Rush Me Page 18

  Eva grinned. “Oh, yes. Come on, Rach.”

  I joined in. The entire musical was silly, but too much fun not to sing along with. I trailed off in bursts of laughter as Eva continued singing brightly as we found a spot to settle down. “We open in November. You guys should come. It’s going to be brilliant.”

  We spread out our blankets and unloaded our food. Eva and I had planned on eating baguettes with Camembert cheese and jam and pretending we were French, but we’d also picked up some cold cuts after I invited the linebacker along. The guys also picked up two rotisserie chickens, a round cake of corn bread, and two six packs. Whatever worked. Soon enough, Nanami and Jen joined us and donated cookies and a carton of strawberries to the cause.

  For the first five minutes, I watched nervously. Mixing friend groups could be a risky endeavor. What if differences insulted people, and everyone ended up on edge? But Mike and Abe were simply too laid back, and even Dylan’s sarcasm fit in well with my friends’ sense of humor. Before I knew it, the food was gone and we were all lolling about on full bellies. When Dylan responded to a text I barely even noticed, but then, half an hour later, Malcolm and Briana approached, hands swinging between them.

  Bri struck up a conversation with Nanami about civil engineering, which Bri studied and Nanami worked with, while the rest of the group was sucked into a debate about the team’s chances tomorrow.

  “Rachael?”

  I twisted around at the hesitant voice. Laurel stood behind me, her high heels sinking only slightly into the grass. She wore her fitted coat open, and while it was warm enough to go without a scarf, she’d still draped a royal blue pashima around her neck. She smiled, her face even more perfectly balanced and poreless than usual, and held out an elegant pale lavender box, silvery curlicues and letters shining. Her eyes flicked to the guys behind me.

  Ah. It clicked into place. I had been fairly closed mouthed about Ryan around the office, but Laurel was the type to read gossip blogs on the off-chance she showed up in them. I could just imagine her surprise when I showed up in one.

  “Thanks.” I took the proffered box. Its silvered letters spelled out Ladurée, the name of the French macaron shop on Madison. “Oh, wow. I love these.”

  And I happened to know a box of two-dozen imported cookies cost roughly seventy bucks, and the wait in line could take up to forty minutes.

  My mouth watered. Macarons consisted of two delicate, slightly domed and crackly crusted cookies sandwiched together by ganache. They came delicately infused in a dozen flavors; from chocolate to pistachio, from raspberry to rose, to the only-in-New-York cannelle et raisin. I adored them. Eva called them hipster cupcakes.

  I made myself put the box down, and smile up at the bringer. Laurel looked uncharacteristically nervous. “I remember you mentioned a French theme.” Her gaze swept over the baguettes and cheeses, along with the sandwich wrappers. “I thought I’d contribute.”

  “They’re perfect. Yeah, we were, though when the guys came, they brought more. Probably a good thing, since they eat like horses.” I pushed myself off the ground. “Here, let me introduce you.”

  Laurel looked like a doll surrounded by the football players, and yet she demanded total and complete attention. Amused, I dropped back next to Eva, stretching out on my stomach and handing her half of my cinnamon-raisin macaron.

  Eva rolled over closer to me and grinned. “They’re very manly men, aren’t they?”

  “I know, right?” I stared at them. “Not that I don’t love your theatre boys.”

  “I know. It’s just these guys are a different breed entirely. I didn’t even know you could find them like this in Manhattan.”

  “It’s ’cause they were imported from out of town. Like the cookies.”

  For a moment, we gazed stupidly at the guys across the blanket. Sun spread over my back, along my hair, and I just lay there, breathing in crunchy leaves and soaking up the Indian summer sunrays.

  Then Eva tensed. “Uh-oh,” she whispered. “Guy trouble at two o’clock.”

  “What...?” I craned my head to the right. There, striding across the lawn, a scowl marring his golden-boy face, was Ryan Carter. Great.

  “He doesn’t look very happy” Eva added.

