Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Besides, it wasn’t like Coach Conley didn’t know what went on. He’d been a college player himself before he blew his knee out and ended up coaching rather than playing in the big leagues.

  I was downing my Jack and Diet Coke when Mo sat his ass down next to me.

  “I’m gonna tell the team next week,” he said in a low voice. “She’s keeping the baby, and there’s no way I wouldn’t cop to being a dad. I’ll do what’s right. But I’m all-in, in case you were worried.”

  Setting my tumbler down, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Not worried, dude. You’re a good man; you’ll do right by the team and your lady. By the way, who is it?”

  He looked away, mumbling, “That’s the tricky part.”

  “Maurice?” I growled his full name, sensing that what was about to come next wasn’t going to sit well with me.

  He ran a hand over his short Afro and let out a sigh. “D-man’s sister.”

  “Shit,” I said on a long exhale. “He’s going to whip your ass.”

  “I know. I’m ready for it.”

  “His mom is not gonna play. She’s a tough Puerto Rican, no joke. The last time she came to visit, she nearly beat him over his room being a mess. Now you knocked up her baby girl. What is she, a sophomore?”

  Mo nodded. “I think we’re gonna move in together. If I don’t put a ring or some shit on her finger, their dad is gonna go ape-shit.”

  “No way I want a front-row seat to your sit-down with D. I think I’ll leave my apartment for that.”

  He lowered his head, and I noticed sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Listen, man, you’re doing what’s right,” I said. “But you’ve got to make a real go of it. My dad knocked my mom up and married her, but couldn’t give up the side pussy. Now he’s alone and driving a rig over half the year. Don’t let that be you.”

  Mo nodded. “Thanks, man.” He stood and crossed back to the bar.

  Fuck it, I thought, and followed him.

  After another drink, we headed out to the festival. Originally, I didn’t want to go because I knew she’d be there. Cate. She’d blown me off big-time, and I wasn’t accustomed to being brushed off. But fuck that too, because after chatting with Mo, I had a new plan, and the music fest was the perfect place to make it happen.

  We hustled over to the food trucks first before winding our way into the crowd. Ashton disappeared to see Ava, and I got caught chatting up every Tom, Dick, and Jeanette. I’d worn my sweatband for the outing, ready for the season to roll, but it had been a mistake. Everyone wanted to see me, not that I could have hidden at six foot four.

  When I finally got away from everyone, I caught a quick glimpse of Ash and decided it was the best time to do what I needed to do.

  And I did.

  Then I went back and enjoyed the party. Cate’s voice echoed off the buildings lining College Avenue, and my brain was not the only organ to perk up. Kill me now, but my dick liked the sound of her voice, the throatiness of her laugh, and the ballsy way she spoke. I smiled to myself, happy as fuck to see her stop bowing down to Sonny.

  When she was through talking, I went to find her. Sonny let me back behind the table with a wink—I’d already fixed that shit moments earlier—and I was standing right behind my little vixen wrapped in red lace.

  I mumbled into her ear, inhaling her citrus scent, and had to refrain from licking her neck. We chatted until our conversation was rudely interrupted by that jerk wanting his freebie CD.

  I wanted to yell, “Get the fuck away,” but thought better of it. I would be the one walking her home, and that was all that mattered. My game plan was in motion, and if there was one thing about me—I always knew where the X’s and O’s were supposed to be.

  When the music finally died down for the night, I stood waiting to the left of the radio station’s area. Leaning against a tree, I called out, “Cate, hurry.”

  She flashed me an evil look. No, she wasn’t to be messed with when it came to work. The thought niggled in my brain, making me squirm a bit, but I pushed it back.

  My silence and patience only lasted another five minutes, and then I sneaked up on my prey again.

  “Let’s go,” I said in her ear. She jumped at least a foot, her head colliding with my chin.

  “Shit, you scared me!”

  Laughing, I grabbed her by the waist and tossed Miss Feminism over my shoulder caveman-style and walked her straight out of the booth.

  “Put me down,” she yelled, smacking my back. “What about my funnel cake?”

