Across the Line (In The Zone) (7 page)

BOOK: Across the Line (In The Zone)
9.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Chapter Eleven

The next day, Calder’s mom felt well enough to go to her knitting lesson at nine.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked, sifting through her bag. She lifted out a ball of pale yellow yarn, dug around and put it back in.

“Mom. No offense, but I have no desire to watch you knit for two hours.”

She adjusted the loops of yarn on one of her knitting needles. “I know that. I was thinking you could drop me off, walk around the Commons for a while and then when I’m done, we could go to lunch.”

Now Calder understood. “Any particular place you have in mind?”

His mom shrugged, looking suspiciously nonchalant. Then she dropped the pretense. “All right. Let’s go to Cups. The food’s great and we can visit Becca.”

Calder couldn’t really think of any reason to say no, so he took her to the yarn shop. She insisted he come in with her so she could introduce him to “the gals” who fluttered around him like he was a son they’d just collectively adopted. None of the yarn ladies were big hockey fans, but they made a fuss anyway and expressed their condolences about the Barracudas not making the Finals. One of them asked for his autograph for her son, which he was happy to give. Another commented on his splinted finger, so he had to tell the story of how that happened. Fifteen minutes later, he escaped.

“I’ll be back at eleven,” he said and kissed his mom on the cheek.

Outside, a few clouds decorated the sky. The expected high for the day was eighty-one, but at the moment it felt more like seventy. Shops were opening for the day. A few people, earphone wires trailing from their ears, were out walking their dogs.

Like a homing pigeon, he headed directly for Cups. He’d been on edge ever since leaving Becca yesterday morning. He was definitely infatuated. He couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about her or being nailed with a memory of their time together.

As he walked past a children’s clothing boutique on one side and an antiques shop on the other, he thought about his last girlfriend, Perri Ostrow. Perri had been beautiful, no doubt. Great body, killer smile and a spectacular, all-natural set of tits. She liked sex and didn’t mind his sometimes coarse language. But as time went on, she changed. She demanded more and more of his time. Since they met during the off-season, it wasn’t much of an issue at first, but once he had to get back to work, she literally whined about him not paying enough attention to her. She also began taking him for granted.

No, that wasn’t accurate. She began taking his
wallet
for granted. Three months after they’d met, she quit her job as a shop girl at some high-end store in La Jolla and somehow managed to move in, without him actually inviting her to do so. After that, any invitation they received—be it a backyard barbecue or a charity dinner—meant a shopping spree on his dime. New clothes, new shoes, new lingerie, new bag. Sometimes even a facial. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it. He actually enjoyed spending money on other people. His teammates would be the first to admit he picked up the tab more than most. What bothered him was her assumption that he wanted to fork out a couple hundred dollars every week for her already hefty wardrobe. When he brought it up, she pouted prettily and said, “But don’t you want me to look good for you? It’s all for you, Waldie.”

She’d started calling him Caldie-Waldie, and when he’d objected, she shortened it to Waldie and wouldn’t be dissuaded. In Perri’s World, couples had exclusive terms of endearment for each other. He was supposed to call her Perri-Berry, but he never could manage to get that past his lips.

“And besides,” she would go on, “you’re gonna want to see what I have on underneath.”

Usually, she was right about that last part. The sight of Perri in skimpy underwear rarely failed to excite him, and granted, the sex was good, but over time, he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth the rest of the crap he had to put up with. He didn’t mind buying things for his girlfriend. He did mind the indignation, the pouting, the drama that surfaced more and more often about things he didn’t think were important.

Becca, on the other hand... She was beautiful, like Perri, but she wasn’t vain. Judging from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t into clothes either. Just like her apartment was pure function and little flair, so was her wardrobe. He wondered if somewhere in her closet there was a “wow” outfit or crazy pair of shoes. He didn’t think so.

Also, unlike Perri, Becca was funny and smart and successful. She’d started and ran a popular restaurant, not an easy feat. She had a life and wouldn’t be dependent on him to provide one for her. The only problem was that this life of hers was here in New York, and his was in California most of the time, and dozens of other places the remainder. An entire country stood between them. He wondered what he’d done to deserve this fucked-up scenario.

He also wondered why he was even worrying about this. He really didn’t have time for a girlfriend right now. His main goal was to get in shape for next season.

As he’d expected, Cups wasn’t open. He went to the window, cupped his hands around his eyes and tried to see deep inside. No movement. If anyone was in there, they were in the kitchen, out of sight. He thought about knocking, but decided it would be a good lesson in patience to wait. He shouldn’t even really be here. A smart man would chalk up the other night as a satisfying one-night stand and leave it at that.

