An Accidental Gentleman (8 page)

With a slouch, he hid himself from view of anyone nosy enough to come crawling around his car, at least unless they peered straight into the windows. Getting arrested for public lewdness would have Rob kicking his ass for dumbass hijinks.

He set a land-speed record for unbuckling and unzipping. Shoved down, his shorts formed an elastic vise under his balls. He grabbed hold and stroked, the urgent, uncomfortable need a reminder of furtive after-school jerking in the bathroom behind a locked door.

A sea of crumbling red brick, a match for Kit’s store, filled his windshield.

His dick didn’t demand the nonstop action he’d craved twenty years ago. Hell, five years ago. Maybe Rob had the right idea. Get to know one woman.

“Katherine.” He tasted her in her name, in three syllables of slamming hips and a low, trembling moan. “Katherine.”

He’d memorize her sloping muscles, her rounded tits, the curve between her legs, her sun-kissed skin—and let her get to know him. The strokes he used for a quick jerk and the places where her tongue would drive him wild. None of this one dinner in exchange for one fuck. They’d practice the new math together.

This time, she’d be the one standing behind him. With her height, their made-for-each-other size, she might catch him rubbing out a quick one before work and saunter up behind him.

“I thought you wanted to sleep in,” he’d tease, trying to keep his rhythm despite her enticing nudity at his back.

She brought round, firm breasts to bear as she hooked her arms around him. “I found something better than dreams.”

“Yeah?” Lungs tight, he worked for breath. The cresting wave flashed up ahead, the long paddle so worth the trip. “What’s that?”

“You.” Clenching his shoulders, she hugged him suspender-style and rested her chin on him. “That the way you like it?”

He upped his game to a quasi-corkscrew with a twist at the tip. A surefire finishing move. “Yeah. You like watching?”

“Mm-hmm.” Diving, she skimmed his chest. “But I’m a hands girl.” She displaced him and took over, matching his rhythm, her grip sure and confident. “I like doing better.”

Katherine grabbed what she wanted, when she wanted. And she wanted him.

He spilled over his fist and splattered his shirt tails.

As lethargy hit, he dropped his head against the seat. That orgasm, Christ. Fast and hard, a freight train rush he’d lost years ago. Even with her presence limited to fantasy, she improved on everything. Must be those tinkering skills. Loving a woman who learned his body mattered now. Emotional virtues and tenderness he’d never considered at seventeen, when a lapping wave served to get him off.

“I know you don’t date, Katherine.” He hunted for fast-food napkins on the floor mats in the back and came up empty. The inside of his boxers would have to do. “But last week I would’ve said I’d never pick one woman over the variety of staying single. People change. You can, too.”

The more he demonstrated her importance to him, the faster she’d recognize the rightness in their pairing. She needed time to get comfortable and feel secure with him. Her complaint about men pretending they cared enough to hang around—a bad breakup. Anyone burned by an ex would be skittish about new relationships. The more he showed up, the more she’d learn she could rely on him.

Cursing the new stains on his shirt, he righted his clothes and tucked himself away. Dinner mandated a stop somewhere with a drive-thru. Imposing on Rob again when he and Nora had lovey-dovey baby feelings oozing out all over the place would make him a shit friend. A sad sack peeping through the window instead of taking care of his business. He deserved a life of his own, one with a partner. With Katherine. He peeled out of the parking lot.

He’d start tomorrow in the gym at work, because any idiot who’d hurt her and leave her so gun-shy about more than sex merited a pummeling, and the punching bag would make an excellent proxy. And then he’d shake the imaginary asshole’s hand for getting the fuck out of his way. Katherine belonged with him, not some bad-boy shithead who didn’t understand the responsibilities a man had toward his woman.

Him, voted most likely to die in a late-night TV stunt, the poster child for responsibility. Twenty years of behaving like that guy, maybe not a jerk but not a long-term catch, either, and now he’d finally wised up only to fall for a woman who would’ve preferred him the other way.

God had to be laughing his ass off.

Driving Erin’s little errand-runner, Kit turned off on a packed-dirt road with a hand-painted plywood sign reading
Ballfield
in cobalt blue letters. Some joker had hung a matching cap over the stake sticking up the back.

