Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Pun intended.

  Mark was rambling on and on about a certain pass of mine to a teammate for a dunk, and how many times I’d gone to the line. I kept nodding and smiling. I hadn’t loved the media after what they had done to Cate and me in college, which was ironic considering she was part of the media now. At some point, I’d have to make my peace with the mic.

  My girl had just graduated early and scored a gig on cable TV. HBO—no shit—had hired her to do a series on women. It would mean travel for her and me, which would require extra planning on both our parts.

  Mostly, I had to get back to Orlando right now. I needed to do something and fast.

  I wrapped up the interview, hit the shower, dressed in my suit, and tried not fidget through the press conference. Then I rushed to the plane.

  With the time change and the long flight, it was morning by the time we touched down in Orlando, and I knew Cate would be drinking her coffee and waiting for my text. She couldn’t travel to the game for a good reason, but I had to hurry up with my current plan. When the team landed at the airport, we were swept up in Lincoln Navigator limousines and shuttled to the arena where our personal cars waited.

  I fiddled with my pocket the whole ride, my knee bouncing and my head pounding. I hoped I’d make it in time.

  A sea of people waited in a cordoned-off area as the Navigators pulled around back of the arena. I wasn’t in the mood, but I waved to the fans through the window and smiled. There were posters and streamers, and confetti flew through the air, some landing on the windshield of the limo. When we hit the end of the route and the driver threw the limo in PARK, I jumped out and booked it to my truck.

  With no time to waste, I peeled out of the lot and off to my destination. The guys knew what I was up to . . . I’d see them at the celebration parade. Hopefully.

  Rounding the golf course toward to our house, I turned into the driveway, passed the garage, and drove down a newer gravel path. I stopped in front of a barn. We called it our castle mostly because of the cylinder-shaped chimney, and the lagoon that wrapped around the far edge looked like a moat. But this was also Orlando, and everything was make-believe here.

  I’d surprised Cate with the barn when she returned from her first HBO interview. I’d had the whole thing framed while she was away, and then we watched it be built together. It was the most perfect place to celebrate with Cate, and I wanted to spend as much time as possible back there before we couldn’t.

  I jumped out of the truck and ran for the door, stopping short when I saw Cate standing there, round and plump and glowing in the doorway. Yep, I’d knocked my girl up pretty damn fast. It was an accident, I guessed you could say, but we didn’t care. We were excited.

  “Hey, baby.” I closed the distance to run my hand over her distended belly. When she just smiled, I looked up and said, “Oh. Hey, Cate,” and kissed my girl, prompting her to smack my arm while kissing me.

  She was the first to pull away. “Nice game,” she said with a wink.

  “Did you watch?”

  “I caught a few minutes,” she said, squeezing my hip.

  The doctors gave a firm no when she asked about traveling to the game. She was eight months pregnant and at just a tad over five feet tall, she pretty much looked like she was going to explode. The flight was too long and if she went into labor there, she would likely have the baby in another state without her own doctors.

  After Mo had talked some sense into me, I tried to let it go. When I thought about what he went through with their baby, I realized it wasn’t worth dragging Cate with us. But I was still a wreck over potentially missing my baby’s birth as we sang the national anthem.

  Our assistant coach—a female, by the way—came up to me right before the tip and said, “Shut it down, Steele. If she goes into labor, we’ll win and you’ll go straight there. But she wants you to win.”

  I’d nodded, realizing she was right, and then that’s what I did.

  “Come on.” Cate tugged on my arm, dragged me inside, and pushed me onto the sofa. We didn’t sit on the floor anymore.

  An array of food was spread out on the coffee table. She nabbed a scone and sat down to snuggle into my side, and my hand went straight to her belly.

  Rubbing figure eights, I asked, “Sarina take good care of you?”

  “Yep, I think she was kind of hoping for me to have the baby. I think she misses that stage or something.”

  “Everything work out with her staying here? Her little guy sleep okay?”

  I used my free hand to move Cate’s hair behind her ear. When I bent to nibble on her lobe a bit, she leaned into my mouth.

  “Yep, Sean had fun. He loved the guest room, and was super happy when Ri made pancakes in the morning. He likes his new school, and of course, thinks you’re a god. Pretty sure he volunteered you to come speak to his class.”

  I laughed. “No problem.”

  Sarina had moved to Florida after Christmas when Cate told her she was pregnant. She’d still been making movies in Ohio, but Cate wanted her to have more choices. I’d anonymously provided two scholarships to the same college Cate was finishing up at, and made sure Sarina was offered one. Now she was studying business and tended bar in the evenings at the Capital Grille. She made good money there from the business travelers and all my NBA buddies who went in.

  “Glad she was here for you,” I told Cate, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

  “She’s my family now. Your mom too,” Cate said matter-of-factly, and it was the truth.

  Cate was still close with her dad. Anthony visited over Christmas, and I met him for the first time. Her mom and sisters were seething jealous over Cate’s new celebrity status. They couldn’t believe she’d landed a pro athlete, and were eaten up with jealousy. They mentioned it frequently in the beginning, but then we cut them off.

  “By the way, your mom’s planning to stay here for a week when we have the baby,” she said.

