Across the Line (In The Zone) (12 page)

“I thought I was thirty-four B.”

“Nope.”

That was a little depressing. She was one cup size smaller than she’d thought.

“Now we need something a little low, a little uplifting...” Claudine stood in the center of the store and turned in a slow circle, her eyes scanning. “This,” she said, taking a bra off a rack, “and maybe this.” At the last minute, she snatched another bra off a table.

Becca took the silky garments, all three of them red, but hesitated. “What’s wrong with white or black? Or even beige?”

“If we size you correctly, the bra shouldn’t show, but you never know what will happen. The dress might get tugged down accidentally.”

“Or on purpose.” Savannah grinned.

Squaring her shoulders, Becca stalked into the dressing room and stripped to her undies. She examined the first bra and put it on.

“Lean over and adjust your breasts in the cups,” Claudine called.

“Why? I have no idea,” Becca muttered under her breath. Exhaling, she stared at her boobs, then bent over, moved them around and stood up straight again. Hmm. She turned sideways. The girls actually looked...plump.

“Put the dress on and come out,” Jill said. “We need to see.”

When she came out, they nodded approvingly. “Nice. Very nice,” Claudine said. “But let’s see the others.”

Becca repeated the bra-hooking, boob-shifting ritual twice more. Photos were taken with Becca’s phone and after analyzing every aspect of the three garments, they unanimously decided on bra number two. Becca had to admit, she loved how busty it made her look and it was comfortable. Not surprising, considering she’d been buying the wrong size for years.

After Claudine also gave her a substantial discount for the bra and two pairs of matching panties, Savannah convinced everyone they should go out for a celebratory drink. Becca’s first inclination was to decline so she could retreat to her tiny apartment and decompress from the estrogen overload, but she relented. The other women looked so disappointed when she’d hinted that she was tired, and Becca honestly felt she owed them this at least.

They went to Sparky’s and had fruity martinis. Becca usually drank beer, but she figured she was already up in the girly plane with a parachute on so she might as well jump. When she hit the ground, she was at least one sheet to the wind, if not two. She really couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a good time with other women. Normally, her mind would veer back toward the café and what tasks needed to be done and when, what problems needed solving, what goals needed to be achieved. Tonight, it was easy to forget all her responsibilities and let loose. Girls really did want to have fun and it was time for her to remember she
was
a girl.

Chapter Twenty

Ding ding.

Calder got a text message from Becca around ten, just as he was brushing his teeth. It was pretty late in New York, so he was curious. The text came with a picture. He hoped it was a naked picture, but didn’t think he’d be that lucky.

It turned out to be a snapshot of a red-faced, blurry-eyed Becca in a bar with Savannah and a couple of women he didn’t recognize. They all had half-empty martini glasses in their hands.

Wish you could have been here
,
hunkman.

His toothbrush sticking out of his mouth like a cigar, he laughed and texted back,
Are you drunk?

In the picture?
Yes.
But that was an hour ago.

What about now?

Pretty much.

Worry furrowed his brow as he pictured her crappy little compact car crumpled against a telephone pole.
Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.

Home already
, she replied.

He was typing in a reply when another text from her arrived.
And I went shopping today.
I
got pretty stuff.

Pretty stuff. Whoopee. What did that mean? Shoes, probably. Or nail polish.

Something for the wedding.

He put his phone down, rinsed and spit.
Ding ding
.

A
dress and...unmentionables!!!!

Holy fuck. That got his attention.

Are you impressed that I can spell that in my condition?

He ignored the question and was in the middle of typing “Picture or it didn’t happen” when she texted,
I’ll send you a picture.
Hold on.

What followed was the longest minute of his life.

His dick got hard during that minute. He paced in his bathroom, eager and anxious. He hoped it was taking a long time because she was putting said unmentionables on. The tension was as high as when he was taking a face-off.

Ding ding.

His phone had gone dim. He cursed as he woke it up.

You know
,
never mind.
I
think I’d rather surprise you.