A passel of cars and trucks in darn straight rows for impromptu mud-and-grass parking lay ahead to the left. Families crowded around trunks. Men balanced Coleman chest coolers and pint-sized children on their shoulders in about equal measure. Waiting on a stampede of older kids crossing the entry, she searched for Brian’s crimson coupe. Mid-life crisis car for sure, but he had the good sense to choose a sporty old workhorse and not a flashy dick extender.

The athletic complex where the youth leagues played, out by the airport, featured nearly a dozen diamonds. This middle-of-nowhere plot boasted two, both with chain-link backstops and sidelines. Crawling down the aisle, she spied a flash of red beyond the pickup trucks and minivans. Her sister’s boxy beige Camry fit alongside at the end of the row. Shabby as all hell, but none of these folks would see her again.

She hopped out and stretched. The breeze carried shouts, laughter, and the smoky char of burgers and dogs on the grill. The clouds dotting the bright blue sky kept the heat at bay. Saturdays didn’t get much better. Pocketing her keys, she joined the stream.

As she rounded a monster of an extended cab, Brian barreled into her and hoisted her off her feet.

“You made it, great.” He set her down easy, kissed her cheek, and grinned. “When you didn’t answer my last text, I thought you might’ve changed your mind.”

“I might yet.” Picking her up, Jesus. Treating her like a damn date. “We agreed you weren’t going to make a thing out of this.”

His eyes flickered, but he held steady on his megawatt smile. “No, I greet all the women I know with inappropriate displays. You should’ve seen the kiss I planted on Rob’s wife.” Elbowing her in the side, he pointed toward a couple sitting on a set of short-stack metal bleachers. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

In the swarm of jeans and khaki shorts, Brian made an eye-piercing statement with his knee-length paint explosion. The swirling purples, yellows, and greens resembled a five-year-old’s summer camp tie-dye project. He’d misstepped with the kiss, but no man seriously on a date would wear those shorts.

“Can’t wait.” She allowed him to drag her off to happy coupleland. No sense tanking the day in the first minute when the food and beer were free and she’d borrowed the car and driven out here. A shiny business park, the kind with mirrored buildings, sat behind a fence a few hundred yards off. “That where you work?”

“Yep. That’s where they keep all the secrets.” As he led her through the crowd, he offered nods and greetings to most of the adults by name and not a few high-fives to the kids. “Lot of us came over together when we left the service.”

The brown-haired man broke off whispering in the woman’s ear and stood as they approached. “You find her, or she find you? Your shorts are so bright the sats are tracking you from ten thousand miles up.”

“My lucky shorts, man.” Hands shoved in his pockets, Brian spread the wide-leg cotton and spun. “These babies are gonna bring us in at least an extra two runs. Maybe three.”

The shorts absolutely qualified as a nightmare. But his ass in them? Begging for a squeeze. “Sounds like bragging to me, hotshot.”

Brian pouted. “Would I do that?”

“Yes.” Three voices mingled in the answer, hers and the couple’s. They wore matching wedding bands. Forty-some people at softball. Not a date, he’d said. Except he took her straight to double-datesville.

“Ganging up on me already. Should’ve known this would be a bad idea.” Grinning, he clapped her shoulder. “Kit, meet Rob and Nora. He works in encryption; she crunches numbers. Together, they—”

“Prefer not to hear the end of that sentence when Brian’s the one delivering it,” Nora broke in, her smile friendly and her caramel-colored ponytail swinging.

Brian dropped his head back and raised his arms in a
what gives
to the heavens. “Kit runs that repair shop in town I was telling you about. We’re not on a date.”

The man did not do subtle. Should’ve figured on brash from his red car and riot shorts. Plenty of scuff marks in the dirt as she added a few more. The divot in front of the aluminum bleacher support needed smoothing.

“Right, right.” Rob stuck out his arm. “The woman who knows her way around a flat tire.” He offered a firm handshake, short and to the point. “Rob Vanderhoff. Brian and I have worked together since he couldn’t put his cap on straight to save his life.”

As Rob spoke, Brian swung his head in wide denials. “No, no, it was a fashion statement. The angle was lucky, same as my shorts.”

Rob snorted. “The attitude was a sure shot to getting dropped. You wouldn’t believe the push-ups he did. After eight weeks, he was nothing but biceps and a smart mouth.” He gestured to the blanket-draped bleacher beside his wife’s padded backrest. “Here, Kit, grab a seat. Those first three weeks, I could’ve sworn he wanted to be recycled.”

“Recycled?” Nora cocked her head. Her plain, peachy T-shirt provided soothing relief from Brian’s misguided style.