  “What about the dogs?” I clenched my jaw, thinking about the dogs she’d bring with her. We didn’t need all those pets in the house with a new baby. “And my dad?”

  “Apparently, her new boyfriend is going to stay with the animals, and your dad’s going to come when the baby is a month old. I’ve got it all set. Plus, Ri is going to come with the baby and me on my first taping as an extra set of hands, and Sean’s going to stay with your mom.”

  “Fucking A, my girl’s good. But you don’t need to do all that shit. And the taping . . . I thought we were waiting three months before you went back to work.”

  She shook her head, biting her bottom lip.

  I’d come to know that look. It was the same one she got when she was doing her “secret project.” It was a cross between determination and stubbornness.

  “Cate,” I growled.

  “Six weeks,” she whispered into my neck. “It’ll all be good. This is big. I already have most of the research done, and I want to get two segments taped before your season starts. Next year, I plan to be there when you win the finals.”

  Six weeks? Was that safe?

  I knew better than to argue. I gave her belly a little tap, and she looked up at me.

  “I’ll be fine, Steele, don’t you worry. Women have been doing this for centuries.”

  “I know, but not my woman.”

  “Please, don’t go all caveman on me.”

  Her breath was warm on my face and spiked my already frazzled nerves. It was time I spoke my true feelings, and I wasn’t sure how my little feminist would take it.

  It’s now or never.

  I tilted her face so her gaze would meet mine. “Cate, listen, I know we said we’d be unconventional. You hated your parents’ marriage, and I never wanted to be my dad, getting married for a baby. But, shit.”

  I roamed her cheek with my thumb, frustrated with myself. I was fucking this whole thing up.

  “I want to marry you, Caterina. And right now, I don’t care about all your feminist crap. You’ll have your career
and a baby and me and anything else you want. You can have your name or mine; it doesn’t matter.”

  I slid to the floor and knelt at her feet. I kissed her belly and was rewarded with a kick in the face.

  Looking up at her, I said, “I also hope we’re not having a soccer player, because that shit’s boring. So, what do you say, Cate? Make an honest man out of me?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Cate? Are you going to leave me hanging?”

  “No . . .”

  “No, you won’t marry me?”

  I gulped air. We were having a baby, and as far as I was concerned, getting married was the best thing for all of us. Cate was mine and would be forever; there was no reason not to.

  “No, I’m not going to leave you hanging. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  I reached up to wrap my hand around the back of her neck and brought her lips to mine.

  “Good,” I murmured.

  Almost forgetting, I tugged the ring out of my pocket and put it on her finger. It looked damn good there.

  “Matches my lucky underwear,” I said, taking in the deep emerald in the center, framed by two emerald-cut diamonds.

  She ran her finger over the gemstones, tracing each plane and sharp corner as she let out a little sigh. “It’s gorgeous. Our son can give it to a special woman one day.”

  “Our what?”

  “Oh shit.”

  Cate clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at me. She’d made it this long without telling me the sex of the baby.

  “Oh my God. You had me so flustered, I just went and ruined the surprise for you, babe,” she said, and I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying.

  “It’s a boy?”

  “Yup, a boy. Maybe the soccer player you’ve dreamed of.”

  “Another Southern gentleman.” I lifted her shirt and planted my lips on her smooth skin.

  “I hope not right away, if what you mean is going south on a woman. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’ll be a boob man to start.”

  “Now I know where your head was at, my little Cate with the dirty mind.”

  Not bothering to crawl back up the couch, I squeezed Cate’s ass and she squirmed, giving me access to tug her leggings down.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, working my way down her neck with kisses.

  “There’s food,” she teased.

  “It can wait.” I tugged her panties down, revealing a bare mound.

  “Mmm.” I lowered my tongue to the top of the triangle and breathed in her scent.

  And then I ate.

  Three days later, Cate and I became a Twitter sensation all over again.

  We’d arrived at the Magic Kingdom early in the day for a private hour in the park just for the team and their families. The guys with older kids rushed off to Space Mountain and Thunder Mountain Railroad for unlimited rides with no wait. Sarina, Sean, and I walked—and Cate waddled—to It’s A Small World, which was about all she could do.

  After a boat ride through the little people, Sean begged me to take him on Space Mountain with all the other cool kids. Ri promised she’d stay with Cate by Cinderella’s Castle, and I could send Sean over with one of the other wives after the ride.

  I’d done just that and then went to the back of the park for the parade, where I was greeted by Mickey and his helper.

  “Good morning, Mr. Steele, right this way.” They led me to a float, and I hoisted myself up next to Chip and Dale. They were wearing sweatbands across their chipmunk heads and oversized replicas of my jersey over their furry bellies.

  We started down Main Street USA as the park opened and the street flooded with people cheering and saluting us. Lance Johnstone, the center, rode behind me with Goofy, and they tossed beach balls styled to look like basketballs into the crowd.

  Fans passed the balls up and down the sidewalk, and a few bounced back to me. I put on a show, pretending to dunk and sending them back out to the wave of fans until we made it up to the castle.

