Dearest Series Boxed Set (64 page)

T
he Bottom
of the Ninth is loud and packed with people. The baseball-inspired bar has a few Red Sox banners and memorabilia hanging from its dark, wood-paneled walls, but it isn't over-the-top. Like most places in Boston, an eclectic mix of people fill the restaurant, spilling out from around the shiny metallic tables.

I’m not sure how the girls expect to hear themselves talk about the book they’re reading, but I’m just glad to not be working tonight. Tension radiates from my shoulder blades, and I arch my back and drop my head, trying to work out the knot that’s been intensifying all week.

We’re sitting at a large, rounded corner booth with several of Sheri’s friends. I snagged the end seat because I get claustrophobic when I’m blocked in.

“Diet Coke?” Sheri asks with a judgmental eyebrow as she taps on my glass.

“I have to work tomorrow. I can’t function with a hangover.” As last weekend clearly illustrated.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did Daren’s party go?”

Sheri and I have been playing phone tag all week, which worked for me since I really didn’t want to talk about what happened with Daren. Our friends-with-benefits arrangement feels like a big dirty secret, one I don’t want to discuss with anyone. Even though I consider Sheri a good friend, it only takes one slip-up for a rumor to start that can get me fired.

“Fine. It was fine. Nicole wasn’t a total B for once, which was a surprise. Well, until I got reassigned to the sports segment. She gave me the silent treatment all week, but I guess that’s to be expected. I feel bad about it, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Sheri drops an arm around my shoulder. “That sucks, but this is your career, and it’s not as though you can turn down this opportunity.”

Guilt twinges in my stomach for not telling her what happened with Daren last weekend. I know she’d be supportive. She’s the one who planted the idea of getting together with Daren in the first place. But I can’t tell her at a packed restaurant.

One of Sheri’s friends sitting across from me starts freaking out across the table. I follow her line of sight.

Speak of the devil.

Daren and two of his friends stroll in, and my heart kicks into overdrive.

At first I wonder if Sheri somehow tipped him off, but she looks just as surprised as everyone else.

Of course, this is one of the closest restaurants to our condo, so it’s not a shock that he’d come here. A waitress scrambles to seat them, and a sea of people part for the guys to pass.

Clearing my throat, I return my attention to the girls at my table, and with the exception of Sheri, they all look lovestruck. But Sheri hobnobs with the rich and famous on a daily basis, and I know she has her heart set on a musician she met on the set of her dad’s last movie.

Two seconds later, the girls all turn to me and start talking at once.

“Maddie! Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!”

“What’s it like to interview him?”

“Do you think he’ll take a photo with me?”

Laughter spills from my lips, and I tell them a little bit about shooting our segment. As I listen to myself talk, I realize this is the most attention I’ve ever gotten for a story. I’ve been so frantic trying to get a good news assignment that I haven’t enjoyed the one that’s fallen into my lap. Even if Nicole is still slightly miffed or Spencer wants me there because I have long legs. My job is to get girls interested in football, and right now, I’d bet money every girl in front of me plans to watch this weekend’s game.

Confidence wells up inside me, and I surprise myself when I say, “Do you want me to get Daren to come over and say hi?” Their squeals give me the answer.

Standing up, I smooth my skirt. I wasn’t planning to see him tonight. I lean over to Sheri and whisper in her ear, “Do I look okay?”

She gives me an enthusiastic nod. “You look hot, Mads,” she says, low enough so no one else hears her.

I know she’d tell me to run to the bathroom to touch up if she thought I needed it. I’m glad I wore my hair down and kept on my high-heeled Mary Janes. Hopefully, that sophisticates my simple knee-length pleated black skirt and white collared shirt, which has a schoolgirl vibe.

I’m almost to his table when a guy comes over and taps on Daren’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but my son would die if I could get him your autograph.”

I stop mid-stride, hoping to hell Daren isn’t a jerk.

Daren puts down his drink and wipes his palm on his jeans. “Hey, man. No problem.” He shakes the guy’s hand before reaching into his back pocket. “I can sign the team’s schedule. Sound good?”

“Oh, yeah. That would be awesome. Thank you so much!”

When the man gets his personalized autograph, he looks like he wants to hug Daren. As he starts to walk away, he adds, “I’m sure my wife wants me to tell you she loves you.” He rolls his eyes, and Daren laughs.

“Well, tell her I said hi, and I appreciate her watching my games with her awesome husband.”

The guy nods, a huge grin on his face.

Too sweet.

“Maddie?”

I turn back to the table to find Daren and his friends staring at me.

“Hey, stalker. I knew you wanted to crash the book club.”

He beams a smile, and I swear my knees want to give out from under me.
Wow, that’s powerful.
Someone should harness the strength of those dimples.

I smile at his two friends. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, fellas. Daren, can I call in a favor? The book club girls really want to meet you.”

“Ah, his adoring crowd awaits,” Quentin jokes before Daren socks him playfully in the arm.

Daren gets up, and I start to back up, but then he reaches out and pulls me into a hug. “Good to see you, Madeline.”

I swallow, hoping I still have the strength to stay upright when he releases me. God, even the way he says my name is sexy. A shiver runs through me.

“Nice to see you,” I whisper into his neck. Before he releases me, I take a quick sniff because I honestly can’t help myself, and I’m treated to the scent of soap and crisp cologne, and my heart flutters at the reminder of last weekend.

As we part, he laughs and leans closer. “Did you just sniff me?”

“What? No. Weirdo.” I roll my eyes like he’s ridiculous.

He motions toward our table and places his palm on my lower back as we weave through the restaurant.

Expectant faces greet us when we reach our table. A flurry of chatter erupts, and I sink back into my seat, amusement bubbling up inside of me.