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  A boy, no more than four, ran into Ryan’s knee. My breath caught. Ryan did not look in the mood for small children. But to my surprise, he paused, unclenched his hands, and knelt down. The little boy spoke, and Ryan laughed, ruffled his hair, and then followed him over to his family’s blanket. He pumped the father’s hand, charmed the wife, and then signed the soccer ball that the child eagerly presented to him.

  “Your heart’s melting right now, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up,” I whispered back. “I hate him. He called me a freak.”

  “Yeah, ’cause you hurt him when you called him a man-whore.”

  “He was hooking up with a total stranger the night I met him.”

  “But he didn’t give you any STDs.”

  “He called me a freak! What if he thinks I’m awful at sex?”

  Bri, to my embarrassment, dropped down so she, too, lay on her stomach—on her designer coat!—and asked, “So you finally slept with him?”

  I groaned and dropped my face to the grass.

  “Oops, he’s moving again,” Eva said. “And the scowl is back.”

  “Why would he think you’re awful at sex?” Bri asked.

  “She’s just nervous because they got in a fight.”

  Bri sounded amazed. “Ryan doesn’t fight with girls.”

  “Gee, I’m so glad to be the exception.” Then I snapped my head at her. “What’s that mean?”

  Bri tilted her head. “Ryan just breaks up with people when they argue with him. He doesn’t like conflict.”

  That boded really well for the conversation we were about to have.

  “Are you going to head him off?” Eva asked.

  No. But I wouldn’t greet him lying face flat on the ground, either. I sat up, the other two girls following.

  Ryan’s attention stayed fixed at my face, but I pretended I didn’t see him, resisting the urge to glance over as he closed the distance. It was hard, and I concentrated on Abe instead, watching as he gesticulated wildly, while Laurel laughed her high-pitched false laugh.

  I watched peripherally as Ryan strode into the group, and the guys broke apart to let him in, thumping him hello and grinning. They stalled him for a bare minute. I angled my face toward Eva. “Quick. Pretend we’re having an interesting conversation.”

  “Why? I just want to watch this interesting conversation. Besides, it’s too late now.”

  Ryan blocked out the sun. Seriously. It just wasn’t fair that he was able to do that. Also, maybe I should have stood up to meet him. This angle made him all the more imposing. Plus, I was pretty sure he could see down my scoop top.

  At least I’d worn a black lace bra.

  “Hey, Bri,” he said flatly. “Eva.” I could feel the weight of his gaze. “Can I talk to you a moment?”

  “Go ahead.” I looked at the grass.

  He growled. “Don’t be infantile.”

  My head shot up. Me? Where did he get off, calling me infantile? “Fine.” I shot to my feet. “Let’s talk. In private.” I stormed away from the group, leaving Ryan to follow me.

  Yes, I’d overreacted at the gala, but there was no reason for him to be cruel. How could Bri say he was actually nice to other girls? Or maybe he was only nice to girls he actually liked. Something inside shriveled up even more.

  I didn’t stop until I reached the relative privacy of the trees. In the shade it was cooler, and I buttoned my jacket back up. “So? What did you want to talk about?”

  “Why the hell did you tell Caitlin Morriston we were dating?”

  I hadn’t exactly expected an apology, but I certainly hadn’t expected this. “Who? What’re you talking about?”

  “Caitlin Morriston,” he repeated, crossing his
arms. A thin grey sweater was the only thing that separated him from the air. “I saw her last night and she said you’d told her we were a couple!”

  The only people I had told that to had been the predatory rich girls at the auction. The fine-boned face of the brunette popped into my head, and I scowled at him. “Saw her how?”

  “For Christ’s sake. Saw her naked.”

  I stared at him, my chest squeezing in on itself.

  “Because that’s what I do, right? Just hook-up with whoever’s available.”

  My chest opened up a bit. He was just baiting me. “Are you still mad about that?”

  He stepped closer, his jaw hard. “Wouldn’t you be mad if I called you a whore?”

