On His Turf (10 page)
“Do you like omelets?” I ask, not looking at him.
“I like everything,” he says and he sounds like he means it. I can only imagine how many calories he must burn running around on the field non-stop and from the sheer size of him he probably needs a lot of fuel.
I busy myself dicing the onion and peppers and grating cheese while he watches me. The kitchen is way too silent and the air is thick with all of the things we aren’t saying so I flick on the radio by the wall. I lose myself in the rhythm while I heat the pan and whisk the eggs. Cooking has always been something that I find soothing, which is lucky since it’s something I had to teach myself to do from about the age of four. It is amazing how resourceful hunger can make a person. But that aside I love the routine and domesticity of it; the ability to be able to create something beautiful from a handful of ingredients is a truly amazing thing. I throw some Canadian bacon into another pan to brown and I swing my hips as I spin around in a circle.
“Watching you cook is making me hard,” his deep voice surprises me and I drop the spatula. It clatters against the pan before falling to the floor.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m used to having the kitchen all to myself.” I add, because for a minute I actually forgot that Shane was here.
“Don’t be. It’s damn sexy.” He flashes me a dimpled smile as I bend down to retrieve the spatula. I quickly finish the bacon and omelets and arrange both on a plate that I set down in front of him.
“Coffee?” I ask, still trying to recover from the embarrassment of my morning dance routine.
“Nah, I’m good with juice,” he says, patting his stomach.
“You don’t drink it?” I stare at him in surprise, wondering how it is that he makes it through the day without the holy joy of roasted beans.
“Coffee is dehydrating and I never really developed a taste for it,” he answers before digging into his breakfast. “This is really good. You can cook.” He says it like he can’t actually believe it’s true.
“I love to cook,” I blush, looking down at the table top. “It’s something my mother never did much of so I had no choice but to learn.”
He stares at me for a beat as his fork hovers in the air and in that moment something real and unexplainable passes between us. And weirdly is feels like he somehow gets me even though I’ve barely said anything at all.
“You’re too hot to be this good of a cook,” he says to lighten the mood and I laugh out loud.
“That makes absolutely no sense. Lots of women and men, attractive or otherwise, can cook.”
“I just mean that I thought you’d be more high maintenance. You know…princess-y.”
“No, definitely not that,” I mutter and he nods.
“So I’m learning.” He scoops of the rest of his eggs then carries his plate over to the sink. “That’s good news for us because you only have about an hour before we need to leave for the lake,” he adds, glancing at the clock on the stove. “I’m going to head back home to grab my swim trunks and a quick shower but I’ll meet you back here.”
“Maybe you should just go with your friends!” I blurt out, avoiding his eyes. He walks over to me and kneels down so we are face to face. He grabs my chin and tilts it back, forcing me to look at him.
“I want you to meet my friends,” he says firmly.
“Why?” I sigh.
“I want to show you off.” He grins down at me.
“Ugh, that is so primitive.” I try to twist my face out of his hold but he only tightens his grip.
“Hell yeah it is and you love it,” he whispers in a rough voice. “I’ll be you’re wet right now just thinking about how primitive I can be.”
I rear back and shove my palms against his warm, bare chest.
“You are disgusting.” I jump off my chair and angrily collect my plate and coffee cup before heading to the sink. When my back is to him he slaps my ass - hard - and I yelp in response. I whirl around to give him a piece of my mind but he clearly has other plans as he tugs open the tie on my robe and carries me back over to the chair. He pulls me down on to his lap and arches into me so I can feel how rock hard he is already. His hands travel under the robe to caress my bare ass and he captures my mouth with his.
“What do you want, babe?” he asks between kisses while tracing his tongue along my neck. I’m not sure if he means sexually or philosophically and so I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re sitting here, naked, soaking wet and pressed against my cock and you are still overthinking things, so tell me exactly what it is that you want?” His words sting like a thousand tiny needles against my skin as reality seeps back in. I straighten my spine and climb off his lap.
“What do I want? You, Mr. asshole-soccer-star I-don’t-do-girlfriends-but-I-want-to-fuck-you-and-chuck-you player, you think you have the right to ask me want I want?” At my rant he starts to stand but I hold out my palm to stop him.
