Tell Me Something Good (6 page)

“Send me an email, and we can set up a time to talk,” she said.

Dude smiled a player’s smile. Tate could spot them a mile away. He should know. He’d written the player’s handbook, after all.

“I’ll email you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Noelle replied.

Finally, the guy left. Tate turned back to the TV mounted on the wall behind the bar and took a hefty swallow of beer. He didn’t like to see a woman, who was too damn nice for her own good, being taken advantage of. That’s all.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. What makes you ask?”

“The scowl on your face.”

Tate relaxed his features and forced his lips upward. “I’m fine. The Rangers need to win this game.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do they need to win?”

“Because they’ve lost the first two games in the series and don’t want to be swept.”

“Oh, okay.” They watched the game in silence for a few minutes.

He twisted toward her. “Didn’t you say that sports are mind-numbingly boring?”

Noelle took a sip of her drink before answering. “I said some people feel that way, not me. I don’t have a strong opinion either way except when they take over your life, but I feel that way about most things that cause discord in relationships. Truth be told, I’ve never paid much attention to sports. I try not to hate things I don’t know about.”

“Hmm.” He turned back to the TV and took another pull of beer.

“He needs to get some heat on that ball.”

Tate looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t take her eyes off the action on the screen.

“Really?” He stared at her profile until she turned to him, stubborn denial plain on her face. He raised his eyebrows. And waited.

Noelle slumped. “Okay, maybe not.”

“I knew it.” He grinned. “Want to know how I knew?”

“No. I thought I was doing a good job faking it using the miniscule sports lingo I have in my arsenal.” She sighed. “But yes, tell me. What gave me away?”

He leaned in closer, catching another trace of her scent, and pointed to the pitcher on the mound. “You said he needs to get some heat on the ball.”

She stared at the TV, her face screwed up in confusion. “He’s throwing the ball so slowly.”

“Yeah, because he’s a knuckleball pitcher.”

Noelle spun toward him, putting their faces, their lips inches apart. The air between them sparked with an electric charge. After a taut second, she pulled back and looked down at her glass. “A what?”

Tate took another swallow of beer, hoping the comfort of the familiar would calm his suddenly jangling senses, and turned back to the TV. “Watch. See how the ball kind of goes crazy at the end?” He quieted as the batter swung and missed.

“Yeah.”

“That’s intentional. Unlike most pitchers who grip the ball with the pads of their fingers, he only uses the tips and then throws it, giving the ball the unpredictable trajectory. He’s not sure where the ball is going and neither is the batter, so he doesn’t have to throw it as hard as other guys.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” She sighed. “Guess that’ll teach me to talk about stuff I know nothing about.”

“You don’t like being wrong, do you?”

Noelle’s brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”

“That frown on your face. It’s the same one I see when I contradict you in a staff meeting or during the show.”

“Probably because what you’re saying makes no sense.”

“You just proved my point,” he said, fighting back laughter.

Her lower lip stuck out. If she were any other woman, he would swear she was doing it on purpose to entice him, but he’d learned over the last few days that she didn’t believe in such frivolous games. She just hated being wrong. He was 99 percent sure she had no idea she’d poked the
plump
lip out. She definitely didn’t know the lip with its lush curve sent blood racing through his veins faster than a NASCAR driver in the Daytona 500.

Tate froze at that last dangerous thought. Distraction time. “Let’s get a table and talk about what we’re going to do about Mike and Shannon and the bet.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “So we’ve killed enough time hanging out?”

Tate laughed, surprised, but strangely pleased, that she continued to keep him off balance. “Yeah, I think so.”

Tate eased off the stool and waited while she did the same. He put his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the busy restaurant. If there was one thing his old man had taught him, it was how to treat a woman in public. With respect and chivalry. Too bad his father hadn’t felt the need to continue the behavior behind closed doors. Although, at breakfast that morning, he’d claimed he was a changed man.

They sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, which offered a modicum of quiet in the noisy bar. Noelle reached into her oversized purse, pulled out a notebook, and flipped to a blank page. “So did you figure out what your outings are going to be?”

“I think so.”

Her eyes flicked to him. “Care to share?”

“In due time.”

“Tomorrow is the first date.”

“Impatient?”

“I like to be prepared.”

Aww, there was that snooty tone she did so well. Knowing it would needle her, he said, “We didn’t decide what the winner gets.”

