Winner Takes All (26 page)

“You know what?” Stella waved a hand in the air. “Forget I asked that question because I already know what the problem is.” She jabbed Annabelle in the chest with a skinny index finger. “You're the problem.”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes at her friend. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” Stella said. “You're complicating a situation that's not complicated. That's what you do. It's your MO.”

Annabelle laughed, which came out as more of a cough because her breath got stuck in her throat. “That's completely not true. I don't even have an MO.” Wait. Did she?

Since her divorce, she'd tried to keep her life simple. Pain free. Worry free. She'd thought focusing on her career and keeping men out of it had been the way to go.

Then Blake had come along with his bedroom voice and five o'clock shadow and blown all her good intentions out of the water. The scary thing was, he'd done it with such little effort. He'd kicked through her defenses with that size 13 of his and barged his way right in. Without permission. Without warning. She'd been ill prepared for his presence. Or the aftermath.

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Annabelle,” Stella told her. “But you deserve to be happy. What's wrong with giving Blake a chance?”

See, that was the thing. There was nothing wrong with it. Being with Blake wouldn't be wrong, but so very right. Too right; she wouldn't be able to detach herself from him.

“He scares me, Stella,” Annabelle whispered.

“And that's a normal thing when you have feelings for someone. Love is never simple,” Stella added. “It's messy and complicated and hard, but it can also be the most rewarding thing in the world.”

Annabelle shook her head and glanced at the people around them. “How do you know it'll work out?”

“You don't know,” Stella answered. “Isn't the reward worth the risk?” Stella ushered Annabelle toward the diner's front doors. “It's not the fear of the unknown you have to get over, Annabelle. It's yourself.”

“Or maybe it's just the one-eyed snake.”

The voice, belonging to Patty Silvano, sent a cringe through Annabelle's system. And not just for intruding on hers and Stella's conversation. One-eyed snake? Seriously?

Stella pointed an index finger at the woman's button-down floral shirt. “Exactly. Tell her what she's missing out on, Patty.”

Patty nodded, which didn't even nudge the beehive held together by hairspray and pins. “The ol' salami,” the woman said. “The beef bayonet. Long Dong Silver—”

Annabelle pinned her hands over her ears. “Oh my Lord, I'm not listening.” She pushed through the diner's doors and immediately smacked into the end of the line of people waiting to be seated.

Stella and Patty followed. “Well, there's no reason to be scared, Annabelle. It's just a muscle. Why, my Stan had a girth of five inches, but it's really not that bad. You just have to get used to it and I'm telling you, once you do, any plain old man won't do anymore.”

Stella's mouth dropped open and Annabelle swore a flush of red filled her cheeks.

“That's great, Mrs. Silvano,” Annabelle said to keep the woman from blurting out anything else. “But we weren't talking about a man's penis.”

Patty opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, as though the thought of discussing anything else was unbelievable. To be honest, Annabelle wasn't sure why she was surprised. Patty was the most spry and spunky of the Beehive Mafia, often being teased as being a teenager trapped in an old woman's body.

She jammed her hands on her bony hips, clad in a pair of brown polyester pants. “Well, what the hell else is there to be afraid of?”

Stella nudged Patty in the ribs. “What I've been saying.”

“Okay, will you both stop?” Annabelle demanded, aware of the people mingling around and not needing anything else for them to talk about. Blake had enough on his shoulders without the gossipers speculating about a relationship between them. He needed to focus on the play-offs and fending off questions about the two of them.

“Well,” Patty said with a toss of her head, “if neither of you want my advice, then what am I doing here?”

Then she was gone, back out the door and letting more people in who stood in line behind them.

“Long Dong Silver?” Stella asked with a shudder. “I swear, I don't know if I should be amused or afraid.”

Annabelle nodded her agreement. “Sometimes I wonder if Patty is a few cards short of a full deck.”

“I actually think she's a sharp as a tack,” Stella countered. “She's just eccentric.”

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice sounded from behind Annabelle. She turned and spotted a tall pear-shaped woman with chin-length dishwater-blond hair. She stuck out a hand with a blinking diamond on her ring finger. “I'm Misty Porter. Scott Porter's mother.”

Annabelle blinked. “Oh,” she replied, and took the woman's hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

Misty's grin grew. “I just wanted to thank you for all the help you've given Scott this season.”

Annabelle found herself grinning back. “It's my pleasure. He's a talented player, not to mention a good kid.”

The compliment had Misty glowing. “Thank you. His dad and I are so proud, especially considering how rough the past two seasons were. Coach Carpenter has been so good for those kids.”