  I spotted Sean sitting with Johnstone’s wife and kids, but where was Cate . . . and Sarina? I kept my eyes focused on Sean and when he saw me, he ran toward the float, but a Disney employee promptly blocked his way.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “That’s my relative . . . my, um, nephew!”

  “I have to go see Blane,” Sean yelled.

  The Disney dude looked up at me, and I nodded. Sean took a running jump onto the float, and I bent down so he could whisper in my ear.

  “Cate’s having the baby.”

  I shook my head to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, and for the second time in seconds, shouted, “Hey!”

  Disney dude hurried back and walked alongside the float, cupping his ear to hear what I had to say.

  “I gotta get off this thing! I’m having a baby.”

  When he nodded and spoke into his walkie-talkie, I jumped off the moving float and gestured to Sean to jump into my arms. Carrying him, I ran through the tunnel in the middle of the castle. On the other side, a Disney employee was waiting with a golf cart, which shuttled us to the rear of the park and into a waiting taxi. Apparently, Cate had already gone to the hospital by ambulance.

  Sean fidgeted next to me, and I tossed him my phone. “Here, download some games or apps.”

  He looked as thrilled as a pig in shit at the idea, and I grinned to myself. I can do this parenting thing.

  At the hospital, I rushed the information counter to find where Cate was. Behind me, I could hear people murmuring, “Is that Blane Steele?” Phones clicked and people nudged each other, whispering, but I didn’t care.

  The receptionist said obstetrics was on the seventh floor, and I didn’t wait for the elevator, just snagged Sean and tossed him over my shoulder as I rushed to the stairwell. I took the stairs two and three at a time, and he giggled as he bounced on my shoulder.

  At the top of the stairs, I burst through the door to find Sarina pacing the hallway.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she said, reaching out to take her son from me. “That girl of yours is ready to go. Seriously, fastest labor ever.”

  In less than twenty minutes, Logan Sean Steele was born as Cate squeezed the shit out of my hand, calling me some very creative names.

  Two days later, when we took our baby boy home wearing a miniature Orlando Magic sweatband, Cate whispered in my ear. “You better tell him to stay away from ball babies.”

  No way my boy was going to be a soccer player, but he would definitely be a card-carrying member of the feminist party.

  Last August

  Although my back was pressed against the door, my entire body surged forward, seeking him. If I’d been in a dream or having an out-of-body experience, I would have seen my long limbs and lean torso straining to get closer to the man in front of me. My heart was beating to the most vibrant pace I’d ever experienced. I felt like I was practically coming out of my skin to get closer to the horny, hot-blooded man caging me against the door.

  Mon dieu, he was like a god. His hands were splayed against the wall on either side of my head, and my legs were wrapped around his waist. I was in heaven, and it had only been a few hours since I’d last visited this paradise.

  My pelvis rocked back and forth, searching for his erection and my salvation. They were one and the same, the only balm I needed for the yearning that centered between my legs, but burned everywhere else.

  I wanted his hand down there, or maybe his mouth. Or both.

  “Pierre.” I moaned his name as I moved, trying to connect my sensitive spot with his cock. Desperate, I craved friction like I imagined a habitual smoker longs for a cigarette.

  “S’il vous plaît,” I begged, please, then sucked in a breath to indulge in a long inhale of his cologne into my lungs. It was something fancy and French, of course, and another in the long list of reasons why I was head over heels for my Frenchman. My older Frenchman.

  He shifted his hips away, teasing me, and I whimpered with need, making a noise that
unfortunately sounded like a dying guinea pig. I was so desperate for him. He was my world, my universe. I wanted to spend the rest of my life lost among the planets circling his orbit. He was the moon and I was a lowly stalk of wheat bowing to him in the middle of the night, and I didn’t care what that said about me. I was that weak and pathetic when it came to him.

  I’d never lived a moment until Pierre was buried inside me. We didn’t need to profess our love for each other or send each other cute texts. When he claimed me with those slow, languid strokes in and out of me, I knew he was the one to make everything else go away. Far away. He was the man of my dreams, and I wanted him inside me right that second, that very millisecond. I was an extremely demanding girl.

  Finally, he ran his hand inside my panties and separated my folds with his slim fingers. He dove in with one finger, then two, and my body bucked into his strong, yet well-manicured hand.

  My head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. “Oh, baby, more,” I managed to wrench out.

  And then he lost control as I’d been hoping and praying he would. When I heard my panties tear and drop to the floor, I moved my hand to his zipper and opened his khakis, firmly grasping what I wanted. He was conveniently commando, hard and ready. I rubbed my hand up and down his length, pumping him. Before I knew it, my hand was pushed away and he was deep inside me, riding me fast and recklessly.

  “Faster!” I demanded. “I love it when you’re rough.” I squeezed his ass, tilting my pelvis to allow him to slide in even deeper.

  “Easy, Tigger,” he panted, calling me by his nickname for me in that sexy French drawl, but not bothering to slow his pace. He was always in control, even if I thought I held the power.

  I was kneading the shit out of his ass with my hands as he ran his tongue over my neck. He nipped and sucked before biting a bit harder, causing my orgasm to build in preparation to barrel through me. I didn’t want it to start or end because it always finished the same—with me wanting more.