  “They shut down, so I owe you one. And I’m not putting you down until we’re far enough away that I know you won’t go running back to work.”

  “Blane, I’m heavy. Put me down.” Her voice cracked on the heavy part, and I did as she asked.

  I grabbed her hand and stilled her movement, forcing her to face me. “You’re not heavy.”

  Her dark gaze skittered over our surroundings in the moonlight as she tried to find something to look at other than me. “I am, seriously. And friends don’t carry friends.”

  “This again.”

  She started to protest, and I only knew one way to shut her up. I glanced around us, taking in where we were—near the quad, halfway between town and the dorms—and dragged Cate to a nearby cluster of trees.

  “Cate—”

  “Catie,” she corrected me.

  “Cate, listen, we’re friends but with potential for so much more. Stop bulldozing me. You’re a closet sports watcher, and I’m a closet feminist.”

  This made her giggle.

  “And stop with this heavy business. You’re a woman, as far as I can tell, and women have tits and ass. Many men like that, including myself.” Silently, I added, But I only realized that a few weeks ago when your curvy ass walked into the studio.

  Her eyes got round, and the sight of her pulse fluttering in her neck made me want to sink my teeth in and leave a mark.

  “You can’t say stuff like that.”

  “I can and I will,” I protested. Or maybe I argued or demanded; I wasn’t sure.

  “No. I’m not that kind of woman.”

  I gently pushed her back against the tree and leaned my body into hers. “Caterina, you can be all woman, have wants for yourself, and still have the desire to be desired. I don’t think the two have to be mutually exclusive.”

  I had no clue where this shit was coming from. All of a sudden, I was spewing philosophy and women’s rights dogma as if I knew what the hell I was talking about.

  I’d spoken to my cousin Gigi the day before, and she’d made me realize my man-whore rep was worse than I suspected. Then she let me know women are prickly creatures. They want to categorize everything.

  “Your girl wants to have a big career in helping women realize their potential, and she’s all liberated with the swearing. But she’s still a girl, and she may not know it, but she wants to be wanted,” Gigi had insisted, and some of it must have sunk in.

  I pressed my body against Cate, showing her how much she was desired, and a small gasp escaped her lips. I took it as an invitation and kissed her.

  When my mouth met hers, there was no stopping myself. I bit down gently on her lower lip to demand entry, and when she parted her lips, my tongue played with hers and my pelvis pressed a bit harder. I was leaning over her petite frame, so I lifted her onto my feet so she could reach me better, and bent to meet her halfway.

  “Blane, Blane,” broke through my haze.

  I stopped immediately, running my palm over her cheek before sliding my fingers into her hair.

  “Sorry.” I let out a deep breath. “I had to do that, but I’m stopping.”

  “I don’t think we should do that,” she said, the words seeming hesitant.

  “I dig you, so why not? I’ve never liked anyone like this before. I get why you don’t want to take me seriously, but I mean it. I like you. You’re funny, sassy, smart, and sexy as hell. I want to kiss you again.”

  “We can’t. S
onny.”

  All this time, we’d been in each other’s arms. Now I pulled away to settle my palms on her shoulders and stared her down.

  “Christ, if I never hear that asshole’s name again, it won’t be too soon. I’m sick and tired of him. Every time I’m with you, it’s all about Sonny.”

  “I’m just stating the facts.” She looked up at me, her eyes a little glassy, reminding me of Gigi when her high school boyfriend ditched her for someone else at the prom.

  “I took care of Sebastian. He’s going to treat you right, and he’s not going to breathe a word about us. I know how to handle him . . . with tickets and girls.”

  Cate broke free. “You what?”

  Shit.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said, backpedaling. “I just took back my life.”

  Cate glared at me. “Did you really go and talk to Sonny about my internship?”

  “I may have mentioned it, but so what? I was protecting you.”

  “Protecting me?” she shrieked. “Because I’m helpless? Because I’m poor, tiny, fragile-yet-round Caterina?” Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “I don’t need your protection, Blane Steele. Stay the hell away from me, you hear me?”