The line to the counter moved, and the women moved along with it. “All they needed was some good leadership. They're talented kids.”

“He's more than just a good leader for them,” Misty added. “He's transformed the whole team.”

Annabelle wondered if Blake knew how much the people loved him. Would he still doubt himself if he heard what Misty had to say? Annabelle would guess probably so, because Blake Carpenter was his own worst critic.

“I know a lot of people had their misgivings about him coming here,” Misty went on, “but we've always stood by him, and we're so glad he's here.” She leaned closer as a group of people nudged by them, toward the exit. “We're also glad he's found you. He seemed like such a lonely man, didn't he?”

Found her?

Annabelle forced a wider smile and tilted her head. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, I wasn't trying to assume anything,” Misty corrected. “But some of the other moms are saying that you and the coach are a thing.”

“I wouldn't really say that—”

“A woman in my scrapbooking club said her daughter spotted the two of you at the lake. She went on to say how adorable you two were and how you were practically glowing.”

Behind Annabelle, Stella cleared her throat and she knew it wasn't because her friend had something lodged. “We were just there having lunch.”

Stella coughed this time and Annabelle wanted to smack her upside the head.

Pink flooded Misty's cheeks. “Gracie, that's my friend's daughter, said it looked like more than lunch. Scott even told me he thought you and the coach were an item.”

Had someone turned up the heat? A bead of sweat slid down Annabelle's back. She didn't want to divulge any details to this woman; even though she seemed perfectly nice, Annabelle didn't know her from Adam. Even still, she wouldn't have the faintest clue how to respond. Denying always seemed like the best route.

But how much longer could she lie to herself? And other people? She knew perfectly well, just like they did, that there
was
something between her and Blake.

“Well, anyway,” Misty continued, “I just wanted to say that I think it's adorable, and the kids love it.”

“They do?” Annabelle queried, instead of correcting the woman.

“How could they not? Anyone could tell that man needed some softness in his life, considering what he's been through. And the players love you, so I don't think there's anyone else they'd want in their coach's life.”

She peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth and was about to force out a thank you, when Misty glanced at her watch and edged toward the door. “I've gotta run,” she told Annabelle and Stella. “It was nice meeting you.”

She breezed past them, allowing more people into the diner as she exited. Beside her, Stella was smirking, even though Annabelle couldn't see her face. She knew her friend well enough to recognize the tilt of her head.

“What?” Annabelle finally demanded.

Stella held her hands up. “I didn't say anything. Except ditto what she said.”

Y
ou're an idiot,” Blake whispered to himself after tapping the back of his knuckles on Annabelle's front door. He dipped the tips of his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans and tightened his grip on the gift bag in his other hand.

For some insane reason, he'd been looking forward to waking up next to her that morning. All his fantasies of her since they'd met had involved a bed, minimal clothing, and maybe some early morning lovemaking. The latter would have been a longshot, he knew. Especially after the way he'd acted the night before.

You mean like a Neanderthal?

Yeah, that.

After all, what woman would want to get naked with a guy who'd not only been borderline drunk, but had told her to get the hell out more than once?

He'd acted like a complete ass. He'd also all but broken down when she'd dumped his Oxy down the drain. Like a first-class pussy.

Real manly and heroic.

Blake shifted his feet on the welcome mat and knocked on the door again. If she didn't answer with this one, he'd leave and come back later. Because he always found his way back to her. Even after showing his most vulnerable side of himself last night and allowing her to take care of him. Curling himself around her, skin to skin, feeling her deep breaths in synchronization with his had been foreign territory for him. Blake had never been big on cuddling. He didn't spoon or have breakfast in bed or share food. Even as he'd gotten in her face and told her to get out, deep inside he'd cringed at the thought of her leaving. He'd wanted her to stay. To spend the whole night lying next to him. He'd just been too much of a baby to outright ask her.

The intimacy he'd shared with Annabelle only magnified how empty his past relationships really were.

How empty he really was.

It wasn't an easy reality to swallow, but after forcing it down, Blake had been left with one conclusion.

He wanted Annabelle Turner. And not for just another meaningless screw. He wanted her in his life, in his home, and in his heart. He was in love with her, and after last night, there was no going back. She'd dug herself good and deep.

Blake was just about to turn around and go home when he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. A second later, before he had time to prepare himself, the door swung open and there she was.

Annabelle blinked at him. “Blake,” she said.

“Can I come in?” he asked her.

She offered him a small smile, which turned his heart over, and stepped aside. “Of course. I was just in the backyard planting some flowers.”

