Sliding Home Page 4

  Of course it was. And I was supposed to treat this as a hands-off date? Who was she kidding?

  “So this was an exercise in getting rejected, but I didn’t say no.”

  “You were supposed to.”

  “I didn’t.” I was waiting, trying to get her to say yes. To anything. I just wanted to hear the word on her lips. I wanted to remember it in my fantasies after this night ended in old-fashioned blue balls.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Damn. Maybe it was time to take a different tack. “Well, your experiment failed. So maybe we can change the rules of this evening? Maybe—”

  “No.”

  Still not the word I was waiting for. “Why not? I said yes.”

  She took a deep breath. It shuddered into her as if she was trying to settle her nerves. And then she gently—make that firmly—pushed me away from her. I hadn’t even realized I’d gotten that close, practically pressing her backward into the seat. But she put a single hand on my shoulder and nudged me. Any gentleman would slide away. Too bad I wasn’t a gentleman, even if I was with a good girl on an old-fashioned date.

  I forced myself to draw back. But then I caught her hand and kept it on my shoulder. If I couldn’t smell that apple strudel from this distance, I sure as hell was going to keep hold of her slender fingers.

  Meanwhile, she squared her shoulders, and I was distracted by cleavage again. Then she set down the rules.

  “There will be no sex. No kissing. This experiment isn’t just about me getting rejected. It’s about me standing up for myself. For saying what I think, despite the consequences.”

  “And you think we shouldn’t kiss?”

  She arched a brow at me, a clear challenge in those liquid brown eyes. “I think,” she said, each word distinct, “that I said, no sex and no kissing. I can’t just change my mind because you want me to.”

  “Not even if I ask extra nice?” I asked, tempting her to smile with my most charming look.

  “Not even then.”

  I nodded and tried to look like I’d been defeated. “Okay,” I said, “the rules have been established.”

  “Good—”

  “No nice asking. Just dirty, naughty asking.”

  Her breath caught and her nipples puckered. I was watching, so I saw them clear as day. And a blush rose up her cleavage—a green light if I ever saw one. Except, of course, it wasn’t a green light for sex. It was a “game on” light. One that said she was interested, despite her words. I wasn’t going to force her. Of course not. But I was going to play. I wanted to see how far I could push her. Or rather, how far I could tempt her. And maybe I could make my fantasy come true tonight. Get an apple strudel girl in bed for a night of naughty heaven.

  That was my plan. It usually worked for me because good girls rarely came back for a second taste if I was especially filthy. Sure, Ellie would party tonight. I’d make sure of it, and it would be heaven. But as long as I pushed her well beyond her usual limits, odds were that she wouldn’t come back. We’d both remember the evening fondly as she went off to marry a tame accountant or something.

  Perfect. And from the way she bit her lip—in anxiety or excitement, I couldn’t tell—she knew exactly what I was thinking.

  Chapter Five

  Ellie

  Oh hell. I was an idiot. I’d just drawn up battle lines with an elite competitor. Whether that competitor was a pro baseball player, an Olympian, or even a Roman gladiator, they all lived to smash barriers. Winning was core to their personality. All I’d meant to do was practice getting rejected, and suddenly I was in a battle for my virtue. Or at least, that’s how he made it seem.

  And—weird thing here—I was completely thrilled. Even as my higher brain functions were screaming, “Abort! Abort!” all the other parts of me were flushing with adrenaline. Heat flowed through my body, and I found myself straightening in my seat. I squared my shoulders and arched an eyebrow in challenge. WTF? I never arched a brow. Hell, I sucked at flirting. But suddenly, I was matching his posture. Where he was lounging beside me, a speculative gleam in his eye, I let my hands relax in my lap, as if I, too, were completely at ease. With that ridiculously arched eyebrow thing I’d just done, suddenly we were playing a dating/sex game, as if I knew what the hell I was doing.

