  It was a bit different this time. The night before, they’d figured out the basics, but now they were fine-tuning the details. When Zara had kissed Cal’s neck last night, he’d tilted his head away and his breathing had quickened in appreciation. This morning, she let herself map out the exact spots that got the best reaction, from the soft skin just behind his ear to the hollow above his collarbone. She played with nipping and licking and sucking and kissing, finding her rewards in his quick gasps and one long, low moan of pleasure. She abandoned his neck with reluctance and consoled herself with his chest, strong muscles beneath a light, natural expanse of hair. And as she worked her way lower, she felt his body responding, all of his muscles tensing as she worked her way down over his hard belly to the waist of his sweats. And then she worked her way back up.

  “Zara,” he growled, clearly not too impressed with the change in direction. She kissed his mouth, and after a moment’s persuasion, he looped an arm around her waist, pulled her over so she was half straddling, half lying on him, and kissed her back properly. “You’re a tease,” he murmured.

  “If you don’t like it, you can leave anytime.” She moved her mouth back to his neck and his arm tightened around her head.

  “This is my house,” he managed, though his voice was tight. “You think I should leave my own house?”

  “Only if you don’t like what I’m doing.” And with that she slid down, tugged his pants and underwear out of the way, and took him in her mouth.

  “I like what you’re doing!” he gasped. “I’m staying.”

  She hummed her contentment and kept going. She liked what she was doing, too. And at least for a while, she was staying.

  * * *

  “I should go home at some point,” Zara said. It was midafternoon, she was in his bed and in his arms, and Cal didn’t want her to go anywhere. Possibly ever.

  “If you wait a little longer, your clothes will make sense again. You’ll have skipped the day entirely and it’ll be back to the right time for wearing a black dress.”

  “A black dress is an anytime dress. That’s what I’ve been told. It’s why I bought the damn thing.”

  “Well, then, you should just wait a little longer because I don’t want you to leave yet.” He was getting pretty good at cataloging her reactions, and he told himself that she’d tensed up much less after he said that then after he’d said similarly cozy things earlier in the day. Small victory, but he’d take it. Especially since he was pretty sure she relaxed more quickly, too.

  “I should work out,” she said softly.

  “We’ve had a pretty good workout, haven’t we?”

  “No. We’ve had fun. Workouts aren’t fun, they’re terrible. They’re hard, and they hurt, and they make you want to puke.”

  “Damn, your workouts are a lot tougher than mine.”

  “Yeah, well, your workouts aren’t your job.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “I like getting paid.”

  “That’s all, though? If there was no money, you wouldn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know. I’d probably still do parts of it. But no way would I train so hard. And I wouldn’t do all the promo stuff, that’s for sure. They might be sending a camera crew up here to film footage about what a great person I am, giving back to the community and all that shit. It’s going to be brutal.”

  “Because you think it’s not true?”

  “Because I know it’s not true. I’m here for Zane, not for the damn community. I mean, as soon as he’s stable, I’m gone. It’s fake to pretend otherwise.”

  She’d be gone. He knew that. It wasn’t something she’d been hiding. But it still wasn’t what he wanted to think about right then. So it was his turn to tense up, and she wasn’t as ready for that reaction as he’d been so he managed to get right away, shifting his legs around and sitting up on the side of the bed before she’d even realized he was moving.

  “Are we pretending I’m going to live here forever?” she asked. Her tone was carefully neutral.

  He sighed and flopped back on the bed. “I guess not, no.”

  “Can we just not think about it?” She ran her hands over his shoulders. “You know, ‘live in the now’ or whatever?”

  “Just so you have an excuse to not tell me anything about your head?”

  “The only excuse I need is that it’s none of your business.” She was frowning, but as he watched her, she looked away, swore softly, and then looked back without the frown. “You’re going to keep pushing on that?”