That was when he noticed the smear of dirt on her right thigh, hair piled on top of her head in some messy bun and freshly scrubbed, makeup-free face, which allowed the light smattering of freckles across her nose to peek out.

The woman was so beautiful he had a hard time breathing around her.

He stepped over the threshold, hoping to brush up against her, but she'd stepped too far back. On purpose? Was she trying to keep her distance from him? If he managed to scare her away after last night, he'd never forgive himself.

“I can come back if I'm interrupting,” he told her.

Annabelle closed the door. “Don't be ridiculous. The flowers aren't going anywhere. And I'd hate to think things would be that awkward between us.”

“Yeah, I came to apologize about that.” He shoved his hand back in his pocket because if he didn't, he'd tunnel it through her hair. Then follow through with a deep, soulful kiss. “I was a dick last night and you didn't deserve the way I treated you.”

She blinked those bottomless green eyes at him. “Blake, you have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone's sorry, it's me.”

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

Annabelle turned and led him to the living room. “For butting in. As usual,” she said over her shoulder. “I have a problem with making everyone's business my own and I should have left you alone.”

“I didn't want you to leave me alone.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “I know that's what I said to you, more than once, but I'm glad you stayed.” He held his breath for a moment, then plunged forward with the ultimate confession. “I'm also glad you tossed those pills.”

Annabelle's tongue darted out and swiped across her lower lip. “Are you really?”

Blake sighed and placed her gift on the coffee table. “Yeah,” he admitted after a moment. “Scared the shit out of me at first. But I'm glad they're gone, and I'm glad you were the one to do it. No one else would have done that for me.”

“That's because no one else knows you have a problem,” she reminded him.

“That too,” he agreed. “Also because I didn't want anyone else to know.”

“You didn't want me to know either,” she pointed out.

Damn, she was too smart for her own good. “Also true. Yet here you are,” he said. “Right where I don't want you to be.”

Something dark flashed across her eyes, but it was gone so fast that Blake almost thought he'd imagined it.

“Where would that be?” she asked.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, where he could feel tension building. “See, that's the thing. I'm not exactly sure. I just know you're the only woman who's gotten this far.” When she didn't say anything, which was probably a good thing because Blake was at a loss for words, he picked up the gift bag and held it out to her. “The other coaches and I went in together on this for you. Kind of a thank-you for your time. And for putting up with our grumpy asses,” he added.

The comment coaxed a smile out of her. “You guys didn't have to do that. I told you from the beginning, I'm happy to help out.” She took the bag from him. “I care about those kids.”

Blake nodded. “I know. That's why you're so good at what you do. It's more than just a job for you.”

Annabelle lifted a brow as she took the tissue out of the bag. “I told you to stop thinking so highly of me.”

He tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “You don't give me much of a choice.”

A deep red colored her high cheekbones, then spread over her whole face when she pulled the gift out of the bag. The bag fell to the floor as she held the black football jersey up with her last name in bold white letters on the back and the number 1 front and center.

“Is this an actual game jersey?” she asked as her green gaze ran over the number one on the front.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered. “It's the home jersey.”

She shook her head and turned the jersey around. “I don't know what to say. You really didn't need to get me anything.”

“Yes, we did,” he countered. Then he took the jersey from her and slipped it over her head. “You earned it for how much time you've spent with the players. Hell, you earned it for just putting up with me.”

The garment fell to her hips and was too wide for her shoulders. But it was damn adorable and conjured a ridiculous image of her wearing one of his jerseys and nothing else. Except maybe a stringy little thong underneath. That he could remove with his teeth.

“Well, you were a bit of a challenge at first, I'll admit that,” she told him with a coy look. She tugged the jersey down and gave herself a once-over. “It's a bit big for me.”

“It's supposed to be big.” He had to fist his hands at his sides to keep from sliding them under the hem and up the creamy skin of her stomach.

She lifted a brow at him. “To make room for all those pads I'll be wearing?” she teased.

“For a man, yeah. For a woman it's just meant to be cute,” he told her.

Her smile slipped a fraction. “You think I look cute in this?”

Was that a loaded question or what? “I'm too much of a gentleman to say how you really look in this thing.”

She took a step closer to him and touched his bottom lip with her index finger. “We both know you're not that much of a gentleman.”

Her skin smelled of sunshine and sweat and lingering body wash or lotion or whatever the hell girly shit women wore. It teased his nostrils and sent a wave of awareness through his system, the same awareness he'd been tortured with last night as they'd lain side by side.

“I'm trying, anyway,” he said in response to her statement. “But you're making it damn hard.” In more ways than one.