  She turned and ran into the night. For the second time, I stood there gaping, jilted and helpless because of a five-foot-tall stick of dynamite.

  Catie

  Two weeks had passed since I’d run away from Blane for the second time. The very next day, I’d marched right into the music fest and accosted poor Sonny at the DJ table.

  “Blane can go fuck himself, you hear me? Whatever he told you, it doesn’t matter. I’m my own woman. You hear me?” I’d kept repeating, “You hear me?” until Sonny finally responded.

  His blond head had whipped around faster than if the Playboy bunnies had shown up on College Avenue. The stupid guy had been practically salivating.

  “Babe, your fire keeps getting better. We’re putting you in charge of the mic for thirty minutes tonight. Hell, yeah!”

  “Cut it with the babe shit,” I’d spat back, and then calmed down. “And what’s with the change of heart? Last week, you were super pissed when my heat came out over the air, and now you like it. It’s because you’re listening to Steele.”

  “No way in hell, babe, huh-uh. You started out all meek and shit to me, let me boss you around. What the fuck? I was confused because I thought you were all ‘hear me, I am woman,’ and now you’re showing me that spunky side. Me likey.”

  Of course, he’d butchered the expression I am woman, hear me roar while throwing up his air quotes.

  But I did get the mic that night for thirty minutes, and I even got to introduce Cool Ray. So there was that. But as I did, I’d wondered if Blane was out in the crowd.

  The entire night, I went back and forth between thinking of him and chastising myself for taking Clara’s advice to be more demure in my job. I had no idea why I listened to her; she’d made a career of husband hunting while working the Chanel makeup counter at Neiman Marcus. In the end, she spent more time chatting with married men buying perfume for their wives . . . or their secretaries.

  Now it had actually been fourteen whole days since that night with Blane at the music fest. I wished I could say the Stealer was out of my system, but no such luck. The memory of our short kiss haunted me during the day and drove me crazy in my dreams. It was my choice to flee—I’d accepted that fact—until yesterday, when Sonny offered up the gig for me to DJ on Halloween.

  “Really?” I’d exclaimed.

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “Seriously, Sonny, no more babes. You sure this isn’t about Steele and his talking with you?”

  I had to ask; I wasn’t about to let a guy fix things for me. Nope, that was how my mom operated, which is where Clara got the whole meet-a-rich-fucker idea. My dad wasn’t enough for my mom. She thought she was worthy of more, so she left him when we were little and began flaunting her Cuban ass all around town.

  Sonny interrupted my thoughts. “Not in the way you think, but those dudes got a rager going on in their building. A pre-season Halloween bash, and I’m not missing it.”

  On Halloween, I made my way to the studio wearing ratty, worn-in jeans, a black sweatshirt thrown over an orange lace camisole (not that anyone would see it), and Snoopy Halloween socks tucked into my Chucks.

  Blane had called me sassy and sexy. I almost laughed at the memory. All it took was one look at my ridiculous Halloween getup, and you’d know I was neither sexy nor sassy.

  My mind wandered continuously to Blane and what he might or might not be doing. Was he drinking? Was he by himself or did he have a date? Would he listen to me on the air?

  Oh. My. God. I was turning into my sisters. My mom would be so proud.

  I walked through the studio doors and gave a quick wave to the security guard before I made my way to the booth.

  Music had been on autoplay for the last two hours. Sonny had prepped some playlists, but eight o’clock was coming quickly, and it was my time to take over. I’d be on from eight to midnight. Usually, it was Sonny’s Saturday Hookup, but tonight it was Saturday Showdown with Catie. I decided to ask for callers having relationship problems, figuring it would provide for some kind of showdown.

  Clearly, I was winging it, seeing as I had zero relationship advice.

  I flicked on the light and sat in Sonny’s swivel chair. It was so warm back in the booth, I shrugged off my sweatshirt, leaving me in the Halloween spirit in my camisole.

