Wolf: A Sports Romance: The Nighthawk Series #2

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  I smile to myself.

  Her last earthly breath?

  “Okay, ladies, let’s hit the road. Tito is waiting outside in the car for us.”

  “But I drove my car, Coop.”

  “You drove your car to the bar to get drunk?”

  “Our designated driver had to leave early.”

  “I’ll figure out a way to get your car home. You’re leaving.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Monica says to me with glassy eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “No seriously … you’re adorable on TV in your uniform and everything, but up close in those jeans your ass is everything.”

  They both bust out in spirited laughter.

  I just shake my head.

  “Come on you two and don’t lag behind. I wouldn’t want you to trip and fall staring at my perfect ass.”

  “And he’s funny too? Wait until I tell Carla. You’re an Aquarius, right?”

  Tito and I agree that the best plan would be for him to drop Monica off at her house in Queens and for me to drive Owens home in her car to Brooklyn. I’ve never been in her car before, and I pray to God that I never will have to again. I practically have to fold my body in half to squeeze into the driver’s seat.

  “Why would you buy this tiny car?”

  “It’s a great car. Good on gas. Rearview camera.”

  “Look at me, Owens. If I pass out because of a lack of oxygen, it’s because of this great car.”

  “Well this is all I could afford on my salary.”

  “Are you trying to say that I only pay you enough to afford half a car?”

  She laughs loudly and rolls down the car window.

  “This car is the perfect size.”

  “For a hobbit.”

  “Take me home, Jeeves!” she yells wildly with a faux British accent.

  “What are you the queen mother now?”

  “Yesss!”

  Owens sticks her arm out of the window and holds it there as I zigzag our way through traffic. This is one thing that I’ve never really gotten used to about living in New York—the traffic.

  It’s like no one in this city ever goes the fuck home. There’re always cars on the road. That’s why I pay Tito to drive or else I’d probably have a panic attack. These are not normal driving conditions for any human being.

  “I guess I don’t pay you enough for you to live near the office either?”

  “I do live near the office. It’s near the bridge in Manhattan and I live on the other side of the bridge.”

  “In Brooklyn. Look at this traffic.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t work there anymore anyway.”

  “Even drunk you’re a smart-ass.”

  “Am I drunk?”

  The only good thing about Owens’s car is that it’s small enough to fit into practically any space. I easily park it in a small legal space in front of her building, and by the time I get out and come over to the other side of the car, I can see that she’s wilting. The long car ride probably did her in and lulled her halfway to sleep.

  “Upsy-daisy, Owens.” I lift her up. “Come on.”

  She wraps one of her soft arms around my waist and leans into the side of my body as I guide her up the steps of her apartment. Tito and I have been here enough times to know where she lives even though I’ve never been inside.

  “Third floor, right?”

  “Fifth,” she mumbles.

  “Oh right. Fifth floor, apartment 503.”

  Her apartment is in an old five floor, walk-up building. No elevator. It figures that she lives on the top floor. I tell her to hold onto me and help her slowly up the stairs, because she has on heels and can barely see straight.

  “You want to take off your shoes?”

  “I’m not walking barefoot on these nasty stairs!” she says in horror.

  Her eyes are half closed as she starts singing that song from the bar again.

  “Philadelphia freedom … I love ya. Shine the light.”

  “How do you know the words to that song? It’s pretty old.”

  “My mom was from Philadelphia. It’s where my parents met in college and fell in love. It was one of her favorite songs.”

  “Oh.”

  “My mom died a long time ago. I was really young. It’s one of the only things that I remember for sure about her without other people having to fill in the blanks.”

  Owens starts tearing up. I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful memory for her. The alcohol has her emotions are all over the place. I better get her to bed.

  “I’m sorry about your mom, Owens. I can tell that you miss her.”

  “She was an awesome lady. Did you know that she was in a Burger King commercial?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “She was an actress.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that.”

  “Of course, you didn’t, silly. You don’t know anything about me.”

  That jab hurts a little, because she’s wrong. She’s so wrong.

  “That’s not true, Owens. I know a lot about you.”

  “Not the important stuff. Did you know that I’m an actress too?”

  Her ankle suddenly turns.

  “Ouch!”

  “That’s it,” I say. Then I stand in front of her and crouch down. “Get on my back.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “You’re in heels, you just hurt your ankle, and we still have three floors to go.”

  “But I’ll be too heavy.”

  “I’m in prime physical condition, Owens. I could carry your tiny ass across the country if I had to.”

  “Just this once.”

  She hikes up her dress, sliding her body onto my back, and wrapping her arms around my neck. She smells like roses and rum and warm pussy. This is going to be a long fucking night.

  “So, finish what you were saying,” I tell her to keep my dick distracted. “You’re an actress.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m an actress. I was a theatre major in college.”

  “But you can’t sing.”

  “Fuck you!”

  I burst into laughter. I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve heard Owens use dirty words.

  “You are so drunk,” I say out loud.

  “This is drunk?”

