A round of cheers broke out in my apartment.
“You go, girl,” Chantae called out, and the twins punched their fists into the air.
After a few hours of talking, several more pots of coffee, and more than a few tears, the women said their good-byes and filed out.
Sarina kissed me on the cheek as we stood in the doorway, and I hugged her tight.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“No, thank you.”
I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun tonight with your little guy.”
Part of me didn’t want her to go. I wanted to sit on my bed and ask her about my situation with Blane. Was it serious or casual? What did she think he wanted?
And more importantly, was I being a fool?
She reached out to squeeze my arm. “Hey, babe . . . whatever’s on your mind, put it to rest. And you know, if you don’t want to make the movies, don’t. That’s the whole point of this project, right? The power of choice. A feminist is someone who exercises that power.”
“You’re pretty smart, Ri. You should write the book.” I smiled and shooed her out the door.
Leaning against the door after I closed it behind her, I realized Sarina had hit me where it hurt. I was writing about choice. Except, these women had no other choice, but me? I guess I sort of did. I was working on my education and once I had it, would be qualified for something more than the adult-film industry. At least, I thought so.
Maybe I would quit the movie-making part, and would be no worse for the wear. And if I did, maybe I could call my dad and borrow some money?
I tossed the idea around in my head while I jumped in the shower and got ready for my date, or whatever it was. Buddy time? Buddy fuck? Maybe.
There were so many maybes, but that was also part of having choices. I could choose to have fun with Blane or not.
I decided to go with what was behind Door A.
Fun.
Catie
My apartment had never seen so much action when my doorbell rang for the second time in one day. This time, two-hundred-plus pounds of steel stood on the other side, and it wasn’t Superman.
But close.
“Hi.”
I answered the door while shoving my arms in my coat, and then stuck a deep purple beret on my head. I was in my usual outfit—leggings, cami, off-the-shoulder sweater, hoop earrings, and lined boots. Blane looked delectable in a long-sleeved black T-shirt, worn jeans, an open leather jacket, his ever-present sweatband, and Timberlands. He only affirmed my choice to have fun.
When would I ever have the chance to do this again?
Never.
I was hard up and he was desperate. This was my only chance.
“What’s happening down there?” Blane teased.
He winked at me, and I pretended to punch him in the gut. He feigned being hurt so he could bend over, and then he tossed me over his shoulder and spun me around.
“Put me down!” I shouted. “I’m heavy.”
“Just showing you what it’s like up here. And no, you’re not heavy.” He pinched my ass and set me down. “Ready?”
“Yep, let’s blow this joint.”
When he said, “I see you’re bringing your filthy mouth along tonight,” I giggled like a schoolgirl. Giggled!
“And I see you went all out with the sweatband tonight,” I teased him.
“Can’t take it off. No can do, lady.”
He shifted it up a notch on his head, and his eyes crinkled just a tad. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, better than the first porn we watched. Taking a deep breath, I calmed my hormones.
We left my apartment and Blane grabbed my hand. At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Southern Gentleman held the door open and tossed his arm around me when we stepped outside.
“Shit, it’s cold!” I exclaimed.
He squeezed my shoulder. “You may have to warm this boy up later.”
Rock music came to life as soon as he started up the pickup.
“Sorry, I was jamming on my way over, getting my confidence on.”
I smirked at him. “Oh, I’m so sure you needed that.”
We drove toward College Avenue, but didn’t turn.
“Where are we going?” I asked as butterflies the size of pterodactyls flew around inside my belly.
“Geno’s.”
“Really? For Italian? I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to try.” A warm feeling that couldn’t be more girlie or gooey ran through my veins.
“Me too. It sounds pretty damn good, and I’m in season, so I can eat.”
“You know my dad owns a small Italian restaurant in New Jersey. I told you, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and I thought this would remind you of home. I know you’re sort of a daddy’s girl.”
“Am not,” I protested with a smile.
White puffs of air formed from our breath, and I rubbed my hands to keep them warm.
“Should I turn the heat up? I had it down because the truck was cold.” Without waiting for my answer, he flicked a dial on the dash.
After a few beats of silence, I asked, “What did you do today?”
“Team meeting, light practice, watched tape, played Xbox. You know, all in a day’s work.”
“Ha! I bet.”
“And you?”
“Homework and research,” I mumbled.
“For your secret project?”
Blane was teasing me, but it only served as a reminder of how much jeopardy I was putting him in. I breathed a sigh of relief over my decision to stop filming. I crossed my right fingers near the passenger door, hoping this whole episode would pass without any detection. I could write my book as if I’d never starred in a porno.
“Yes, but you know, if I tell you, I may suddenly combust.”
“Really? We wouldn’t want that to happen.” A nearby streetlight illuminated the corner of his mouth turning up.
We finally pulled up at Geno’s. It was at the far end of town, past the agriculture school and at the bottom of a small hillside. Rumor had it that Geno grew a lot of his own vegetables and herbs right there behind the restaurant.