  I crossed my arms tightly against my chest, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “You called me a freak!” The hurt welled up all over again. I wanted to cry.

  “Well, you freaked out!”

  “Of course I freaked out!” I snapped, hot and tremulous. “I’ve never had unprotected sex in my life, and then to—fine, I should have trusted you, but I’m not good at that! And did you ever think, just for a second, that maybe I’m not playing games, but that I’m painfully shy?”

  He cocked his head. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “In certain departments. I don’t exactly have the best track record with men. Unlike you.” I went on the offense again. “With your record of Louisa Bellower and Jessica Marintos and Katie Lorraine!”

  “You’re calling me a slut again.” He sounded amused.

  “No. No. I’m just saying you’re a little more—experienced—than I am, and that freaked me out. It’s quite a history.”

  “What did you do, stalk me?”

  “Reading your Wikipedia page does not count as stalking.”

  He shook his head. “First, those aren’t the kind of girls who get diseases—”

  “That’s so elitist. You think money and fame is a deterrent?”

  “Look, I just mean—”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I insulted you. I told you, I’m not good at this, and I panicked. I thought too much and got worried.”

  Ryan watched me, an odd light illuminating his face. “How many people have you slept with?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Less than five?” he needled. I flicked my gaze away, and he pressed on. “One?”

  “Three,” I shot back.

  Surprise flared across his face, and then settled into delighted satisfaction. “Really. And who was the best?”

  Smug bastard. I snorted. “Not you.”

  He laughed, and then cocked his head with curiosity. “And why wouldn’t you let me—”

  “Um,” I interrupted, jutting my chin up and focusing on a tree branch behind him. I could feel the heat streak across my cheeks. “I haven’t. Before.”

  “You’re kidding. But what about—”

  “I said no,” I told the branch. “I haven’t exactly had—normal relationships. With John, it just—I didn’t trust him enough. And with Stephen—well, he didn’t like that. And it’s not easy for me, you know.” I managed to drag my gaze back to his. “I don’t like not being in control.”

  “I know.” The slightest smile curved his lips.

  Oh, he thought it was funny? “You like being in control, too. Your nickname’s The General.”

  The smile widened. “Yeah.”

  “And you studied military history, too.” As though that mattered. “You didn’t tell me.”

  His focus dipped slightly and he took a step closer to me. “I wouldn’t want to upset your assumption that I was a dumb jock.”

  I smiled reluctantly. “No wonder you did so well at plotting America’s take-over by the NFL. That’s basically the culmination of all your life work.”

  “Just about.” And then he slanted his mouth down over mine. His lips were warm and firm and before I knew it, I was pressed against a tree, losing myself in the kiss.

  I shoved away. “You are such an idiot.”

  “Uh-huh.” He kissed my neck.

  “Seriously.” I jerked my jacket closed and glared at him. He raised his brows and held his hands up innocently, a smile still dancing on his lips. “Why do you care about my history or how many people I’ve slept with?”

  “Well, I bet you want to get some good practice in now, don’t you?”

  “Shut up.” I started to move away. He snagged my hand, twirling me back toward him. “Why, you think I need lessons? You still think I’m a freak?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, so that’s what this is about.” This time, when he kissed me, it was filled with slow fire. He stoked the heat in me until I was boneless and out of breath, clinging to his shoulders. “That,” he murmured against my lips, “is definitely not something you need to worry about.”

  Well. Apparently my ire wasn’t as firm as I’d expected. I managed a tiny downturn of my lips as I leaned back, but I left my arms draped over his shoulders and I could feel my eyes crinkling.

  He responded with a half grin. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to undergo three tests or something to prove my worth.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “You’re going to want dragons slayed, aren’t you? Maybe a giant or two?”

  “And a mountain scaled. And the evil army destroyed.” Warmth spread out through my limbs and my chest relaxed. He didn’t think I was a freak. “Only then can you have half-my-kingdom and my hand in marriage.”