  “I don’t mean to push, but, yeah, I’m going to keep caring about that. I want to know you’re okay, and that you’re taking care of yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes, then shrugged. “You’re right. I didn’t tell the doctor about the dizziness. Because I didn’t need to. There’s a lot of bureaucracy and really strict rules about it all. But I know my body, and it’s fine. I did the baseline tests—they give us a test once a year when we’re healthy, and then after we get hit in the head, they do it again and look at the results to be sure they haven’t changed—and it was fine. No signs of trouble. So it’s all okay.”

  “Except for the dizziness.”

  “Yeah,” she said reluctantly. “So, you know, I’ll keep an eye on that. I’ve been really careless with my eating and my exercise. So being a bit dizzy a few times could totally be related to any of that.”

  “Or it could be a sign of something hidden in your brain.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to brush him off, but she didn’t. Instead she said, “Yeah. It could be. So like I said, I’ll keep an eye on things. I’ll take better care of myself and get back in touch with how I’m feeling and I’ll see how it goes. Okay?” She tilted her head and looked at him. “Okay?” she asked more insistently, and she reached out and playfully poked him in the ribs. “Is that good enough for Captain Worrypants?”

  “It’s Colonel Worrypants,” he corrected. He caught her hand before she could poke him again. “You’ll tell me the truth? I’ll try not to bug you about it, but that’ll be a lot easier for me to do if I know you aren’t hiding things. Okay?”

  Her nod was grudging, but he was pretty sure she meant it. He added, “And if it is bad news—like, if it’s the worst news and you can’t fight again?” He held his hands up quickly to fend off her outraged glare. “Just absolute worst-case scenario. That’s all.” She relaxed enough that he was pretty sure she was listening as he added, “Even if it came to that, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I mean, you have other skills, other ways to be useful. Ways to earn money, even. Maybe not as much, but enough. Right?”

  “What are you talking about?” She gave him a sidelong look. “I’m not doing porn!”

  “What? Jesus, no, not porn!” He wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or amused, and settled for putting the idea out of his head, at least temporarily. “No. But the stuff you’re doing at the community center? You just got thrown into that, with no training, and you’re doing okay. You could figure out what parts of it you like most and get trained for those parts. Like, teaching kids, or the women’s class or whatever. Organizing clinics
for people. You could do any of that. I mean, you’re going to have to do something after you retire from MMA, right? You’re not going to keep fighting until you’re sixty-five. So if whatever that something is comes a little sooner, that’s not a tragedy. Really.”

  She didn’t look at him. She was quiet for a moment, then shook her head vigorously, as if clearing it of unwanted thoughts. “Well, I’m fine, so it’s nothing I need to worry about right now. But okay. I’ll skip working out today. But tomorrow, I am on it. No goofing off.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, and tugged her down into the tangled sheets. “Tomorrow. But for the rest of today, you’re here. Right?”

  “If you insist,” she agreed, and she wrapped her arms around him and made them both forget about everything that wasn’t right there in the bed with them.

  Seventeen

  IT WAS FRIGHTENING how easily everything seemed to fall together. Zara managed to pry herself out of Cal’s bed by Sunday morning, and he had some family event that night, so after she worked out, she went home and called Bonita and killed time. But when Cal called her around nine and said his dinner was over and he was lonely, she was out the door in a flash, carrying a prepacked overnight bag with clothes to wear to work the next day. And it all went on from there.

  She didn’t let herself think about the future, of course. But living in the moment was enough to keep her more than busy. Her routine was simple: work and training during the day, Cal in the evenings. She trained hard, and learned to anticipate her dizzy spells and take a break before they took over. She was pretty sure they were getting less frequent, too. Everything was good.

  She was surprised to find herself actually looking forward to her women’s MMA class. All the students from the first day had come back for the second, and then again for the third. She skipped ahead past a lot of the technique she really should have been teaching them and suited them up in sparring gear as often as possible. They did everything at about one-third strength, but even so, the first time Mrs. Ryerson punched Mrs. Montgomery in the gut, Zara was braced for outrage.