My dad had told me all about Geno; he was a bit of a legend. Food Network came here at least once a year, and Geno was frequently a judge on their cooking shows. A local, he’d graduated from Hafton’s ag school before he went to culinary school in Cleveland.
And then I remembered. Oh shit, this place is pricey.
“You sure you want to eat here?” I asked Blane as he reached to turn off the engine.
“Yeah, of course. Why not?”
“It’s pretty expensive.”
He gave me a pointed look. “I can afford it.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. Fuck!”
“I may be blue collar, but I have some money. And guess what? Soon I’ll be making a ton of it. Ball is life, and all that.”
“But I can’t go Dutch here,” I protested.
“I have class too, Cate. I wouldn’t bring you here to go Dutch. Come on, let’s go and forget this conversation ever happened.” He got out and ran around to open my door, and we quickly entered the warmth of Geno’s.
The smell of fresh garlic and tomatoes filled my senses as soon as we walked in.
“Smells amazing,” I said.
Blane leaned in and sniffed the top of my head. “I know.”
Good thing he had his hand at my lower back, because I almost tripped over my own feet at that comment.
We were seated at a corner table near the back window where sparkly lights twinkled over Geno’s garden, now bare for the winter. Tall torches ran around the perimeter of the garden, lighting up the hillside and sending smoke into the night air. A small pink votive cast shadows on our table next to a sectioned round dish with various dips.
Our server greeted us right away. “Welcome to Geno’s. I brought warm focaccia bread for dipping. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Blane raised an eyebrow at me, and I raised one b
ack at him as if to say, What?
“Can you bring us a bottle of your house red?” he asked our waitress.
“Sure thing. Get started on the bread and dips, and I’ll be right back.”
When she was out of earshot, I leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “I guess they don’t card athletes.”
“It’s one of the fringe benefits.” He grabbed a piece of bread and ripped it in two before handing half of it to me. “Ladies first, and don’t be one of those I don’t eat type dates.”
“If you insist.” I plunged my bread into the fagioli bean dip and savored my first bite. “Mmm, this is so good.”
Blane tried it too and moaned with appreciation.
Our wine came, and I toasted to the upcoming away game. Blane toasted to what he called my 007 project. Heartburn raced up my esophagus at the mere mention of it.
We sipped our wine and dipped our bread while I smiled more than I had in my entire life. A few times, I pinched my leg under the table to make sure this was actually happening and not a dream.
He shot me a smile. “I think we’re set to take the team on the road. We’ve been playing well, and the team is really gelling. Plus, Coach banned Sonny from the locker room, so my promise to win him a championship is all but forgotten.”
“I doubt he forgot,” I reminded Blane.
“Who cares? It was worth it to be able to get to know you—”
“Stop,” I said.
“What did I do?” His fingers had been caressing my forearm, but he quickly pulled them away.
“Saying stuff like that, that I’m worth this or that.”
“You know, for some sort of macho feminist, you really don’t advocate for yourself, Cate.”
His eyes darkened with emotion, and I started to laugh.
“Jesus, what now? Didn’t you just hear me?”
I couldn’t stop laughing when the server came back, interrupting our awkward moment. Blane ordered us a brick-oven pizza and antipasto salad to share.
“Seriously, Cate, why do you do that? Put yourself down and then laugh.” His hand settled again on top of mine.
“You said macho feminist. It was pretty funny.” I stifled another giggle.
“And the other part? Putting yourself down?”
A tropical storm of seriousness brewed in his eyes. Dark green swirled with deep gray, and flecks of blue sparked inside the funnel cloud.
“Because you’re you, and I’m me. I guess that’s why I always sneaked into sporting events and decided to be all pro-women to begin with—I never saw myself as the cool one. I was smart and cute and sweet, but not sexy or sultry. Like the women you’re probably used to spending time with.”
I stared at the votive slanting shadows on the tablecloth, and steadied my breath. I’d never confessed something like that before, come clean about my shortcomings and how they played into my decisions. Here I was laying it all out there for Blane Steele, the campus stud, all solid muscle and gorgeous hair. He was an icon at Hafton and soon to be iconic everywhere, and I was telling him all my woes.
He squeezed my hand and I looked up. I half expected him to get up and run, but he didn’t. He sat firmly in his seat and continued to stare me down.
“Cate, there are no women I’m used to being with. Yes, I would be intimate . . . or fuck,” he said, glancing around us before whispering the last part. “But it was always just a mutual getting off, definitely not the kind of thing where we’d spend time together. For the last few years, I’ve ate, slept, and breathed ball. I need money, need to make a living doing that shit.”
My thumb took a chance and rubbed against his.
“I’m a man.” He leaned in. “Yeah, I have needs, but I’m stumbling as much as you are with spending time with someone.”
I took a deep breath and licked my lips. “Okay.”
“Wow, so I’ve rendered Little Miss Big Mouth speechless.”
This time we were both laughing when the server arrived with our food.
Blane gestured that I should serve myself first.
“Looks incredible,” I said, scooping some salad full of beans and smoked meats onto my plate.
“I like any and all food. Not picky here,” Blane said as he pulled his elbows off the table. He might have grown up without much, as he liked to so frequently point out, but someone had obviously taught him table manners.