The girls fire questions at him and pass him cocktail napkins to sign, and it’s a little comical to see this six-foot-three man hunched over trying to autograph scraps of paper. Just when I’m realizing I should offer to get him a chair, Camille, an investment banker who happens to be a blonde bombshell, scoots over, squishing in the other girls across from me, and pats the now vacant seat next to her.

He glances at me, and I smile, letting him know he should join us. As he sits, he calls over his friends, who pull up two chairs to squeeze in at the end. I’m pretty sure this is a fire hazard, but the wait staff seems too enthralled by the present company to mind.

Quentin and I chat for a while, but I keep finding my gaze on Camille and the way she’s leaning into Daren when she talks. How she flips her long hair over her shoulder and leans over, flashing him her cleavage.

In case he doesn’t get the hint, she bats her eyelashes at him. Who actually bats their eyelashes? Camille, the investment banker, that’s who. But my moderate irritation is quickly surpassed by a hot sting that starts in my chest and sweeps through me when she wraps her hand around his forearm.

He doesn’t flinch or look annoyed. No, Daren just keeps talking and signing whatever the girls hand him.

This. I need to remember this. Because girls throwing themselves at Daren is the norm, not the exception.

I feel like a fool for forgetting my vow to never date pro-athletes.

Wait. We’re not dating. We’re friends who have sex. I only asked him to be monogamous because I don’t want to expose myself to some nasty disease.

Which means he can flirt all he wants, right? He’s not my property. I’m not his. That’s the point of this arrangement. I’m not allowed to be jealous.

Oh my God. I’m jealous.

I’m not even dating the man, and I’m jealous.

Brilliant, Maddie.
I want to facepalm myself for getting into this situation. For agreeing to this arrangement. For inviting him over to our table. For allowing myself to care what Camille does and doesn’t do to this guy I’m… fucking.

I swallow, needing something stronger than a Diet Coke.

When the waitress delivers my vodka martini, Sheri gives me a strange look, her eyes shifting to Camille and Daren across the table and back to me again.

Ignoring the question in her eyes, I grab my phone and check my emails. Anything to get my act together. In my head I realize there is no reason I should be pissed. Daren has fans. Lots of them, many of whom are women. Hell, even our sports segment hones in on that interest. So why I’m sitting here like some wounded girlfriend is something I can’t quite comprehend.

One of the girls giggles across the table, and my mouth opens of its own volition. “So Daren, are you taking a sudden interest in romance novels?”

He laughs and rubs the stubble on his chin. “Is that what we’re calling it? I thought Sheri said you guys read smut.”

My roommate nods enthusiastically. “Maddie is trying to pretend she isn’t reading erotica.”

“I’m not reading erotica, freak. I came to hang out with you.” I honestly don’t have a clue what they’re reading this week.

“She’s missing out. Little Miss Manners doesn’t want to dirty up her Kindle.”

I don’t have to look up to feel Daren smirking. Rolling my eyes, I frown. “I can handle whatever you throw my way. I’m not some priss.”

I grab my drink and I’m mid-sip when Sheri adds, “Besides, I don’t think Maddie’s ready for cocks and clits.”

My drink spurts across the table as I choke. I cover my mouth, horrified to look like such a dork in public.

Determined to grab back some control, I turn to Sheri once I’ve caught my breath. “Just make sure my mouth isn’t full the next time we talk about cocks, and I won’t have any trouble swallowing.” I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin.

How is that for manners? I am
so
not a priss.

Everyone laughs, cheering me on, but when my eyes reach Daren, his are smoldering hot.

But a minute later, his attention gets diverted when Camille pulls out her business card and leans into him as she explains how she’d like to “handle his portfolio.”

I bet.

And while I’m tempted to play with fire, I’ve had enough of this game for tonight. I finish my drink and tell Sheri I’m running to the restroom and then I’m taking off.

Her eyebrows pull tight. She whispers back, “I’m sorry. I was just joking. You know I didn’t mean anything by that, right?”

Giving her a small smile, I nod. “Of course. I have an early call time tomorrow, so I should get going.”

I wave bye to everyone at the table as I leave money on the table to cover my share, but people seem to be deep in conversation. Camille has lassoed Daren’s attention again, so I don’t bother trying to flag him down. Because that looks desperate. And I’m done with feeling desperate.

As I skirt around Quentin, I pat him on the back and wish him luck on his game Sunday.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me closer so he can whisper, “You know this is part of the gig, right? Daren has to talk to fans. He has to talk to girls. That’s his job.”

Ugh. Am I that transparent? My defenses rise. “Absolutely. And no offense, but what should it matter to me what he does one way or another? We’re just friends.”

He nods slowly, looking like he doesn’t quite believe me, and releases my arm.

Just friends. Friends with benefits.

But maybe we shouldn’t be.

* * *

G
rateful to get away
from that trainwreck, I head toward the back of the restaurant and down the long, dark hall that leads to the restroom where I can finally drop my defenses.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I try to get my act together. I feel like an ass. For caring what Daren does. For being so obviously bothered by Camille that Quentin said something.

See, this is why I, Maddie McDermott, do not embark on a sex-only relationship. How do I call this thing off?

I wash my hands and press my cool palms against my neck.

“This is supposed to be simple,” I tell myself in the mirror.

So I’ll keep things simple. Next time I see him, I’ll tell him I’m too busy to follow through on our arrangement. I’m sure he can appreciate that. And judging by the girls at our table ready to strip naked and gyrate on his lap, I’m pretty sure he can get casual sex anywhere.

With a sigh, I grab my purse and reach in to check my phone. I have one text message. From Daren.
Where’d you go?

My mind races with a dozen different things I should write back, but I settle on something simple.
It’s late. I have to get up early.