Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  At the bottom, I looked left and then right, wondering which way led out toward the subway. I chose right, winding my way through the desolate concrete jungle until I hit a dead end. Realizing I should have chosen left, I turned back the way I came.

  “Catie?”

  Someone called my name from behind me, but I ignored it. I knew the voice.

  “Catie, stop!”

  I picked up the pace, forcing my legs to work overtime.

  “I’m faster than you,” Alex called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. And he was.

  He caught me, his arm coming around my body, stilling me.

  “If it isn’t the big bad wolf,” I sputtered into his face.

  “What are you doing here, Goldilocks?”

  “None of your business.”

  His eyes narrowed, boring down into me, searching my soul, and I gave in.

  “I wanted to see you win, all right? All of you, Alex.”

  “Why didn’t you let him know you were coming?”

  There was no point in pretending I didn’t know who him was.

  “He doesn’t need to know I was here,” I said, bringing my hand to my hip.

  “He’s not mad about what you did. When word got out you were defending your stance against some professor, he was happy. Proud or some shit. It’s nothing like how you’re making it out to be.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” It was a whisper, my lips lying for my heart’s benefit.

  “It does. He was hurt you did that . . . with other dudes. His pride hurt. But seriously, you should go see him.” Alex’s eyes pleaded with me.

  I shook my head. “I have to go. Congrats, Alex.” I pulled away and took off toward the exit, and he let me.

  I took the train straight back to Jersey, hugged and kissed my dad, and then called a cab to the airport. I didn’t bother with my mom and sisters. They’d become close to slaying me to the media themselves. In fact, my dad had to threaten them with taking them out of his will if they didn’t cut that shit out. Seriously.

  It was time for me to make a fresh start, someplace where I was wanted. Professionally, anyway.

  I was pretty sure I’d burned my one chance at being wanted personally.

  Catie

  Early July

  I walked reluctantly through the revolving door into Florida’s muggy, oppressive heat. Knowing the humidity would instantly curl my hair, I stopped outside the exit to fasten my unruly curls on top of my head in a messy bun. My T-shirt was stuck to my stomach and I lifted it, fanning it for a moment.

  When I’d left Hafton right after the winter term, I welcomed the change in climate. April and May were much better in sunny Florida than rainy Ohio, although July was turning out to be a challenge, what with the heat and humidity.

  I was thrilled when the University of Central Florida welcomed me into their women’s studies program. There I’d finish my degree with my major in women’s studies and a minor in mass communications. I’d even qualified for on-campus housing, which was good because my dad could only afford so much. The tuition was more expensive in Florida, but I’d earned a sizable student-aid package complete with a paid internship at the student TV station.

  I was going to be on television!

  “We love your fresh, no-holds-barred approach and sassy demeanor,” the dean of the communications department had told me.

  Take that, Sonny. Speaking of Sonny, I’d laughed when I learned he was tossed out of Hafton for inappropriate behavior, three credits shy of a diploma. I hoped to hell he was stuck in some Midwest bullshit radio station fetching coffee for the talent.

  When I’d first told my sister Grace I got the TV gig, she practically slammed down the phone in a fit of jealousy. Or maybe she was just in a hurry to sell my story to the media, but who cared? Thanks to my dad, she was leaving me alone.

  This summer term, I was busy doing research for the student news program, but I’d been promised my own segment in the fall—a segment dedicated to young women’s issues. Apparently, I was free to explore whatever I wanted as long as I backed up my statements with data and research.

  They knew I could do that based on my self-published book, which had been solid in the Top Ten on Amazon for the last month. It was a tell-all, not well-edited, but according to reviews, I “laid it all bare” and “put it all on the table why some women’s best choice is pornography.”

  The best news about my transfer was my schedule. I was one hundred percent busy with my classes, the internship, and working part-time at a coffee shop. I stayed away from sports television and anything that might have to do with Blane. He was too nice for me. All I’d done was taint him, and he needed to make a go of ball.

  The draft had been last week, and I’d avoided coverage of it like the plague. I knew he went as one of the top picks—to New York—and I wished him success. He would be one of many other Hafton guys who played or coached there.

  Maybe come fall, I’ll try to watch?

  With my hair securely tied up and my backpack firmly on my shoulders, I drudged through the thick air toward the main drag of campus to catch the bus. It wasn’t a huge campus, but it wasn’t right in town like Hafton, so they provided buses to the small community outside the university gates.

  As I took a shortcut through the visitor parking lot, small rivulets of sweat worked their way down my back under my T-shirt. Tanks weren’t possible with the tattoo. I didn’t dare flaunt his nickname out in the open, yet I couldn’t bear to think about removing it. I’d heard it’s painful, so I blamed the pain. Sue me.

  I snatched my water bottle from the side of my bag and took a chug before pressing on, not wanting to be late for my shift at the coffee shop. There was a commotion to my left, which I ignored because I didn’t want to be late.

  “Hey, you,” someone called from that direction. “Hey, girlie in the gray T-shirt!”

  Did he mean me? Half of the coed population wore gray.