“Am I?” Her cool hands gripped his fists, unfolded his fingers, and placed them on her lower back. “It's okay to touch me. I won't bite.”

But it wasn't okay. Touching her was far from okay.

It's more than okay, you jackass. It's so damn good that you know you want to do more.

Hell yeah he did, but he couldn't because he was trying to respect her wishes to keep things friendly and platonic. Except there was nothing friendly about the way she moved into him, pressing her thighs to his, nudging his chest with her supple breasts.

And definitely not friendly when his palms explored the gentle curve of her lower back, then glided over the fullness of her rear end. He gave her a good tug, yanking her harder against him.

Yeah, nothing but friendly.

“Screw friendly,” he muttered.

Annabelle's lips parted and her eyelids slowly blinked. “What?” she asked.

Now his brain was so muddled with desire that his filter had shut itself off.

His lips barely skimmed over hers. “You're making it hard to stay away from that casual fling you're so against.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

A growl bubbled up in his chest, which he managed to suppress. “You can't go changing your mind like that unless you mean it. Not right to mess with a man's head this way.”

“What about the way you mess with mine?” she countered as she placed her palms on the flat planes of his chest.

“We should do something about that,” he suggested. “Unless you want me to leave.”
Please don't ask me to leave.

She slowly nodded while sliding her hands up his pecs, over his collarbones, then curved over the muscle where his neck met his shoulders. “Yeah, you should go. We can't do this.”

Liar. Her eyes, normally so bright green they reminded Blake of freshly cut grass, were dilated. Darkened with the same desire coursing through his veins like a barbiturate. They both knew she wasn't about to ask him to leave. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And they'd danced around each other for too long for it to dissipate now.

No, this was it. This was what they'd been leading up to since the moment she'd hit him with that hypnotic stare. Since the first time she'd swayed those hips for him. From the moment she'd argued with him and butted her nose into his business.

From the very first second their lips touched and set off a myriad of fireworks that could outshine the finale of a Fourth of July show.

His grip on her rear end tightened. “So tell me to leave,” he urged.

Her fingers slid into his hair. “Leave,” she whispered. The same kind of whisper made for dark corners and darker bedrooms.

“I'm not convinced.”

She grinned against his lips. “I thought that sounded pretty convincing.”

“Not by a long shot, Ms. Turner,” he told her.

“How about, ‘Get the hell out of my house.'”

He nuzzled her throat with his nose, breathing in the scent of her hair and the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Better,” he said. “But I might believe you if you could say it while you're not trying to claw your way into my clothes,” he murmured in her ear.

“Oh.” Her head dropped back when he placed a soft kiss on her neck. “I guess you see right through me, then.”

He chuckled and satisfaction amped up his male pride when goose bumps rose on her flesh. “I don't think you're trying very hard.”

“Because I'm through trying,” she responded.

He lifted his head and looked at her, recognizing the need and fire in her eyes as matching his own. “I need you to be sure,” he told her.

Her fingers dug harder into the back of his skull. “I am.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He'd been ready to drag her into the bedroom from the moment she'd slipped the football jersey over her head.

He bent his knees and lifted her so she could hook her legs over his hips. “Bedroom,” was all he said, because getting out anything more than that was too much.

She waved a hand in some direction behind his head. “That way,” she answered. “Down the hall on the left.”

He figured if he kicked open enough doors, he'd eventually find her bedroom. Hell, it didn't even need to be her room. Any room with a bed would do.

Annabelle fixed her mouth on his, slipping her tongue past his lips. He opened for her, inviting her all the way in, while he carried her down the hallway. She was light and curvy and fit in the cradle of his hips so well that he never wanted to put her down.

He remembered how she'd felt straddling his legs when they'd been at the lake. How easy it had been for her to fit her thighs next to his hips and settle the curve of her rear end on his thighs. The position had always been one of his favorites in bed because it allowed the woman to have more control while he could watch the expressions on her face.

When Annabelle had thrown her leg over his, he'd been assaulted by an image of her astride him in bed. Hair trailing down her back, eyes closed, lips parted. Sweat glistening the indentation of her spine and hips rocking back and forth.

Oh yeah, it would be good.

“That one.” Annabelle tore her mouth from his and pointed to a door he'd just walked past.

He was already so consumed with what they were about to do that he'd walked clear to the end of the hall.

She directed him to the correct door, which he kicked closed behind them. He didn't bother with setting her on the floor, not wanting to waste another second. Instead, he went straight for the bed, dropping her in the middle and settling himself on top of her.