“I can tell you what I don’t want - I don’t want a one-night stand, I don’t want to be treated like I am a trophy or prize to be won and then tossed aside like some cheap carnival stuffed bear, and I definitely don’t want to be led around by the nose by some fame-whore playboy like I’m some lost little puppy.” The words just fly out of my mouth and there’s nothing I can do to take them back so I plow forward. His face is getting redder by the minute and I know he’s about to blow but I can’t help myself.
“What I want, Shane Mitchell, may come as a shock to you but what I want is the most normal, uneventful, boring life you could ever imagine. I want a patch of green grass and a white picket fence. I want quiet evenings and lazy Sunday mornings. I want backyard barbecues and a big tree in the front yard that my kids can play on. Yes, I work and I have ambitions of my career in journalism taking off, but that is secondary to the desire I have for a peaceful life.” I pause and take a breath, keeping my eyes trained on him. “That is part of the reason I work two jobs - I’ve been saving anything and everything I can for a down payment on a house so I can have that life and earn it on my own.”
My legs are shaking and my heart is pounding when I finish my little speech and the only sound in the quiet kitchen is that of the chair legs scraping against the floor as he throws it aside and advances on me. Without warning he picks me up and backs me against the fridge. As I look into his eyes I notice that his expression is stormy and his breath is coming out in little pants.
“Two things, Carmelina, and you damn well better remember them because I’m not going to tell you twice. One - I don’t ‘fuck and chuck’ anyone as you call it. I’m a big boy and I’ve always been honest with women about what I want and what I am able to give. So there are no victims in my past only consenting adults. And you are so far from a one-night stand that there’s not even the right word right now for me to explain it. Two - and listen carefully to this one - I am not now, nor have I ever been a fame whore. You know how you want the house with the white fence and the big tree? Well my ‘house’ is soccer. All I want to do is to play the game I love for as long as I can play it. There’s nothing like the smell of still-wet grass in the morning or the sound of the first whistle blaring. There’s nothing like the feeling of the whip of the ball against my gloves when I make a save. I imagine it’s what crack would be like for some. Everything else: The women, the money, my picture in the paper - everything else is secondary. Are we clear?”
His look is so fierce that I can only nod. Then his lips crash down on mine and he kisses me with all of the pent-up tension that’s been building in my kitchen since we both woke up. I shake in his arms with a mixture of fear and desire and I wonder how it is that he can be so sweet and playful in one moment and yet so ferocious in the next. He breaks the kiss first and heaves in a huge breath.
“If I keep on kissing you I’m going to have to fuck you against this refrigerator and then we’ll never get to the river,” he says as he sets me down and walks over to grab his black dress shirt that’s hanging over the back of the chair. He shrugs it on but doesn’t do up the buttons, leaving me a clear view of his perfect chest.
“Go get dressed,” he commands. “Pack and suit and a towel and don’t forget sunscreen. You’ll probably want some sturdy shoes too since flip flops usually get lost on the float.” He clears his throat, then bends down to place a soft kiss against my lips. It is so unlike the rough assault only minutes before it that it has my mind spinning out in every direction.
“I’ll be back in less than an hour and I expect to find you ready. If you even think about ditching me I will track you down,” he says before disappearing into the living room. I follow him to the door and watch as he lets himself out. After he’s gone I head back to the bedroom to stare at the tangle of sheets on the bed and I honestly don’t know whether to laugh and fist pump the air or to curl up into a ball and cry.
Forty-five minutes later I’m sitting on my sofa with my beach bag packed when the doorbell rings. I open it and come face to face with Shane whose wearing low slung black board shorts and a white tank top. His blond hair is still damp from his shower and he looks as rested and gorgeous as he always does.
“You ready?” he gives me the once-over as I push past him. He follows and I turn back to lock the door. “Can’t wait to see what’s under that dress,” he says in a husky voice as he traces his hand across my back.