  Some guy, shirtless and wearing athletic shorts, ran over to me and poked me on the shoulder. “Hey, didn’t you hear me yelling?”

  I stopped and let out a huff. “What?”

  “Aren’t you the girl we saw on the news a while back?”

  “Yeah. Freak show’s over, buddy.” I turned away and started to walk again.

  “No, it’s not that, but wow.” Looking a little uncomfortable, he said, “Um, we need you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “I know; everyone says that.”

  I’d become a little jaded, hardened to the propositions that came with the fame and notoriety. Not all of it was as good as my new placement.

  “Seriously, I’m not trying to harass you.” He jerked his head toward the left. “That dude over there says he’s here for you.”

  I squinted toward where he gestured, noticing there was a sizable crowd.

  “He said he would take some pictures and sign shit if I came over and grabbed you. I didn’t even know who you were when he said it.”

  I didn’t respond; I couldn’t. It was like I’d been turned to stone, and even my chest was frozen, unable to draw the smallest of breaths. My feet planted to the asphalt, as if glued there. With my heart pounding so hard I could hear it whoosh in my ears, I simply stared.

  There was a man at the center of the commotion, surrounded by students trying to get his attention. He was very tall with wild blond hair, leaning against what appeared to be a black pickup truck. A really big, shiny one.

  “Are you coming?” The shirtless guy poked me again.

  I shook my head. “I need a second.”

  “Are you okay? You know who he is, right?”

  This time I nodded, still staring.

  “I don’t think you should make him wait.”

  “I just need a few moments,” I muttered, and my voice came out croaky.

  Blane Steele was standing in the parking lot of the school I now attended.

  Blane

  Cate stood there staring at me, the sight of he
r a tasty snack for my starving heart. She looked like she’d filled out a bit again in her gray T-shirt and jean shorts, dark green Chucks on her feet, and her hair piled in a messy bun on her head.

  She didn’t move and neither did I. Actually, I couldn’t because I’d promised a few photos and autographs.

  I glanced at the students swarming around me. “Hey, I know y’all want to hang, but I have to go see that girl over there. How ’bout a big group shot? If you e-mail me your addresses, I can send y’all something autographed. It’s Blaneassistant at Gmail, okay? Now, let’s pose.”

  I had to wince a little at the sound of myself. My Southern accent was heavy, even after only being back home for two days.

  We posed and they took a million selfies, holding me back from the one person I wanted to be with, but I had to play nice. Especially down in Florida. Now.

  “I’m going to send y’all something awesome,” I said over my shoulder as I made my way toward her.

  She stood stock-still, not moving, not making a sound. I stopped when I got close, not touching like I wanted to, but close enough so no one else could hear me.

  When I breathed out her name, she said, “What are you doing here, Steele?” She tilted her head back to look up at me, ready to throw down—as usual.

  “I came to get my girl back.”

  “Stop. Just stop,” she said, turning to walk away.

  Gently, I grabbed her wrist and turned her back toward me. “I’m always saying don’t do that to you, but this is the last time I’m saying that shit because I’m here for you. And I’m not letting you go.”

  “Blane . . .”

  “Cate, see this?” I pulled up my shirt and exposed the tattoo of her name.

  “Put that down,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re making a scene.”

  “Afraid that’s sort of par for the course these days, but you need to listen to me.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see smartphones lifted in the air, pointed our way. Yep, we were making Internet fodder as we spoke.

  “I have to get to work, Blane.”

  That was her excuse?

  “I can drive you and we can talk along the way. We can get out of the public eye.”

  I really wanted to suggest she quit the damn job—she wouldn’t need it now. But I could see her feminist tendencies swirling around, ready to lash out and beat the ever-loving shit out of me.

  “I swear, just a car ride and a chat.” I put my hand up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Okay, only because I can’t deal with this.” She gestured toward the crowd that lingered. “With everyone watching us.”

  She was going to have to get used to it, but it wasn’t time to tell her that.

  “They’re snapping pics, and there’s going to be more of that when we get in the car. I’m warning you, keep your head down.” I threw my arm around her, tucking her close against me as I walked her toward the truck.

  “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “The novelty passes.”

  “I don’t know about that, Steele.”

  “Hey, guys. Can you step aside? I got to drive my lady to work,” I called out when we neared the parking space.

  They were probably all tweeting and snapchatting my vehicle, complete with the license plate. I’d have to text my assistant and get a new one.

  “We didn’t know your girl went here, Steele,” someone from the crowd called out.

  I opened the door and shoved Cate in. I knew what was coming next, and I didn’t want to show my true feelings in front of these pricks.

  And one, two, three . . . there it was.

  “Is that why you wanted to be traded?”

  Yep.

  I hustled over to the driver’s side and said, “See you all at a game hopefully,” and jumped in the cab.

  “What are you doing here?” Cate’s gaze roamed my profile as I turned the key.

  I ignored her question. “Where were you going?”

  “Corner of Fifty-First and Pelican. There’s a small place called Steamers.”

  “Oysters?” I asked, raising my eyebrow and throwing the truck in drive.