  He twinkled at me, filled with good-boy charm. “It’s not your hand in marriage I want. It’s your hand on—”

  “Shut up.” I smacked the back of his head lightly, and he laughed. I grinned, and then strove for a more serious tone. “I’m sorry. I should have believed you. It’s just, uh, I have...trust issues with guys. And I know that you’re not... But...was I wrong, then? Have there not been that many women?”

  He was quiet, gazing at the sky at though answers would be written in the clouds. “What do you want me to say? That I wasn’t interested in gorgeous girls jumping for my attention?”

  He could have left out the gorgeous bit. “Okay, fine. But why don’t you ever just date one? Why all the hopping around?”

  His grasp tightened. “I haven’t liked anyone long enough to stay with them.”

  “None of them?” That was fairly intimidating. I’d been hoping—wanting, longing—for this to be a real relationship, but what if he just saw me as someone to hook up with?

  “They’re nice enough. But—I don’t know, they’re a lot of work. It’s not easy. And it’s boring.”

  “So why don’t you go out with a different type?”

  He gave me a look. “It’s not like I get to meet a ton of other women.”

  I snorted in disbelief. “Really?”

  “You think I have a lot of time between practice and games? There’s no real off season. We’re always training, never just lounging around, waiting to meet people. Girls don’t just come up to me on the street and say, hey, want to get coffee? Sometimes the fans do, but then they want to date the Leopard quarterback, not me.” He paused, looking aggravated. “Actually, that’s the problem with all of them. They all want to date the quarterback.”

  For a moment, I stood silently, taking that in. “Well, I don’t want to date your uniform.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  I want to date you.

  “You want to come to the game tomorrow?”

  Not quite the same, but I wasn’t up for a conversation about our relationship right now. I opened my mouth to say yes, and then shook my head. “I’m meeting the author of that book I told you about.”

  “That’s great! Why don’t you meet with her on Monday?”

  I snorted. “Because we already have plans. Didn’t you tell me the games are almost always sold out?”

  “Well, yeah, but there’s a box for players’ friends. B
ri’ll be there.”

  I hesitated. Part of me couldn’t fathom trading a chance for a job for anything. Then again, this meeting didn’t guarantee Gretchen’s interest.

  And I really wanted to see Ryan.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and ducked my head. “Maybe I can reschedule.”

  When I peeked at him, his intense, straight gaze startled me. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He immediately focused on the tree behind me. His words came out quickly. “I’d be really glad. If you came.”

  I nodded, and then also rushed my words out into the strange moment. “I’m really sorry about last time.”

  Our eyes connected, and warmth unfurled inside me. “I’m only sorry about how it ended,” he said.

  My cheeks heated. “Me, too.” And then, before the butterflies carried me away, I flashed a grin and headed back to the others.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I couldn’t reschedule.

  Alexandra Wilson sounded sorry but firm. She had a brunch on Sunday morning, which she seemed utterly unable to change.

  But I had a plan. Alexandra had booked a suite at the Easton Hotel, overlooking the river and the Leopard Stadium. I could meet with her for an hour or two, and still manage to get over to the stadium by the time the game ended. That wouldn’t be ridiculous, right?

  Okay, it would probably be ridiculous if I followed Bri to meet everyone at the end after not watching the game, but I was determined to try.

  I met Alexandra in the Easton’s lobby at four o’clock, just as the game started a handful of blocks away. I played it safe in a black skirt and high-necked, sleeveless blue blouse. My kitten heels clicked reassuringly against the marble floor, and the sound of belonging almost made me believe the emotion.

  A domed ceiling rose above the slick floors of the Easton’s lobby, but unlike the echoing, enclosed public spaces mid-town, this rotunda felt more like the Pantheon than a food court. Along one curved wall, hotel employees in green and black lined up behind a row of grey quartz counters. Uniformed men with small caps pushed silver trolleys loaded with expensive luggage. The guests milling about looked prosperous and well heeled, like the economy was merely a nightmare used to scare children into business school.