“FUCKITY FUCK, FUCKED-UP FUCKERY.” He inhaled hard through his nose and fought for calm.

Please?
He wasn’t above begging.
Doesn’t have to be a full-body shot.
Just the bra.
On you
,
of course.
Please please please.

A long pause.

He counted to five, breathing deeply like a Buddhist priest trying to meditate.

No picture.

Nothing.

The screen timed out again.

FUCKITY FUCK—

No.
I
really want to surprise you at the wedding.

He wanted to cry.
Is there nothing that I can bribe you with?
Money?
Jewelry?
A
car?

No.
You’ll just have to wait!!!
Hahahahahahaaaaaa!!!!
But it’s all red.

Fuck. Becca in red lingerie.

G’night.

Even in an extreme state of arousal and an even more extreme state of frustration, he chuckled. He was going to get back at her, somehow, some way. Just because she was tipsy during this texted mind fuck didn’t mean she was off the hook.
What goes around comes around
,
baby.
When pranked by a teammate, Calder always reciprocated. It was a matter of pride. One-upmanship was not a game he usually lost, not even with girlfriends.

He’d spend some time devising a suitably devilish plan, maybe involving handcuffs, but he had to get rid of his pesky hard-on first.

Chapter Twenty-One

As Becca neared the baggage claim, she couldn’t help comparing this trip to her last one to San Diego. The excitement she’d felt before the restaurateurs’ convention was nothing compared to how much she looked forward to seeing Calder. As she entered the baggage claim, she spotted him immediately. He stood there grinning with a sign that read Braceface.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” she said. “Is that payback for my drunken texts?”

“Nah. Are you kidding? You can expect much worse from me for that.” He put a hand on the back of her neck and bent to whisper, “Thinking about you wearing a red bra and undies made me seriously crazy.”

She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. “You’ll get to see me in that soon.”

“Tonight?” His eyes went dark and hungry.

“After the wedding.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you put it on for me tonight.”

She gasped. “Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding. Make it two thousand.” He looked around. “We’ll find an ATM and I’ll get you the cash right now.”

“Calder, no. Just wait. Good things come to those who wait.”

“Waiting’s overrated.”

After extracting a promise from him that he would not peek inside her garment bag, they drove to his place.

Calder lived in the seaside community of Coronado, a strip of land that had the Pacific Ocean on one side and the San Diego Bay on the other. Calder’s house was a tri-level that had a small patch of nicely landscaped front yard and a mailbox that had a hockey stick instead of a red flag.

He gave her a quick tour. They entered on the bottom level from the attached garage. There she found a man cave with a wet bar, not one, but two gigantic wall-mounted televisions and one of those couches with sections that reclined. The next floor up was the kitchen, dining and living rooms. Throughout were travertine floors and marble, sleek shiny decor, mostly brushed chrome and brown, but with some pale blue and cream mixed in, perhaps as an homage to the sea, so close at hand.

Top floor was his bedroom, guest room and gym. The sun was just setting so when she walked in and got a glimpse of it from the enormous bank of windows in the rear, she realized exactly how privileged a life he led. She wondered how much he had paid for this house, thinking it had to be a couple million at least. This was probably some of the most valuable property in the world.

He joined her at the window and opened the slider door. They stepped outside onto a narrow balcony.

“This is beautiful, Calder.” The briny breeze sifted through the hair that escaped her ponytail.

“It’s comfortable. It’s home.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. It felt so good to be here with him, to feel his strong, hard body against hers.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” she said, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been waiting so long, it seems unreal.”

His stomach growled loudly and he chuckled. “Sorry. My stomach’s been waiting a long time for you too. It remembers your cooking very well, but you’re probably tired from the flight.”

“No, it’s okay. I actually would love to cook in your kitchen.”

He had quality appliances and a gorgeous six-burner gas stove and grill. What she wouldn’t give to have this in her own home.

“I’m really glad to hear that. I got a bunch of food, just in case. But we could go out. There are a lot of good places nearby. I know them all because I eat out a lot.”