  “This is definitely drunk.”

  “Then I like it.” She laughs.

  When we finally arrive, I help her inside of her apartment. An apartment that looks like a box of Crayola crayons threw up in. There’s color everywhere. Figurines, wall art, accent pillows, stuffed animals. It’s not what I expected, although to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that I ever really gave much thought to what her apartment looked like inside.

  “You want something eat?” she asks grinning widely as she kicks off her shoes. One of them goes flying into an oversized planter. I duck when she kicks off the other one.

  “I’m not hungry but maybe you should eat something to sop up some of that liquor.”

  “Am I drunk?”

  I laugh again.

  “Yes, darlin’, you’re definitely drunk.”

  I start opening kitchen cabinets to look for something I can cook, because I don’t see any bread, which is what she really needs.

  “Do you ever go food shopping? What the hell are you eating every day?”

  I turn for her answer and notice that she’s stuck. She’s sitting on the edge of her couch, trying to lift her tight dress up over her head and is stuck. It would be one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time if she was wearing a fucking bra and not wearing a white lace thong.

  “Dammit, Owens, would you stop flashing your tits all of the time.”

  I rush over to her and lift her dress completely off. Might as well since she was halfway there. Her head full of large black corkscrew curls are all over the place, her eyes are half closed, and there’s a huge goofy grin across her face.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to step out of it,”
I say taking a deep breath. Willing my dick to go down to its normal size.

  “I’m so hotttt!” she slurs.

  Yes, the fuck she is.

  “Hold this against your boobs please and go change. Why isn’t your air on anyway? It’s definitely hot in here.”

  I can’t avert my eyes from the jiggle her ass cheeks make as she walks toward her bedroom.

  “I’m never here,” she answers once inside the bedroom. “I can’t have that thing running all day.”

  “I think I pay you enough to cover the electric bill.”

  “It’s not about whether or not I have the money. It’s about common sense.”

  She walks back out into the living room wearing a Harry Potter pajama tank top and matching shorts. Now this is something I’d expect from her. Totally quirky. Totally Owens.

  “It’s about not taxing the resources of—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” I say cutting her off. “You talk entirely too much when you’re drunk.”

  She walks over in what I think is an attempt to hit me in the chest, but completely misses the mark. I thought the liquor was wearing off, but maybe not. I think she still sees two of me.

  I quickly catch her with one arm.

  “Oops.” She giggles.

  And then … the last fucking thing I need happens.

  Chapter Twenty

  She touches me.

  She touches me, and it sets every single nerve ending in my body on fire.

  “Even your muscles have muscles,” she coos as she rubs one of my forearms.

  “You like muscles?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  I’ve never considered the type of man that Owens would like, because I’ve never even heard her talk about dating. Now all of a sudden, I’m curious as fuck.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What else do you like?”

  “Hair!” she states emphatically.

  My eyes partially close as she strokes some of the strands of my loosely pulled man bun. I find myself hoping that I possess everything she likes.

  “What else,” I growl.

  I pick her up to sit her up on the kitchen counter away from me while I cook. I need her to stop touching me, but she wraps her arms around my neck as I lift her.

  “Protection,” she murmurs way too closely by my ear.

  My dick gets even harder. In a minute, I’m going to be in agony. Blue balls type of agony.

  “I can do that.”

  “You can do what?”

  I sit her down on the cool granite. Should I answer her again? What am I doing right now? She’s totally wasted. She won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow.

  “Ooh, that feels much better. Did I tell you that it’s hot in here?”

  “Uh, I’m in this apartment with you. I can tell it’s hot as hell in here too.” I laugh.

  “So whatcha going to cook?”

  “Pasta with olive oil, garlic and tomato sauce. It’s all you have in here.”

  “I have all of that?”

  “Yep, and if you had a pie crust in here, I could even make you a tomato pie. That’s my specialty.”

  “You can cook, Coop?”

  Back in Georgia, I used to cook all the time for the family when my mother had to work late or had a parent-teacher meeting. I’m actually a pretty good cook. Owens has worked for me all this time and didn’t know that?

  “I can cook, and this shit is going to taste like a gourmet meal.”

  “You’re a riot,” she says with some sort of indiscernible accent. I think she’s trying to imitate a 1940’s gangster.

  “What’s funny about me?”

  “You think you’re so good at everything.”

  “It’s a gift and a curse.”

  “You’re not good at everything though.”

  She starts swinging her legs back and forth like a big kid. Her heels thump against the cabinet doors. I’ve never seen her so relaxed. It’s a dick move, but this is probably the only opportunity I’m going to get to find out what she’s actually thinking. Why she’s leaving me.

  “What am I not good at, Owens?”

  “You don’t call your mother enough, you’re a bad communicator, and you have commitment issues.”

  I toss the ingredients into the only large skillet that seems to be in her cabinet.

  “I spoke to my mother just last night.”

  “You never stay with one woman for longer than six months.”

  “I’ve never met a woman that warranted sticking around any longer than that.”