“You mean what I’ll win when Mike and Shannon stay together.”

“Pssh. They’ll decide that being exclusive isn’t worth it.”

“You actually believe what you’re saying, don’t you?”

“I do.” He tensed, waiting for the psychoanalysis to begin.

She intently studied him for a second, then relaxed against the bench seat. “Then it’s going to be great proving you wrong. How about this? When I win, you have to list
on air
the many, many reasons I was right and you were wrong and then admit that I know more than you about love and relationships. Oh, and that I’m a better talk show host than you. It’ll be the highlight of my year, trust me.”

She’d surprised him yet again. “Not going to happen. You’ll be too busy admitting you were wrong.” He paused. “You
can
admit you’re wrong, right?”

Noelle pursed her lips. “On those rare occasions it happens, yes.”

He laughed lightly. She definitely didn’t bore him. “When I win, not only will you admit that
I
am the better host and that I was right, you’ll call me Tate ‘The Great’ Grayson at my command and list the countless reasons why I’m great.”

“We’ll see.” Her lips curved confidently.

“Back to the first outing.” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What I’m planning on doing—it’s probably not your thing. I’ll understand if you don’t want to participate.”

“I’m up for anything.” Her voice and expression remained steadfast.

It was his turn to offer up a sly smile. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Six

Clubs weren’t Noelle’s thing. Never had been, never would be. She’d ventured out to a few over the years with little success. Alcohol, which seemed to cure the anxiety of other shy people, was never an option. And the flirting and blatant come-ons? She shuddered just thinking about them. She usually ended up in the corner, playing the inadequate wing woman and studying the mating habits of the human race.

But there she stood, determined to live up to her responsibilities. She’d played right into Tate’s nefarious hands. Not that she’d ever tell him, but he was right in one respect. She abhorred being wrong. No way was she going to let him win this bet, especially since she truly believed Shannon and Mike could make it based on the way Shannon had gushed about her boyfriend when they’d set up this excursion.

So, per Tate’s instructions, she’d come to Lush, the newest, hippest club in Dallas, according to her internet research, with Shannon and Caitlin, determined to show Shannon what else was out there.

“Ready to do this?” Noelle asked her charge.

Shannon was cute, a little shorter than Noelle’s five four. Noelle had noticed a few guys already checking out the other woman’s caramel-colored skin, button nose, and black hair styled into soft curls.

Shannon ran her hands down the front of the black dress that showed off her curvy figure and impressive cleavage. “I guess. I haven’t been part of the dating scene in a long time. I’m not sure I can follow Tate’s three Cs.”

Noelle mentally patted herself on the back for not letting a “pssh” slip out at the mention of Tate’s stance. Chill, cling-off, and change. A load of crap, but for tonight at least she had to go along with it. No way would she give Tate reason to claim she’d sabotaged the competition.

“Don’t think about following any rules,” she said. “We’re here to have fun. If you see a cute guy, let him buy you a drink. Or buy him a drink. Dance. Put your problems with Mike on the backburner. And hey, if the guy turns out to be a dud, take Tate’s advice and change. This place is crawling with men.”

Shannon took a measured breath. “Okay. I said I’d do it, so I’m going to do it. I haven’t gone out without Mike in forever. Tonight is about me and me only.” She pounded on the bar until she got the bartender’s attention. “Shots on me!”

Noelle’s gaze cut to Caitlin’s. Her producer’s eyes had gone wide with shock. Noelle gulped. What had they unknowingly unleashed?

An hour and a half later, she had her answer. Apparently, Shannon was a party girl in hiding who’d been biding her time until an opportunity to let loose and wreak havoc presented itself. Other than the black dress and soft curls, she bore little resemblance to the woman who’d timidly stepped into the club. Noelle wished she could blame it on liquid courage, but as far as she could tell, Shannon wasn’t drunk. She was simply reveling in the attention she received from the men in the club.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you give a brother a chance?”

For the love…Noelle tore her eyes away from a gyrating Shannon and glanced heavenward before turning to Ron, the man who’d decided he was Mr. Irresistible and she was playing hard to get. Earlier, while Caitlin and Shannon were dancing, she’d sat at their table minding her own business. He’d bought her a Screaming Orgasm because that’s what he could be counted on to “give all the ladies” and someone as “lovely” as her “shouldn’t be sitting alone.” She’d politely thanked him and listened to him self-aggrandize for several interminable minutes before making her escape by claiming a desperate need to visit the bathroom, only to return to find him hovering by her table.