  I didn’t! I most emphatically did not. But damn, hadn’t I always wanted to be this kind of girl? Someone who flirted outrageously, had no problem being risqué in public, and was a wildcat in bed? I’d read books about those kinds of women. I’d studied texts on how to do exotic sexual moves. And now, for the first time in my life, I could try out things I’d only imagined.

  This was the perfect time. I was on a fantasy date with a man who—by all accounts—was used to wild women. Why not let my bad girl out a bit? It was just flirting, and we weren’t likely to have a second date. So why not act like the person I’d always wanted to be?

  Suddenly, I was smiling and really looking forward to the evening…assuming I dared do something I’d only imagined before. Rather than focus on how panicked I ought to be feeling, I forced my brain to innocuous conversation.

  “So where are we eating?”

  He got a Cheshire cat grin. “Alinea.”

  I stared at him, startled enough to press forward in my seat. “Seriously?”

  “Yup. Do you know it?”

  “I know of it.” I pressed my hand to my lips, trying to hold back my excitement. “Ever since Top Chef started, Rachel and I have this game of where we’d like to eat when we’re filthy rich.”

  “Was Alinea on the list?”

  “It was on both our lists! It’s one of the thirteen restaurants to receive a three-star Michelin rating. It’s number fifteen in the top restaurants in the world. And they put dessert on the tabletop, displayed like a piece of art in front of you. From what I’ve seen, it looks too good to eat.”

  “Except you will, right? I mean, I wouldn’t want to eat alone.”

  I had to physically hold back my squeal of delight. “Of course I’m going to eat it. Dessert at Alinea?” I was shaking in total glee. “How did you get reservations? They book months in advance.”

  He shrugged and looked abashed. “Gia did it. Publicity and all that.” He arched a brow. “There are going to be pictures. You up for that?”

  “For a dinner at Alinea, I’d pose in the nude!”

  I meant that as a joke. I mean, honestly, I was never going to pose nude, for any reason. But the way his eyes abruptly intensified and his nostrils flared made me suddenly too aware of the possibility. Did he really want nude pictures of me? Suddenly, the word “never” seemed a little too severe.

  Wow. Dirty, naughty asking was right.

  “I’m going to remind you of that later on tonight,” he said, his voice a seductive purr.

  “It’s a figure of speech,” I countered as lightly as I could.

  “It’s a promise that I’m not going to let you forget.”

  I laughed, trying to brush the thought away, but I couldn’t. Not with him still looking at me like he wanted to devour me instead of dessert. And certainly not with parts of me going wet at the very idea. Fortunately, I didn’t have to comment. The limo pulled to a smooth stop and Jake abruptly straightened. He glanced down at himself quickly, then looked back at me.

  “Your hair is great, lipstick light but still good. And the dress is perfect, though you’ll probably have to tug it down right before you exit. You ready?”

  I blinked at him in confusion. “Um, yes?”

  He looked at me and then blew out a breath. “Press, remember? There will be pictures of us the moment the door opens.”

  A surge of panic went through me. Hell, the driver had already gotten out of the car and was walking around to open the door. Was Jake saying that there’d be flashing lights as I got out of the limo? As if I were walking a red carpet? “I can’t,” I gasped.

  “Sure you can. You look great.”

  His smile was all charm and reassurance. But, o
h shit, he said my lipstick was light. I started fumbling in my clutch, but he stilled my hand.

  “Too late.”

  “Wha—”

  The door was pulled open and Jake winked at me before stepping out. Cameras flashed and I couldn’t stop myself from shrinking back into the limo. But then I thought, Be bold. Be bold. After all, dinner at Alinea was on the line.

  So with a forced smile and a harsh tug on my skirt, I scrambled awkwardly out of the limo. Jake was there, his hand extended to help me out, thank God. Otherwise, I certainly would have tumbled on Rachel’s stilettos. Instead, he kept his grip firm enough to hold me up without bruising me. And that gave me the confidence to meet the eyes of the press.

  I squared off to face them, but Jake started walking me forward. He had tucked me close enough to whisper into my ear, “Stand by the Alinea sign.”