Someone walked past with a cup of coffee and a white paper bag and his nose woke up. His stomach reminded him it had been a whole hour since he’d eaten breakfast. Above the coffee, he detected the sweet fried aroma of fresh donuts. Donuts ’N’ More was open. Despite what he’d said about no one eating donuts these days, he’d never met a donut he didn’t like. A few people sat at Becca’s black wrought-iron tables, sipping coffee and nibbling on their maple bars and glazed twists.

A bell jangled as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Directly in front of him, an array of frosted, glazed and sugar-sparkled donuts and other goodies beckoned him. The place looked slightly dusty. Everything looked like it had been there since...probably the eighties. An elderly couple worked behind the display, helping customers. Calder took his time making his choices. By the time it was his turn, he’d narrowed it down to five.

“May I help you?” the woman behind the display asked.

“I’m getting a dozen,” he said, spontaneously deciding to bring donuts back to the yarn shop.

He pointed out what he wanted, added a medium cup of coffee to the order and pulled out his wallet. As the woman closed the pink box, he asked, “Didn’t this place used to be over on South Meadow?”

“That’ll be seven dollars and sixty cents. No, sweetie. We’ve been here on the Commons since we opened in 1984.”

Bingo. He was right.

He peeled off a ten and handed it to her. “Keep the rest,” he said. “That’s a long time. Shouldn’t your kids be taking over for you now so you can enjoy your retirement?”

She nodded her thanks as she put the change into their tip jar. “Our kids don’t want it. Neither one of them wanted to go into the donut business.”

“That’s a shame,” he said. He lifted a hand in goodbye and left.

And outside, almost ran into Becca.

Chapter Twelve

Becca stood there, unable to say a word. She had mentally bid Calder a farewell, thinking the only way she’d see him again was on TV.

But here he was in person.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. He put a donut box and coffee down on one of her tables. The sight of him unshaven reminded her of how that rough stubble had felt against her skin, scraping her inner thighs. Heat blossomed between her legs and on her cheeks. What she wouldn’t give to have him back in her bed, his naked body pinning her to the mattress as he went at her hard.

“Hey,” he said, pinching her sleeve and pulling her toward him.

Before she knew it, he had her in a strong, warm embrace. Their mouths met in a kiss that started out as “good morning,” but quickly escalated into more. So many emotions flooded her, excitement, disbelief, joy. Her heart telegraphed a message to her brain:
We must call in sick.
Or pretend the power is out.
Maybe even put up a sign that says
,
Closed due to death in the family.

Her brain replied,
Absolutely not.
You own a business.
You have responsibilities.
Responsibilities that do not include making out in front of one’s own eating establishment.
You’re in uniform
,
for God’s sake.

Heart:
You’re such a damn hardass
.

With her body demanding more of his drugging kisses, she reluctantly pulled away.

“Calder, stop.” She glanced around. No one seemed to be paying much attention.

“I was getting donuts for the ladies at the yarn shop up the street. My mom’s there for her weekly knit-a-thon.”

“I was going to get tomorrow’s soups going.”

“You cook the soups the day before?”

She nodded and started walking toward Cups. “Soups are always better the next day. The flavors have a chance to meld and deepen.”

As she pushed the key into the lock, he came up close behind her and whispered, “I’d like for
us
to meld again.”

His proximity and hot breath against her ear made her hands tremble as she unlocked the door and let them both in.

“Calder, seriously.” she said, twisting the knob and relocking the door.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” He took her by the hand and was leading her toward the back of the house.

“Your donuts,” she said, coming to a stop. She pulled her hand out of his. “You left them outside.”

Turning, he chuckled. “Remember how little I cared about my hurt finger? My mom’s busy until eleven.”

She smiled, but batted his hand away when he grabbed her butt cheek. “Stop it. We are not having sex in my restaurant.”

He had the most wicked but playful grin on his face. She found it almost irresistible.

“Then how about a little oral? According to popular culture, that’s not sex.”

She gasped then shook her head. “It is in my book. If there are genitals involved and someone climaxes, as far as I’m concerned, that’s sex.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

She let out an exasperated breath and rolled her eyes. “Calder, I repeat, we are not going to have sex in my restaurant.”

Thinking she’d made her message clear, she went to her office and tossed her bag and keys on the desk.

Too late, she heard the door shut. She spun around. “Calder,” she said in a warning tone.

“What if we don’t climax? If you just let me bring you real close... I’d settle for that.”