Even if she hadn’t seen him, she would’ve smelled him. From a million miles away. He’d doused himself in an entire bottle of Old Spice. Seriously, the
entire
bottle. She’d politely turned down his request to dance. Finally, he’d taken the hint and left.

But now he stood in front of her again. Reeking. She didn’t know why she worried about hurting his feelings. He’d shown absolutely no sense of self-awareness. She very much doubted she could put a dent in his self-esteem, but she’d been raised to always be polite even to those who didn’t deserve it. The only person who made her forget her normal state of mind was Tate, but, hey, he did deserve it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t give it right back to her.

To Ron, she said, “I’m sure you’re a nice guy,” something she doubted greatly, “but I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”

That sounded good—courteous and impersonal. Surely he would get a clue and leave with a shred of dignity intact.

“Oh, come on, baby. How can you stand there pretending you don’t want a piece of this?” He waved a hand down his body. “I’ve noticed you looking at me all night.”

Yeah, because he was wearing a bright purple suit and she’d wanted to make sure they were at opposite ends of the club. Clearly, he had no intention of taking her polite hints. Time to break out the big, blunt guns…if she could. If he was a caller, she could at least assume he’d listened to the show before and was prepared for some tough love, but a random guy in a club? She had no idea how he would respond. Crap. She worried too much about hurting people’s feelings. “Look, Ron, I’m not…interested.”

“Why not? Look at me.” He held his arms out wide and raised his chin.

Because you’re a Creepy McCreeperson, who’s going to make me lose my mind in this club
. “Because…”

“Because she’s with me.”

Noelle jumped at the sound of Tate’s lazy drawl behind her. She stumbled when he curled an arm around her waist and drew her in tight into the shelter of his hard body, her hand landing on his chest for balance. In any other circumstance, she’d elbow him in the stomach to force him to let her go, but she wasn’t dumb. She wanted Ron gone, and if Tate’s interference was going to make that happen, then so be it. She pasted on a smile and shrugged.

Ron scoffed. “Who’s this guy, baby? He can’t compare to me. You need to get with a real man.”

“I’m the guy who’s going to pound you into the ground if you call my girlfriend ‘baby’ one more time and don’t leave her alone. Now.”

Despite the loud, pounding music, Noelle heard the quiet menace in Tate’s voice. Ron must have, too, because his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down twice. He coughed and backed away, palms up. “Hey, hey, no need for that. No harm, no foul, right?”

Noelle glanced up and froze. The menace hadn’t stopped at Tate’s voice. His face, usually full of lighthearted humor, had donned a mask of anger. Hard, cold eyes drilled a hole into the self-proclaimed Casanova. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Ron whirled and disappeared into the crowd.

“Having fun?” All the unpleasantness disappeared from Tate’s voice. He actually sounded amused.

It broke the spell she was under. Seeing her hand resting on his chest like it had found its rightful home, she snatched it away and retreated a much-needed step out of the sphere of his overwhelming charisma. Hoping her heart, which had picked up speed and was still tripping along alarmingly fast, would calm down. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that all I get after saving you from Don Juan’s clutches?” His lips, which really should be outlawed for being so distracting, stretched into a way-too-charming smile.

Not that she was affected by a charming smile, of course. “How did you…?”

“How did I know you were having trouble getting rid of him? Because I’ve been watching you, Doctor. I’m the only person who meets with your constant disapproval. Everyone else is a wounded soul who needs your help.”

Noelle took the second sitting on a stool allowed her before answering. “Yeah, well, that’s because I know you can’t be saved. You are who you are.”

“Damn straight.” Tate leaned against the pub-height table, putting him much too close for her comfort. He smelled incredible, but that was a given. She should be used to it by now.

She forced herself to look him in the eye. “But be that as it may, you still helped me out of a sticky situation. Thank you.”

He grinned. “See. I knew you had it in you to be nice to me.”

She inclined her head. “Of course that begs the question—why did you do something nice for me? I thought you enjoyed watching me squirm.”

“I do.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“But the situation was going from amusing to potentially scary, so I stepped in.”

“Oh.” The steel in her spine softened. “Thanks again, but what are you doing here?”

He tilted his chin to the right. Noelle followed the line until she spotted Shannon on the dance floor plastered to a stocky, good-looking guy she assumed was Mike.