  I didn’t understand at first, but then a moment later, I figured it out. It was a joint publicity thing—we got to eat at Alinea as long as the publicity mentioned them. And what better way than by having us stand next to the restaurant sign? We had just gotten to our place when a voice cut through the crowd.

  “Miss McDonald, what’s it like going out with Jake Armstrong?”

  It took me a moment to realize that the reporter was talking to me. I just assumed that since Jake was the celebrity, he’d be the one fielding questions.

  “Um, well, uh…” I looked at Jake. He smiled at me and squeezed my hip where his arm was wrapped supportively around me.

  “Just say whatever comes to mind,” he whispered.

  I swallowed and looked at the reporter. “Honestly, we’ve just gotten started. But so far, it’s been great.”

  “Did he bring you flowers?” another one asked.

  I glanced back at Jake, but not for reassurance. It was a kind of warning that I wasn’t going to lie. “Um, no. He gave flowers to my mother and sister. Instead, he brought me this beautiful charm bracelet.” I held it up and was immediately blinded by the camera flashes.

  “Ellie’s got my number,” he quipped as he angled the charm to show off number 32.

  More camera flashes, and then the reporters got to the serious questions. Rapid-fire stuff about his double play, about the White Sox, and whether the Bobcats had a chance at the pennant. Jake handled those like a pro, and now that I was off the hook, I was able to relax. He still held me close, but all I had to do was smile and not fall over on these damned heels. And that, thank God, was something I could do.

  The whole thing lasted five minutes at most, but it was long enough to be impressed by his skill with the reporters, at the way he ended it himself with a wave. “Guys, you’re keeping me from dinner with the most beautiful woman in the world.” Then he maneuvered us through the press, helped by a woman who seemed to step out from the sidelines.

  “Thanks, guys,” the woman said to the reporters. “You’ve got my number. If you have any more questions…” et cetera. I didn’t really hear the rest because Jake had pulled me inside. But glancing back, I saw a beautiful brunette marshaling the journalists while wearing four-inch heels.

  “Gia,” I whispered, finally recognizing her.

  “Yeah. But I made her promise that we’re done now. They won’t follow us inside or stalk us afterward.”

  I was so startled by his statement that I tripped on the tile. He held me up, of course, but that still didn’t stop the horror rolling through me.

  “They’d watch us eat? You mean, like from the bushes or something?”

  He laughed. “I wish. I’m not that famous.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed. Except, of course, replaying his tone of voice made me realize that he really did wish he were that famous. “You want to be stalked?”

  “Hell, no. But I would like to be so great at baseball that the fans couldn’t help themselves.”

  “I think you’re there already.” As the swinging bachelor of the Bobcats, there were Instagram and Twitter accounts devoted to pictures of him in various states of undress. I knew, because I’d perused the feeds a few thousand times.

  “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said as he guided us to the maître d’. He hadn’t given his name before we were greeted and escorted to an intimate table on the second floor. It was just like the magazine pictures I’d seen, only better because I was here. We were asked for our drink orders, which sent a flurry of panic through me. What did I know about wine? Absolutely nothing. So I did what Rachel had once recommended: order the house rosé. It was the perfect drink for ditherers. Not white, not red, but something in between.

  Jake smiled and got a specialty craft beer. Damn, I wish I’d thought of that.

  Then I waited to look at the menu, except we weren’t handed any. Food started appearing on tiny plates like appetizers.

  “Pace yourself,” Jake whispered. “There are fourteen courses.”

  I gaped at him. “Seriously?”

  He nodded as he popped a cracker in his mouth. “And you’d do me a great favor if you mention on your social media how much you love the food.”

  I took a bite of cracker—a simple cheese-laced bread—and nearly melted in my seat. It was like heaven on my tongue. “I do love the food,” I said, trying not to moan in delight. “But I’m not so big on social media. I haven’t had much time. Not with college and now work.”

  He leaned back in his seat, his eyes watching as I licked a crumb off my lip. “You’re a nurse, right? Do you like it?”