“Me too. Sadly. It makes my mom crazy,” I admitted. “But my dad would be gaga for this place. I have to call him tomorrow and tell him every detail.”
“And you’re liking all food makes me crazy in a good way. I’m having the most fun I ever had out to dinner.” Blane clinked his glass into mine. “Cheers again.”
I turned my head to the side in an effort to hide the blush creeping across my cheeks.
“Hey, look at me,” he said, and I turned back. “I meant it, this is fun. Don’t be bashful.”
“I’m not. It’s just I’ve really never been complimented like that.”
“Consider it just the beginning, short stack.”
“See? I knew you couldn’t go that long without insulting my vertical challenge.”
Blane plopped a hot pepper in his mouth, which he quickly regretted, and I burst out in more laughter.
After he chugged half of his water, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You could have warned me, Italian girl.”
“What fun would that have been?”
“I’ll show you.” He pressed his large palms into the table and leaned over to kiss me, swiping his tongue in my mouth.
He pulled away. “How’s that taste?”
“Incredibly hot, in a good way.” This time I didn’t even turn to hide my blush.
We kept eating, and by the time we’d finished the appetizers and wine, I couldn’t eat anything else. Blane ate the pizza by himself, and it felt so domestic while I sat with him and he ate. At one point, he pinched off a bite of his slice and fed it to me.
This was all so strange for me. I wasn’t playing on my home court, nowhere close.
The server was unobtrusive, the candle flickered prettily on the table, and the wine mellowed me. It was an idyllic evening. But with every second that passed, I grew more troubled.
I was stolen by the Stealer, and pretty sure I was unable to be rescued.
After dinner, Blane drove back toward campus. I was never more uncertain of what to do. I looked out the window as the familiar sights whizzed by, and didn’t want this night to end.
“Do you want to come back to my place? No pressure,” Blane asked. glancing at me.
“I think so.”
“Cool. I don’t want this night to end.”
Me either.
Blane
We parked outside my building and I had to adjust myself when I got out of the truck. I’d been in a perpetual state of arousal since I first picked Cate up. Her smell, her laugh, the way her tits bounced—all of it drove me wild.
But then she’d become secretive about her project, as if she didn’t trust me, or she’d make some ridiculous remark, getting all down on herself. It was like having the icy contents of a cooler tossed in my lap.
I knew I had to check my erection at the door because I didn’t know what she was down with . . . when we got back to my room. This was a definite first, but strangely erotic.
“Come on,” I said, and wrapped my arm around her on the way to the building.
We rushed through the outer door and I guided her to the staircase. When loud music filled our ears as we reached my floor, I stopped in my tracks.
“Shit,” I murmured. “Looks like my pad became party central while I was out.”
“That’s cool,” she said. “Do you still want me to come in?”
Christ.
I couldn’t help it, I backed her into the wall and leaned my large frame into hers, revealing just how much I wanted her to come in.
“It’s everyone else that I want to go,” I whispered into her ear, my breath lingering over her lobe
. I also couldn’t control leaning in and sucking on that lobe.
Cate’s back arched and her pelvis reached for mine.
Whoa.
We ground into each other while I tasted her, plundering her mouth. I knew I should stop. She seemed to be into it, asking for more with her body, but what if she second-guessed herself like last time? My cock could only take so many blows, not to mention my ego.
I pulled back as if I’d been punched in the gut. “Is this okay?”
There I went again with the considerate me. What the hell?
Apparently, I wore “gentleman” well, because she nodded.
“Say it, please,” I begged her. “I need to hear that you want my mouth on you, so I know you won’t worry there’s something wrong with what we’re doing.”
I leaned back a few inches, giving her room while she decided. A couple of seconds ticked by as she looked up at me, and I fought the urge to adjust myself again. My dick was at war with the zipper in my jeans, trying to fight its way out.
“Yes, I do. I want this.”
Cate kept her eyes on me, unashamed and full of desire, and I didn’t hesitate. I went back in for more of her luscious mouth and her firm tits pressing against my chest.
“Whoa, boy!” someone called out from down the hall. “Look who the cat dragged in . . . or should I say, the pussy?”
Reluctantly, I pulled away from Cate’s mouth. When I rested my forehead against hers, she mumbled, “Is that who I think it is?”
I nodded, and we both turned our heads to the side.
“Cute Catie!” Sonny bellowed in the hall, holding my apartment door open to let the hip-hop pour out of my place. “Are you ready to come back to me? Who knew that in a few short weeks, the audience would miss you.”
“Good to see you too, Sonny,” Cate said dryly.
“Guess you’re pretty fucking glad Mr. Boots here let your boyfriend out of his bargain so he could pursue you.” When I shook my head, he flicked his gaze to me. “Don’t be shaking your head, pretty boy. You owe me a championship and a replacement shock jock. This Johnny asshole is shit.”
He approached and flicked my sweatband at the end of his rant, and then turned his focus back to Cate. “So, what do you say, Catie?”
Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) Page 18