  When the last song wound down, I flicked on the mic. “Hey, Hafton, Catie P. here. Remember me? I’m taking over for Sonny tonight. He had something better to do than entertain all of you. Lucky me, I get to trick-or-treat all night on the air with you. In fact, if you call in tonight, you’ll be entered to win a treat. The bakery is giving away a dozen doughnuts to a few lucky callers.”

  I hit PLAY on the sound-effects board and the soft hum of a bubbly cauldron joined my voice.

  “Right now I’ve got something from the graveyard, the ‘Monster Mash.’ Who remembers that one? I’ll be back in a few with some more spooky tunes, but here’s the deal, Hafton. If you and your significant other are having a Halloween tiff, call in. We’ll see if we can get to the bottom of it on this special episode of Showdown with Catie.”

  I inhaled deeply while the “Monster Mash” played and grabbed my water bottle out of my bag. Four whole hours alone in the booth. I should have been ecstatic, but instead, I was sullen. I rubbed my hand along my temple, tucking my hair behind my ear as I adjusted my headphones.

  “Get it the fuck together,” I muttered to myself, and hit the ON AIR button.

  “Who has big Halloween plans tonight? Partying? Trick-or-treating? Or staying in for a romantic night for two? I doubt the last. Well, I’m here for you, playing Halloween hits, taking calls, and giving out doughnuts. One more tune to really get us in the mood.” I flicked PLAY as I switched the mic off, and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” flooded the airwaves.

  The lights on the phone flickered, and I blinked my eyes in disbelief. People were actually calling my show.

  I took another swig of water and swished it in my mouth before swallowing, then closed my eyes and took a series of deep breaths.

  Vincent Price began his monologue at the end of the classic scary song, cueing me that it was nearly over. I shot a hard glance at the DISCONNECT button, making sure I knew where it was as there was no one at the station to preview callers. If someone got inappropriate, all I had to do was click it.

  “Hey, Catie P. here tonight. Who’s this?”

  “Hi, Catie. My name’s Michelle.”

  “Hi, Michelle, how are you doing this Halloween? Are you dressed up?”

  A little sniffle came over the line. “Yes, I’m a cowgirl, a sexy one.” Her voice was hoarse and hesitant. “I was supposed to go to the Halloween Hoedown, but my date didn’t show.”

  “You know what, Michelle? I bet you make one heck of a cowgirl, sexy
or not, and you should go hit up a different party. Callers? Who’s listening that has a wicked party going on? Give me a ring at the studio, and I’ll connect you with Michelle.”

  She giggled. “That’s so cute, Catie. You think?”

  “I know! Hold on the line while I take the next call, and I’ll be back to get your e-mail address so I can send you party details.”

  With that, I clicked HOLD and picked up another call. Loud music pumped over the line in the background.

  “Catie?” a guy screamed over the music.

  “Yeah?” Somewhat nervous, I hovered my finger over DISCONNECT.

  “Sonny here. Don’t ruin my show, babe, while I’m busy knocking freaky boots.”

  This time I laughed. “Well, if it isn’t our fearless leader on the line. Are you having relationship problems, Sonny?” I figured while the cat’s away, the mouse would play, and I was going to get out all my zingers.

  “Hey, turn that down for a sec,” Sonny hollered over the line. “You need a Twitter name, Catie girl! We wanted to tweet you from this party, but we couldn’t. Tell the audience that Monday we’re starting a contest for the most creative Twitter handle for you!”

  Before I could respond, he was gone.

  “Oh boy! Looks like I have to get on Twitter, Haftees. While I think about that and chat with Michelle, here’s another Halloween hit for you, ‘Werewolves of London.’” I gave a wolf howl into the mic and said, “Call me!” I was turning into a regular tease or flirt, or whatever the name was these days.

  Letting my breath go, I went to Michelle and wished her well. After I got her e-mail address, I flicked through a few calls. One was a potential party for my girl, and I dashed off an e-mail to her.

  The call lights continued to blink, and as the song finished, I picked up another random call.

  “Catie, who apparently needs a Twitter name here. Happy Halloweeen,” I said, laying it on thick. This was my chance, and I needed to grab it.