Downstairs, she looked in the fridge and found...chicken breasts, ground chicken, ground duck, veal medallions, a couple of T-bones, a nice assortment of fresh lettuces and other veggies, a larger assortment of beer. There was even a small turkey.

“What did you do, raid the butcher shop?”

He laughed. “I just wanted to make sure you had what you needed.”

“This is enough to throw a party for all your neighbors.”

“No way. It’s party of two tonight. Just us. I’m not sharing my food or my woman.”

While she got dinner together, he put her luggage in his room, only after he promised again not to go trying to get a glimpse of her wedding attire.

“Why the hell not?” he’d whined. “You’re killing me, Becks.”

“Because it’ll mess with the event mojo.” She spread her fingers and wiggled them in the air.

He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Still chopping salad makings, she shook her head. Perfectly even slices of cucumber fell off the knife blade. “I went to a lot of trouble to buy the dress and stuff and I want to surprise you.”

“It’ll still be a surprise if you put it on for me tonight. It’ll just be an early surprise.”

“Calder. Seriously, the wedding’s tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours away. You won’t be sorry,” she promised him, hoping she was right.

They ate the meal at a table that had a spectacular nighttime view. After they did the dishes together, she decided she wanted a shower. He joined her. She expected him to go after her with a vengeance. They’d been apart for so long she thought he might be on the verge of exploding, and maybe he was, but he took his time, started slow, kissing her, caressing her, building up the sensations gradually. Before long, he was inside her, filling her, his mouth on hers as the water streamed over them.

Afterward, they got into bed and he held her close. The pillows were damp from their hair. He smelled so good—soap, sex and man—and she fell asleep more content and relaxed than she’d been in a long, long time.

* * *

The next morning, Calder took Becca to Joe’s Java Shack, a little coffee place just down the street. They made killer lattes and got their pastries from someplace magical. It was overcast, as usual, and a little chilly at sixty-two degrees, so Becca borrowed one of his old Ithaca College sweatshirts and looked adorably feminine in it. She’d had to roll up the sleeves and it covered up her ass—always a shame—but it gave him a masculine ping of pride to see her wearing something of his.

Hildie the cashier greeted him with a bright smile. “Hi, Calder. How’s my favorite hockey player?”

“I bet you say that to all the hockey players.”

“I sure do,” Hildie replied with a grin. “Tips are better that way. Is this your sister?”

He laughed. “Yeah, you see the resemblance? Nah. Hildie, this is Becca, my girlfriend.”

Hildie made a mock sad face. “And there go all my hopes and dreams.”

“Hildie, you’re married. To Joe,” he added with a nod toward the man making the drinks.

“He’d understand. Just like I’d understand if Jessica Alba came and swept him off his feet.”

After ordering, Becca went to snag a table while Calder paid. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Elizabeth Alviso. Crap. He’d hooked up with Elizabeth a year ago. She’d wanted to keep things going. He hadn’t. She seemed to consider him “the one that got away,” and every time he ran into her in the neighborhood, she tried to reel him back.

He pasted on a polite smile.

Elizabeth hugged him. “Calder, how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever. How’s your knee?”

He extricated himself as quickly as possible, glancing at Becca.

Who was watching.

“My knee is great, thanks. How are you? Still chasing ambulances?”

She gave him a playful shove and laughed. “Oh, you. Yes, I’m still practicing law.”

“Good, good. Glad to hear it. Nice seeing you.”

He edged away and joined Becca. As soon as he sat down, she said, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m feeling possessive. Yes, I want to make a statement. So kiss me now, quick, while she’s looking over here.”

Placing a hand behind her head, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, lingering until she smiled against his mouth.

“Perfect. No, don’t look. You’ll ruin it. That was perfect.”

Calder could feel Elizabeth’s eyes on his back. He pictured the slightly narrowed eyes and tight-lipped smile and hoped that Becca marking her territory would help Elizabeth finally understand that her flirting was futile.