“Mike wanted to prove he could be at the same club as Shannon and have fun without her.”

She turned back to her cohost, her eyebrows raised. “Looks like that’s working.”

Tate shrugged. “It’s early in the game. Still plenty of time for them to realize there’s a whole world to explore. I’m sure he’ll come around to my line of thinking sooner or later.”

“Don’t count on it. Look at them. They’re meant for each other. You might as well give in now and admit I was right.”

“Get real. This is as close as they’ve gotten to a real date in who knows how long, so they’re enjoying themselves. You look nice, by the way.”

Stunned by the abrupt change in topic, Noelle froze. Caitlin had expressly forbidden her to wear any of her work outfits. The red jersey dress was a little flashier than the clothes she normally wore and showed a lot more leg than she was used to, but it flattered her figure, molding to her breasts and nipping in at her waist. She hadn’t been able to resist it when she spotted it in a store window. It had hung at the back of her closet for the past year.

“Uhh…thanks.” Noelle clasped her hands together in her lap to stop herself from tugging the dress down, although she couldn’t resist a quick peek to make sure the dress hadn’t ridden up on her thighs. She looked up in time to catch him taking a measured tour of her body. He missed nothing. She quivered under the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes met hers. “Red suits you.”

Was he flirting with her? Yes, he was. His wicked grin confirmed it. Breathing became nearly impossible.

Get it together, Noelle.
He wasn’t attracted to her. He was just being Tate, the eternal flirt.

“You do, too,” she said to break up the lingering silence. “Look nice, I mean.”

Black pants and a black button-down shirt were a major departure from his usual T-shirt-and-jeans combo, but no less flattering. The rolled-up sleeves and untucked hem screamed, “I’m relaxed and comfortable in my own skin.” Sexy, in other words.

“Thanks. Let’s dance.”

Every muscle in Noelle’s body drew up tight in rebellion. “Uhh…let’s not.”

“Why not?”

Because letting loose, especially in public, was anathema to her. “It’s not my thing. I prefer to observe.”

“It’s time you stopped observing. Come on.” He straightened from the table. “Don’t hold the wall.”

“I am not holding the wall,” she said through clenched teeth. Except she totally was, metaphorically speaking anyway. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Because it’s the only thanks I’m prepared to accept. Come on, Doctor. You’re supposed to be participating fully. That’s a stipulation of the bet. Don’t tell me you’re reneging already.”

She knew he was messing with her. Again, his wicked grin confirmed it. Her competitive side didn’t care. She stepped off the stool. “Fine.”

Noelle marched to the packed dance floor with Tate right behind her. She noticed the envious looks other women sent her way, but she couldn’t concentrate on that. Not when she was about to make a fool of herself.

But even that possible unpleasant outcome lost its importance at her first contact with Tate’s muscular body. An electric current zipped through her body. An unwelcome electric current. She took a hasty step back and closed her eyes to block out how close he was, how distracting his body was. She concentrated on the music, letting it flow through her and moving her hips to the drum-heavy beat.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance.” Tate’s lips brushed her ear.

“I said I don’t like to dance. At least not in public.”

“In private?”

“I crank up the music and drop it like it’s hot.”

Noelle’s eyes flew open. Had she said that out loud?

Tate had stopped moving and was staring at her like he’d never seen her before. A peal of laughter bubbled up in her chest. She’d surprised him. Good.

The corners of his mouth tilted up. “I would pay good money to see that.”

“I bet you would, and it would be worth every penny.”

Tate’s eyes darkened with an emotion she didn’t want to put a name to. “Would it?”

“Without a doubt,” she murmured.

What was she doing? Why was she doing it? Instead of trying to find answers she was pretty sure she didn’t want, Noelle resumed dancing. Tate didn’t back away. No, he stood much too close for her sanity, his hot, inquisitive eyes focused squarely on her, his movements mirroring hers. Of course he could dance. Was there anything he couldn’t do? If he moved this well on the dance…
Stop
. No need to go down that road.

She backed up a few inches, but he followed her, bringing his heat so close. Making her think things. Long for things. What if she let go of some of the rigid control she kept over her life?

“Hey, everybody having a good time?” the DJ yelled into his microphone. The capacity crowd yelled out a collective “yes.”

“Good. It’s never a bad time for some MJ, right?” he called out as the opening bars of “Billie Jean” played.