Before she could say a word, he had his arm around her waist, the other around her upper back and had pulled her in for another kiss. A deep one. One that got all her juices flowing again and her hands on his ass without any direction from her brain.

He grunted his approval as she squeezed his glutes. This was completely wrong. She wasn’t the type of person who had urgent, do-me-on-top-of-the-desk sex at her workplace. She just didn’t. Spontaneous, fine. This...

He cupped her breast and squeezed.
This
was goddamn amazing.

More than halfway to giving in, she recalled the schedule. They opened for business at eleven. She didn’t expect any of her employees until ten-thirty. That gave them about an hour. If they hurried, they could both be breathless and sated five or ten minutes from now. Plenty of time for sex
and
soup. Especially if she made Alfredo Chicken Noodle again. She could whip that together in fifteen minutes.

She pushed him away and he looked dismayed until he saw her pull her lime-green Cups shirt over her head and toe her shoes off and kick them aside. Then his eyes widened.

“Fuck yeah,” he said.

As she worked on undoing her pants, he did the same, even if it took him a little longer with his finger splinted. His flip-flops went under the desk. Her pants and underwear fell to a crumpled pile on the floor.

“Are we going all the way?” he asked, shoving his shorts behind him with a foot. “Full sex with climaxes? Or pop-culture sex?”

A small hop and she was on the desk. Moments like this made her happy she was OCD about keeping a clean workspace. “Full sex,” she said, “but I need you to be fast.”

He paused and gave her a small smile. “I don’t think a woman has ever said that to me before.”

He was leaning down to take her nipple in his mouth when she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait a second. Crap. I don’t have condoms.”

“I have one.” He was already snatching his shorts from the floor. He pulled out a packet from behind his driver’s license. When he looked up, his face was right there at desk level. Her open legs afforded him an up-close-and-personal view. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Without shifting his gaze, he asked, “How much time do we have?” He laid the condom on the desk and put his hands on her knees.

Fuck it
, she thought as her body went into full-surrender mode.
I’ll make the soup this afternoon.

“I don’t expect anyone until ten-thirty.”

“Excellent. That’s enough to do this right then.”

Without further ado, he hooked her legs over his shoulders, gave her one last wry smile and went for it. Becca gasped at the first touch of his tongue. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. God, he was good at this. Her body responded to him so easily. She leaned back on her arms and reveled in the pleasure. Anxiety about what this was going to do to her desk distracted her for a moment, but again, she decided she didn’t care. She’d deal with it later. What he was doing to her with his mouth seemed to restrict brain function to two things: basic life support and processing the physical sensations bombarding her. His stubble-roughened cheeks abraded her in sharp contrast to the softness of his probing tongue. As a low moan escaped her, she wondered how thick the walls were between her office and the back of the donut shop. Thick enough, she hoped.

Eventually, she dropped back to her elbows, then flat out on her back. Her head hung off the edge as she strained to find release. Calder had one hand on her stomach, the other on her breast. She was almost there. Her hips rocked against his mouth. She gasped. Almost. Almost...
there.

She arched hard and sucked in air as the climax hit. As the waves washed over her, he stayed with her, licking, sucking, his hands holding her thighs rigid against his shoulders. She barely registered the sound of a pencil cup falling over to send the pens skittering across the floor. She was still coming down when he let go of her legs, moved back and stood. She watched him rip open the condom and roll it on. His penis looked huge and she couldn’t wait to feel it inside her.

“You look so damn sexy,” he said, stepping between her legs and levering his cock down.

Eyes on hers, he rubbed the tip in her crease, slicking it up before inching inside.

“Ah, fuuuuck.” He put one palm on the desk then the other as he pushed in farther, then pulled back, then went farther still until he was fully sheathed. She rose up and cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. His arm snaked around to support her as he thrust.

“That feels so fucking good,” he said, dragging his lips across her cheek to her ear then her neck.

“It does. It does.”

“Beats the hell out of making soup, right?”

She laughed. “Yes, it does. Smart-ass.”

Continuing to move, he said, “Tell me how much you love it.” His laughing eyes challenged her.

“You’re
already
full of yourself.”

“Am not. I’m just stating a fact.” He stopped thrusting to Becca’s disappointment. “I’ll bet if I polled a hundred people, would you rather have good sex or make soup, they’d all vote for the sex.”

“What if it’s only mediocre sex?”

His eyebrows about left his forehead. “Are you...are you suggesting that what you just experienced—” he started moving again, “—
are
experiencing, is mediocre?”

She gave him her “bring it” look.

His eyes narrowed. “Challenge accepted.”