  “I don’t think you’d know if you met her.”

  She leans her head against the spice cabinet.

  “I feel dizzy.”

  I turn off the pot.

  “Come here, Owens.”

  I reach out my arms and she falls against my body inside of my embrace. When my hair accidentally comes out of the top knot it was in, she begins to mindlessly run her hands through it while I carry her to her bedroom. I stop mid stride for a moment and close my eyes.

  What are you doing?” I demand to know between labored breaths.

  “Your hair is beautiful, Coop.”

  I start to wind one of her curls around my finger.

  “So is yours.”

  “Why are we stopping?” she asks.

  I lift her up, silently motioning her to wrap her legs around my waist. Then I lean her against the wall right outside of her bedroom. If I did this inside of that room, I might not want to stop. If I do this right here, it will just be one stolen moment.

  I move my lips in closer to hers. Staring at her doe-like, expressive eyes when I do. Making sure she’s totally awake and aware of what’s going on. The liquor has to be wearing off a little at this point is how I rationalize this very bad decision I’m making.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

  “Wanted to do what?” she whispers.

  “This.”

  I kiss her lips softly at first. Being careful not to be too excited about it. I don’t want to scare her to death. I pull back a bit then nibble at her lower lip. Coaxing her for a response. Maybe to even lead.

  And then she slides one of her hands into the back of my hair, gripping it at the roots, and deepening our kiss. I moan softly inside of her mouth as my tongue explores every inch of it.

  It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to take this further. Especially when her bed is two steps away. I slow things down and then finish the kiss. Both of us breathing heavily afterward. She’s staring at me with an intensity that seems almost foreign to her. Like she’s angry and horny. The shit is a total turn-on.

  “That kiss was nothing like I imagined,” she says with dead serious look on her face. Still in my arms.

  “You imagined us kissing?”

  She doesn’t answer that and lays her head on my shoulder. Her arms and legs still wrapped around me.

  “I’m sleepy, Coop.” She yawns.

  I walk us inside of her bedroom and find more color. Burnt orange walls, mismatched wooden bedroom furniture, and pictures of her family framed in assorted colored photo frames. It’s at this moment that I truly understand that I don’t know as much about Owens as I thought I did, and there is proof of that sad fact all over her house.

  She loves color. She’s not the neatest person in the world. She never cooks. She’s into astrology? There’s a large poster on her wall detailing the many attributes of a Gemini. She collects things. Art. Figurines. Buddhas. Dream catchers. Jewelry boxes. Pictures of wildlife. I’m drawn immediately to the large poster she has hanging of one lone wolf with haunting green eyes.

  I smile when I see that some of her collectibles are from places that we’ve traveled to together: Florida, California, London. Others are from places that she’s probably never traveled to but wants to visit: Bali, Australia, Alaska.

  It’s obvious that she loves her family. There are pictures of them all over the walls as well. A picture of her parents. She looks exactly like he
r mother. A newer picture of her dad with who I assume is his new wife. There’s another photo that includes a large group of people at what looks to be Owens’ college graduation. They all look so happy, especially her.

  Owens’s eyes are closed and her mouth wide open when I lay her gently down on the bed. There’s a quilt with a large dreamcatcher design on her bed. I don’t pull it over her legs, because it’s still pretty warm inside of her apartment. I turn on her ceiling fan, and hope that she doesn’t sweat to death before her window unit has a chance to cool the room down.

  An indescribable urge comes over me in the moment. She looks so peaceful. So beautiful. I bend down to gently stroke some strands of her hair.

  “Pleased to finally meet you, Ursula Owens,” I whisper softly in her ear. Then I place one chaste kiss on her forehead. “Don’t go anywhere just yet. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It’s been a long seven days. I’m still spending most of my time training Jane, hating Jane, and then crushing hard on her again. She’s a really sweet girl and it’s unfair that I’m taking some of my stuff out on her. It’s just that I’m seriously confused and conflicted since I drunk kissed my boss.

  Coop has been busy with football or stuff for the high school, so we’ve been like two ships passing in the night. It’s probably for the best though, because it makes it a lot easier to avoid him for the next few weeks that I have left here.

  If the kiss meant anything to him, he wouldn’t be radio silent like this. He would have brought it up or something. Wait, what am I saying? A kiss has never meant anything to him. I’m going to chalk the whole thing up to a drunken mistake. I’m allowed to make at least one of those in a lifetime.

  I haven’t taken a day off of work since Carla’s last miscarriage. That was over a year and a half ago. I suppose it would be safe to say that I have used work these past years to fill my life with meaning when I should have been trying to find joy in other places. So that’s what I’m going to do over these next two weeks. Focus on me.

  Today’s theme is total relaxation. Something I’ve always believed isn’t in my DNA, but that I’m going to try today. First up is a forty-five-minute Swedish massage by a gorgeous Greek masseuse named Nikos. Too bad he’s gay. Twenty minutes in and I think my Greek god wants to strangle me. I had no idea that I was this ticklish. Massages are not for me.