“Like repeating a grade in school.” Rob stepped off the side of the bleachers, crouching as he landed. “Brian had trouble with authority back then.”

Confirmation of bad-boy reputation, check. These friends of his might be useful, decent folk. Getting the nod from Mr. Nice Guy, they pretty much guaranteed their likeability.

“I understand he can’t resist a dare.” Not hers, thank God. After his showing at the shop, he’d taken to invading her dreams. She met Brian’s sheepish spring-grass gaze with a smirk. “Is that how you ended up owning those shorts?”

While Nora and Rob laughed, Brian sidled into her personal space. “Oh, I take orders fine when they make sense.”

Pale, fuzzy stubble covered his cheeks and chin. A little beard burn between her thighs would scratch the itch he stirred.

“You want a job done right, with work that’ll hold up under pressure?” In his eyes, he signaled go-go-go. He dipped his chin. “I’m your man.” Deep voice. Backroom darkness, no-bullshit, vibrating-in-her-panties voice. “Isn’t that the way you run your shop, too? Clear orders, strict standards?”

Jesus. With his sharp, clean storm-scent, he sneaked past her keep-out signs and grasped bare metal. He’d fry them both to sizzling ash. And he’d almost—maybe—be worth the risk. At least once. Or twice.

Leaning forward, Nora interrupted their stare-down with her extended hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Kit. I hope you brought an empty stomach and fast legs.”

“I’m playing?” Shit, her old mitt lay buried in a box in the basement somewhere. She shook hands on reflex. “I thought this would be a spectator thing. League play.”

A gang of noisy children scampered down the fence line and circled the bleachers to the field opposite, where a handful of adults organized a ragged line of youngsters at a tee ball setup and sent the older ones out to field.

“Intra-office. We’re flexible on teams.” Behind Rob, men and women clustered around the dugout benches. “You can always sub in later if you want a feel for the level of play first—or if you’re worried about Brian beaning you in the head on a force out. His aim’s less than stellar when he’s distracted.”

Thwapping Rob in the stomach with the back of his hand, Brian elicited a grunt. “Not everyone played Little League ball, farm boy.”

“Your choice, Surfer Boy.” After casting a glance behind him, Rob punched Brian in the shoulder. “Grab your gear, airman. We’re on the first-inning roster.” As he backed away, he blew his wife a kiss.

Nora captured the gift with a fast swipe and crossed her hands on her stomach.

Standing with his feet planted together and his back straight, Brian snapped a salute.

Aw hell. She refused to leave a man hanging. She sent one back.

Smile brightening his whole face, he jogged off. As he picked up a mitt in the dugout, he waved at the stands. Nora waved, which meant she had to, too. Every few feet, all the way out to left field, he spun, jogged backward, and waved.

Nora, arm raised yet again, laughed. “He’s a complete goofball.”

“Sorry?” Four times now, like he meant to keep checking she hadn’t gotten up and left. Not the smoothest operator, but damn if she didn’t wave every time. Impossible to stop herself. Wearing those ridiculous shorts, losing himself in bro-play with his buddy, ditching her five minutes into their not-date—the afternoon might actually be fun instead of a hard sell on why she should date him.

“Brian. Lighthearted optimist to the core.” Nora swiveled and greeted a woman toting an infant carrier into the stands. As she turned back, she patted Kit’s knee. “But after Rob, he’s also the most loyal and steadfast man I’ve ever met.”

“We’re not dating.” Shit. Not offering unsolicited information to a salesman was the first rule of defeating a sales pitch. Brian had roped his friend’s wife into talking him up. In three words she’d told Nora the biggest anxiety weighing on her. Somehow, Brian made
nice
seductive. Surface charm. He’d show his true colors when he got bored of playing with her, unless she stopped falling for Prince Charming first.

Nora shrugged. “They’re good qualities in a friend, too. He’s been Rob’s friend for almost twenty years.”

The players scattered, and the first pitch arced toward the plate. The batter grounded out on a quick hop by the shortstop. A bevy of attaboys followed. Out in left, Brian rocked side to side, ready and waiting.

“So Brian said you run your own shop?”

“Huh?” She’d almost missed Nora’s question. “Oh, yeah, with my dad.” Up until last year, she would’ve said grandpa, too. Third-generation pride. Now she had a hard time getting the words out. “I’ve been tinkering since I was a kid.”