He pulled out abruptly and pulled her off the desk. Her butt skidded on the wood, but he was strong. Before she knew it, he’d turned her around, bent her over with one hand between her shoulder blades and shoved himself back inside.

A primitive thrill raced through her at the unexpected manhandling. His hips slammed against her butt so hard, the drawers in the desk rattled. But God, it felt incredible. She rose up on her tiptoes and arched her back.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Pulling back on her hips to increase the force of his thrusts, he grunted, not letting up, not slowing. Going at her harder, faster. The squared edge of the desk was biting into her upper thighs but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that Calder kept going until she came again.

He told her to stand up and brace herself on the desk with her hands. Still facing away, this put her back at a forty-five-degree angle and allowed him to reach around and fondle her with his blunt fingers. She sent up a brief prayer of thanksgiving that he’d injured his nondominant hand. Even though the sensations assaulted her, she again arched her back and stood on her tiptoes to intensify the thrusts. She came again, this time unable to hold back a cry of fulfillment. This seemed to set him off. He seized her waist with a vise grip and pumped hard. His breath gusted with such force she felt it against her neck, even though he had straightened and she had leaned forward again.

“Fuck,” he gasped, still thrusting.

Becca dropped down so her forearms rested on the desk. She let her heels touch the floor and her head go lax as she tried to catch her breath. Her body still tingled and sparks from her climax still flashed inside her. Releasing her waist, Calder leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, her neck.

“You’re amazing. That was amazing.”

As she turned her head to look at him, she noticed the clock on the wall. Ten, straight up. With a gentle push, she got him to disengage. He sighed and rid himself of the condom while she put her clothes back on.

“Damn it. It totally smells like sex in here,” she said, tucking her shirt in.

“One of my favorite smells,” he said, pulling his briefs and shorts on.

“Is your knee okay?”

He flexed it. “It’s fine.”

She opened the door cautiously and poked her head out. She couldn’t hear anyone. Eddie was next in and he had a key, and she didn’t expect Savannah for another half hour, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

“Hello?” she called.

No answer. She relaxed as she opened and closed the door several times to get some fresh air into her office. He grinned, watching her.

“You have to go,” she said. “I have work to do.”

“I could help.”

“Are you good in the kitchen?”

“Not really. I’m more of a—”

“Microwaver. I remember now. Then it’ll be better if you don’t. No offense.”

He shrugged. “But I’m good in the bedroom, right?” He gave her a sideways glance that had her rolling her eyes as she put her shoes back on. “Well? You came twice, didn’t you?”

She tied the laces and stood, putting her hands on her hips. “Yes. I came twice, but I have to tell you, if you’re going to...” She trailed off and shook her head with a frown. “Never mind.”

He followed her to the kitchen where, after washing her hands, she started gathering ingredients for the Alfredo Chicken Noodle Soup. “No, finish your sentence. If I’m going to what?”

She nudged the fridge door closed with her hip, her arms full of onions, celery and two bagged whole raw chickens. “I was going to say, if you’re going to be all about keeping track of my orgasms every time we have sex, then we need to have a serious talk.” She sighed. “But then I remembered, this—you and me—isn’t going anywhere after you go back to San Diego, so it’s a moot point.”

She went to a stainless-steel counter and let go of all the stuff. The onions thumped and rolled around, littering the clean space with their papery skins. What she’d said sounded harsh, but the best defense was offense, or was that the other way around? Better to cut her losses now before she got too attached to him. She had her career and restaurant to manage and that was always her first priority.

When she turned around and saw Calder looking like she’d just slapped his face with the chicken, she felt bad. “Look,” she began, but he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“No, it’s okay.” He nodded. “It’s fine. I get it. I actually agree with you. Like we said the other night, it’s better if both of us are on the same page. That way no one gets hurt. No unrealistic expectations means no huge disappointments.”

“Right.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Okay. Well, I’ll let you get to work then.”

“Okay,” she said, still feeling like shit.

He turned to go, then paused in the doorway. His shoulders looked taut and she thought he might say something else, but he didn’t. She heard him turn the lock and go out. She’d have to go lock it after him, but the last thing she wanted now was to watch him walk away.

BOOK: Across the Line (In The Zone)
9.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Untouched Concubine by Lisa Rusczyk, Mikie Hazard
Rebel Power Play by David Skuy
Rise of Aen by Damian Shishkin
Combustion by Elia Winters
My Carrier War by Norman E. Berg
Listening to Billie by Alice Adams
Rock & Roll Homicide by R J McDonnell
Winter Passing by Cindy Martinusen Coloma