He was taken.

* * *

Because she didn’t own one, Becca had borrowed a garment bag from Jill, the dress shop owner. She didn’t want Calder to get a glimpse of the gown until she was wearing it. She’d never in her life worn an
ensemble
, but her outfit for this wedding definitely qualified. A couple of days after they’d gotten the dress and undies, Savannah had taken her to get appropriate shoes. Again, she’d felt like a little girl playing dress-up. And yet, hadn’t Cinderella started out like that? That girl was basically a party crasher wearing borrowed clothes, but she still ended up with the prince...

But Becca was no Cinderella. Cindy was able to walk around and waltz in her glass slippers. Becca had trouble standing from a sitting position.

“It’s okay,” Savannah had told her. “Just wear the shoes whenever you’re at home and you’ll be gliding around in no time.”

Becca doubted that, but she had put them on in her apartment anyway. Surprisingly, they weren’t red. All the girls agreed it would be difficult to match the shade of the dress and it was too “matchy-matchy.” In the end, they agreed that gold would be best.

“Gold’s more versatile anyway,” Jill said.

Becca highly doubted she’d ever wear them again, but she didn’t say anything.

The shoes were basically thinly strapped sandals, glittery, but not too much so, and skyscraper high. If she didn’t turn an ankle when all was said and done, she’d consider it a miracle.

As for Calder, he couldn’t remember ever anticipating the appearance of his date as much as he anticipated seeing Becca. He’d been kicked out of his own bedroom while she got dressed. For some reason, he was jittery. Funny how he felt calmer playing in front of eighteen thousand people than he did right now.

He’d chosen to wear his light gray suit and the silver tie bar with the Barracuda logo engraved on it. Tim was a teammate. It seemed fitting to acknowledge that. He was centering his belt buckle when he heard the bedroom door open. He strode to the hallway, but the door to the master was open only a crack.

“Close your eyes,” she called.

“Okay. They’re closed.” He felt like he was about to open a much-anticipated birthday present.

A moment passed. He heard a rustling then she said, “Okay. Open your eyes.”

When he saw her, he lost his breath. She was stunning, literally stunning, from head to toe. He’d known she was beautiful. But this dress...this dress showcased her beauty like nothing he’d ever seen her in before. With the exception of the waterfall wet T-shirt, he’d never seen her breasts look so tempting while still covered. A slit up the side of the dress exposed her long, bare leg. And holy shit, the shoes she had on made him zero in on her ankles. God they were sexy. He wanted to get down on his knees and pay homage to them.

He finally looked up, embarrassed that it had taken him so long. She had an amused smile on her face. Her lips were cherry-red. Her shiny black hair was actually out of a ponytail, loose around her face, and she’d done something to her eyes to accentuate their alluring slant and shape.

“Well?” she prompted.

He blinked, trying to make his mouth work. “I...I don’t have any words.”

“How about just one then?” She took three sexy, hip-swaying steps down the hall. He noticed she wobbled a little, but said nothing. He didn’t suspect she wore heels very often, but that only made her more adorable.

“Magnificent. Drool-worthy. Spectacular.”

Her smile got bigger with every word. “You’re not so bad yourself, slick.” She ran her fingers beneath his jacket lapel. “You clean up nicely. I’m going to have to beat the girls off with a stick. Maybe we should get that hockey stick I saw in the other room.”

“Great idea,” he said, striding to the guest room and snatching it up. “I want to take your picture.”

They went downstairs to the living room where he gave her the stick to pose with, got his cell phone and snapped some photos. “You look so effing sexy, Becks. I am dead serious. I need these to convince me later that I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Perfect, because I promised to send some pictures to my friends.”

Laughing, she struck several poses with that old beat-up hockey stick. She put her check against it, she kissed it, she laid it across her shoulders and hooked her wrists over it then widened her stance and put it to the floor like she was posing for a trading card. Fuck, it turned him on to see her with a piece of his hockey equipment.