  “Coffee. Now answer me.”

  “I’m here for you.”

  “Blane, I’m making a new life here, getting a degree. I’m going to be on TV, something I never thought I’d do. You’re going to be in New York, and you can have anyone you want. I don’t want to be some story or shit from your past.”

  I pressed the gas pedal and pushed forward when all I wanted to do was brake hard and shake her.

  “I got traded and I’m here. With the Magic. Not because I want you to be some goofy story of my past, but because I need to be near you while you conquer the world.”

  “Stop the car!” she shrieked.

  “Why? I’m not letting you run,” I said evenly, despite feeling anything but calm.

  She tried to grab the wheel. Seriously, her short arm came across the center console, grabbing for it.

  Fucking Cate. I forgot how pig-headed she could be. Although I wasn’t sure how—we’d just spent the last five months separated because of her stubbornness.

  I veered over and pulled up to the curb as campus buses and cars whizzed by, honking at my abrupt maneuver.

  “What do you mean? You were traded?” She turned to face me, her brown eyes dark with fury, her mouth tight and her arms crossed over her chest.

  I ran my hand over her shoulder, sliding her shirt to the side to expose the tattoo on her shoulder. “I’m here for you. See that, the Stealer? You’re mine; that even says so.” I traced the outline of my nickname, causing her skin to prickle with goose bumps under my touch.

  “You can’t do that,” she said, shaking her head. “Move here.”

  “Don’t you care about me anymore?”

  “This isn’t about whether I care for you or not.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s about, Cate. So, you don’t?”

  “No. Yes.” She shook her head again, frustrated. “Yes, I’ll always care for you, but this can’t be. We were friends. Had a few moments, but—”

  “Cate, you’re right.” I grabbed her hand and held it tight in mine. “We were friends, and then more than friends. For more than a minute, if I remember correctly. And then we were nothing.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “But what about what I did, what I’m doing?” she whispered, and dropped her gaze to the console.

  I had to tread carefully. Somewhere along the line, she’d slipped into a protector role when it came to me. She was guarding my heart, but this was a team sport and we needed to share it.

  In my mind, I conjured up the X’s and O’s of what I wanted to say and how to say it in a carefully constructed way so she didn’t open the door and run into oncoming traffic.

  “I didn’t like what you did. Not because I thought there was anything wrong with it. Yeah, at first I was pissed and then jealous and then mad. But then I had to hear from someone else why you were doing it.”

  “What?” She lifted her head as I squeezed her hand, making her dark curls fall over her furrowed brow, framing her face.

  “Your friend Sarina came to talk with me.”

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “She did. She also knew you’d be mad when you found out, but she explained how you two met and what you were doing for her and the others.”

  “Did she say how easily I’d been lured into making one?”

  I dared to run my free fingers through the loose tips of her hair, and she didn’t pushed me away.

  Breathing a small sigh of relief, I said, “Cate, honey, she explained how tormented you were over making them, but the money was what you needed. You were also smart enough to know you’d have to speak with some experience to give you authority when you wrote your book. She adores you, you know.”

  Cate nodded.

  “Sarina knew you wouldn’t explain this all to me yourself, so
she told me.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she murmured and absently ran her thumb along the inside of my palm. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, and I wasn’t going to clue her in.

  “I would have come to you sooner, but you needed time to finish what you were doing—”

  “And you had to win a championship. Oh my God, this whole time, I never said congratulations.” A smile lit up her face, transforming it.

  “I know you were there.”

  “Alex?”

  “Bingo.”

  Now came the part where I had to be ultra-smooth for my plan to work.

  “Cate, I came to love you as a friend.”

  Her smile flitted away, leaving a gutted expression.

  “And as more.”

  She swallowed as she took in my words. “As more?”

  I nodded and ran my finger under her chin, urging her closer over the center console. “As more,” I whispered, and then kissed her.

  It was a closed-mouth kiss, slow and sensual, and on the side of the road in Bumfuck, Florida. My only worry was that she wouldn’t kiss me back.

  But she did.

  “I really missed you,” she murmured into my mouth.

  “I’m here now,” I mumbled back. “Well, not here exactly, but nearby. We can discuss details later.”

  Then I pulled her tighter for a deeper kiss. I nipped at her lower lip, and she opened for my tongue. Her breath came faster, and her soft moan zinged all the way to my cock.

  Suddenly she pulled back. “Shit,” she said, pulling out her phone to check the time. “I’m late for work.”

  “Can you take the night off? We still have more to discuss, like if you can live with me.”

  “Blane, stop. Don’t push. I have to go to my job and figure this all out. You can’t swoop in and rescue me like I’m some damsel in distress.”

  Our hands were still connected, and I ran my finger along her palm, tickling her.

  “I have cheesecake,” I said, and that got me a big smile.

  “Maybe. Let me see.”

  Catie

  I wanted to go all robo-feminist, but the bottom line was that I was already forty-five minutes late for my shift. And Blane had cheesecake. I wondered if it would be rude of me to ask what flavor, but then again, I didn’t really care.