  I relaxed, too, mirroring his movements. We were now in the territory of regular date stuff. This I could handle, though lately, I’d been too busy to bother. “I love nursing. Right now, I’m in the general ward, but what I’d really like is to transfer into emergency. That’s where I’d feel like I was really making a difference.”

  “Is the work hard?”

  “Not as hard as catching a baseball traveling at over 100 miles per hour.” It was my standard date technique. Personal questions got deflected into something about his life. Usually the guy would take the bait and run on about himself while I listened. It was way easier than talking about myself. Except Jake didn’t take the bait.

  “That’s instinct and self-preservation,” he said. “So what’s it like on the ward?”

  Back in my court. I fought for a light but truthful answer. “Sad and hard. But that just makes the good moments all the more beautiful.”

  “What does that mean?” he pressed.

  Time to deflect again. “It means I see a lot of sad cases. Diabetes, for example, is an awful disease. It affects almost every part of a person’s body. By the time someone thinks about going to the hospital, they’re in crisis mode. Often it’s near the end. But sometimes the end is beautiful.” There. Nobody ever asked about dying people. “Tell me how you learned to handle the press like that. You were so natural.”

  “Media training.” He leaned forward. “You spend your days with people who are ending theirs. What’s that like?”

  Damn it. Back in my court. “As a nurse, you have to remember you’re dealing with people first, not just patients. Some are angry and irritable, others sweet and funny. Most of them are in only for a few days. But it’s the people who are at the end of their lives who are more intense. I guess it’s kind of like the players at the end of their careers. Everything is more important, right?”

  He shook his head. “That’s just baseball. You’re talking life and death.”

  I stared at him, unable to answer. He had just turned the conversation away from himself three times. Honestly, I’d never expected a celebrity to be that self-effacing. It threw me. Especially since I’d never been on a date with a guy who didn’t want to brag about himself just a little. I dropped my hand on my fist while trying to figure out what to say. And then words just blurted out of me.

  “I’m boring. You’re the hotshot ballplayer.”

  “And if you were a baseball babe, you’d be gushing over my stats. You’re not. I doubt you even know what an SLG is. Be
sides…” He shrugged. “I’m interested in you.”

  No one was interested in me. Not even me. Meanwhile, I struggled to figure out his acronym. “It’s singles…um…launched into Ghana.”

  He grinned. “That would be some feat.”

  “Not if you live in Ghana.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That would be zero for me. But my slugging percentage is .390.” He waited a moment. “It’s not bad, but not so great, either.”

  “So, um, are you working to improve it? Or are there other things that are more important?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “I expect it’s like medicine. It’s all important on some level.”

  “But that’s not your focus,” I guessed.

  His expression shifted into a fake yawn. “I talk baseball all day. Tell me about an average shift for you.”

  “There’s not much to tell, really.” I dropped my chin on my fist. “You know all about my family. Tell me about yours. You come from a long line of firefighters, right?”

  He nodded, but there was a wariness in his eyes that startled me. But then he spoke with the ease of long practice. As if he were giving me a canned response made smooth by his smile. “All the men in my family are firefighters. I was, too, until I got accepted into the minors. We’re proud to serve Indianapolis and have for generations.”

  I nodded, then pressed for a little more information. “You said the men. What about the women? Do you have any sisters? What did your mother do?”

  His mouth tightened briefly, and then he shrugged it away. “Mom and Dad split when I was fifteen. My brother and I stayed with Dad. My sister went with Mom, and we haven’t really talked since. They’re both secretaries out west.”

  I winced. I couldn’t imagine life without my sister. Or without talking to my mother. “You don’t talk? Like at all?”

  He swallowed. “The last thing Mom said to me was that she loved me. Then she got in the car and left.”

  Ouch. It was bad enough that what he described sounded awful, but it was made all the worse because I could see him covering the pain with a casual shrug. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my hand stretching open on the table. I wanted to touch him, but it was too soon. We were still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase, but the need to soothe him was unexpectedly strong.