I stuff my keys into my bag and swat his hand away. “It’s not a dress,” I mutter grumpily because I’m still not convinced that I should be going at all. I’m wearing a simple, cotton beach cover in black with a cinched waist and a deep V-neck at the front and the back. I have on my big, round shades and despite his warning I’m wearing my go-to black flip flops. My light brown hair is piled in a messy bun on top of my head and other than lip gloss I have no make-up on. He tries to take my hand as we walk down the stairs but I pry my fingers away.
“Are you always this moody the morning after sex?” he sighs.
“Can we not talk about last night?” I snap, still feeling guilty that I let my guard down and caved. “How long does it take to get there?” I change the subject as he helps me into the passenger seat of the truck.
“The tube rental place is in Canyon Lake which is about an hour away,” he explains as he pulls out of my complex and heads for the I-35. After a few minutes I start to relax because it’s a beautiful day out and even though it’s only ten in the morning it’s already hot outside. Despite the two Tylenol I took this morning I still have a dull headache from the shots last night so I’m thinking a float on the river is exactly what I need. He turns on the radio to a country station and we fall into an easy conversation about where he grew up and his time in Florida and Salt Lake. He tells me his family still lives in Lago Vista which is an area that’s filled with fancy vacation homes so I figure they must be well-off. Since I’ve already spilled the beans about my mother we mostly avoid that topic but he does ask about my dad.
“I’ve never actually met him since he left right after I was born.”
“Left where?”
“Back to Mexico,” I reply and he looks over at me.
“So you are part Latina.”
“No, I’m from Texas,” I say stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest which only makes him laugh.
“Why so defensive?”
“Because other than a ninety-nine cent birthday card I get once a year stuffed with pictures of his new family I have zero ties to Mexico. I’ve never even been there.”
“Sorry,” he says seriously. “That’s unforgivable on his part.”
“It’s hard to forgive someone who’s never even asked for it. It doesn’t matter,” I say stiffly.
“But it does.
La familia es importante y usted merece saber su herencia
.” The Spanish rolls easily off his tongue and I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Pardon?”
“You don’t speak Spanish?” he says, furrowing his brows.
“I told you, I’ve never met my dad.”
“Yeah babe, but you’re still from Texas.”
“Well we didn’t all grow up with your opportunities,” I snap. “Of course you know fluent Spanish,” I add on a grumble and he chuckles and reaches across the cab to place a hand on my thigh.
“Now let’s not waste time fighting about how incredible I am; let’s just enjoy the day.” He winks at me and my mouth drops open.
“You really are something else, you know that?” I laugh shortly and he smiles, clearly taking it as a compliment.
“I know.”
We arrive at The Guadalupe which turns out to be a very scenic river flanked by cool-looking limestone banks and shady pecan and bald cypress trees. Presently it is crammed shoulder to shoulder with bodies on tubes and loud music blares from all of the different portable speakers. Shane tells me that we’re doing the horseshoe loop and it should take about two hours given the level of the river. We find his group of friends over by the rental shack and I immediately recognize the dark-haired Marco from the team. A pin-thin blond with massive fake boobs is draped over his arm and he gives me a wide smile when he sees me.
“Long time no see,” he jokes even though we saw each other at the club just last night.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Carmelina.” I hold out my hand to introduce myself but Shane quickly snags it and drags me over to where the tubes are.
“What do you know about Marco?” he asks and his voice sounds a little weird.
“Well he was one of your henchmen last night,” I roll my eyes before adding, “and I saw him in the locker room the first time we met. He seems nice.”
“Marco is not nice. Marco is Marco,” he says cryptically before leading me over to another small cluster of people. He introduces two guys that he tells me are old high school friends and his friend Dillon and his wife, Karen. Shane excuses himself to deal with the rentals and I turn my attention to Karen. I hold out my hand but Karen pulls me into a hug.
“It’s so nice to have a female with an actual brain joining us today,” she says before casting an angry look in the direction of Marco and his plastic-looking crew. There are three bikini-clad girls that don’t appear to be with anyone but are all over everyone and right now their primary target seems to be Shane. One of the girls has her hand on Shane’s arm and I glare at it like I have the power to break it off with my mind.