Dearest Series Boxed Set (68 page)

* * *

A
few hours
later I realize I'm about to die an inglorious death and get splattered all over the pavement. But at the last second, I duck, and the shot goes wide and blows up the shed behind me.

I glare at Daren. “Nice try.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

If you think this man ever gives less than a hundred percent, you'd be mistaken. PlayStation, for example, is serious business.

Honestly, I suck at video games. I've never understood the appeal, but I can't deny how much fun we're having. But I play to win too, so I made him put on a t-shirt so he wouldn't distract me with those abs.

“Death!” I scream as my pea shooter takes down his zombie all-star football player.

Daren shakes his head and releases the death grip on his game controller. “Beginner's luck.”

A little snort leaves me. “Aww. Are you a sore loser? Big, bad Daren Sloan got his ass kicked by a little girl. Someone call CNN.”

He shrugs. “Didn't want to break your spirit.”

Laughter bubbles out me. “That was big of you." I crawl into his lap, toss my arm around his neck and kiss his cheek. “But you still lost. I think you need to be my slave.”

He snorts. “Slave, huh?”

I nod, and he squeezes me to his chest. “The job is simple. Feed me peeled grapes. Maybe fan me with a few large feathers.”

“So you're looking for an old school slave. Like, Egyptian times.”

“Cleopatra had it good.”

He laughs. “I don't think she ate grapes. Dates maybe.”

“Fine. Feed me dates.”

“All right, princess. Dates it is. But only if you can handle the tickle test.”

I stiffen in his arms.
Tickle test?
“No, Daren.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when his hands dart to my waist. I'm screaming and laughing and trying to fight back, except when we land on the floor, he pins me down. “Aww, you didn't pass,” he chides as he reaches down to squeeze my thigh, which makes me convulse with laughter.

“I hate you!” I scream and try to wiggle out of his clutches as I giggle hysterically. Finally, I manage to push against his chest. He pauses long enough to shake his head.

“Nah, babe. I'm adorable. What's not to love?”

He places a warm kiss on my forehead and rolls over, pulling me with him.

He's right. The thought sends warmth through my chest. What's not to love?

F
or the last week
, we’ve been trying to do more of the friend thing. It’s become this unspoken effort on both our parts.

We’ve been busy, but I’ve stopped by to drop off a batch of brownies because I thought it was overdue, and he brought by an iced coffee when I had to stay up late. He texts me silly memes, and I pretend they’re not funny. I complain about the world’s problems, and he surprises me with references to Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky.

Yes, Daren is a smartie. You see this hot athlete, and it’s tempting to write him off as nothing but a charming jock, but he’s so much more than a pretty face.

Knowing Daren’s kind of brainy definitely fuels my attraction to him. And not spending time with him all week is only sending that lust into overdrive.

One thing is for sure. It’s pretty damn hard to concentrate when Daren is sitting next to me shirtless. His elbows rest on his knees and the intensity on his face is captivating. It’s the look he gets when he struts out onto the field.

For the last hour, he’s been studying today’s game while I research a potential story on my laptop. Every so often, I look up and watch him unobserved.

His hair is longer than when I first met him, and right now, it’s a sexy, disheveled mess. A few strands hang down by his cheek, and I want to brush it off so I can see his face. He arches his back, and all of the muscles in his shoulders pull taut.

Wow, did I mention there were flexing muscles? Because there are. A lot of them.

“See something you like, McDermott?”

Busted.

I shake my head and look down at my laptop, hoping I’m not blushing. He laughs, and when I finally look up, those big hazel eyes do me in. But I won’t give in to his charm. Yet.

“Whatever, Sloan. Stop thinking the whole world wants to hump your leg.”

“You’re cute when you blush.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughs again, and I go back to reading, trying my hardest not to smile because I know he’s watching me.

We work in companionable silence until I hear him groan, a flash of pain registering on his face.

“Do you need to lie down again? I’m sorry. I’m hogging this side of the couch. I should move.”

Today’s game was better than last week’s, but he’s still sore and has to ice down. I start to get up, but he tells me to stop as he scoots closer and deposits his head in my lap.

I blink down at him once. Twice. Three times.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” he asks as he takes the remote and rewinds a play.

“No.” I have to clear my throat and say it again because nothing comes out of my mouth the first time except air.

It takes me a full five minutes to focus on my article, especially since the last time Daren was resting his head on my thighs, he was facing the other way.

With my laptop propped on the arm of the couch and Daren using me as a pillow, I attempt to study before tomorrow’s meeting where I hope I can propose this issue for an in-depth news assignment.

The city council wants to ban the filming of porn unless condoms are used, but critics say that will only push filmmakers underground where participants will be more exposed to hazardous conditions.

I skim the words until I find what I’m looking for and read until my eyes are bleary. I’m just about to call it a night when I accidentally click on the wrong link and a porn site with full-frontal nudity pops up.

Oh, God.
Penises are… everywhere. Big ones. Fat ones. Squatty ones. Who knew they had that vein? Which is kind of hot. But those thick ones with all that skin scare me. You’d think I knew what a dick looked like after putting it in my mouth, but it’s not like I’ve ever taken a really good look.

My head tilts to the right.
That one is kind of pretty.

I catch my breath.
Wait, why am I surfing porn right now? And why won’t this page close?

“That feels good.”

I look down to find that I’m running my fingers through Daren’s hair. And he’s looking at me. With… that look. The one that makes my skin hot. Or was that the porn? I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m… hot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was molesting you.”

Ugh. Nice choice of words, Maddie.

He laughs and flips onto his back and stares straight up at me. “You weren’t. But that could be arranged.”

My hand is already in his hair, so I brush it out of his face and stroke back, massaging as I go. His eyes drift shut, and he licks his lips. He has gorgeous, full lips, emphasized by a five o’clock shadow that makes him look downright sultry.

A sexy groan rumbles in his chest, and my cheeks burn because all I can think about is porn and how I want the man in my lap naked.

He grimaces as he shifts again.

“I hate when you get tackled,” I say as I trace his cheek with my finger.

“I didn’t realize you watched my games. But I guess you have to for your interviews.”

“That, and I want to watch you play, Daren.”

A smile tilts his lips, and he opens his eyes. “Yeah? I thought you didn’t like football.”

Looking away, I sigh. “It’s not what you think.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I’m not into what you do. You’re really spellbinding out on the field.”

“So you’ve watched more than today’s game?”

“Yes.” I bite my lip, unsure of how much more I should say. But I don’t like secrets, and this definitely feels like a whopper. If we’re friends, I need to tell him. I take a deep breath, and try to quell my racing heart. “You probably don’t remember this, but I interviewed you in high school.”

“What?” He sits up quickly and winces. He’s still frowning when he faces me with a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look.

Now my heart is really thundering in my chest. I don’t know why I’m nervous.
Maybe because you want him to remember you.
“It was a long time ago. I’m sure you won’t remember.”

His eyebrows lift as his eyes widen more. “And?”

“And, like I said, it was a long time ago. Sophomore year.”

“Where were we? Was it before a game?” The crinkle on his forehead deepens.

I lick my lips, buying me a moment. “It was after your game against Blackwell.”

He stares at me. “The championship game?”

“Yes, Clutch, the championship game.”

His eyes light when I call him by his high school nickname.

He wasn’t supposed to play that day. He was a JV quarterback playing the bench on a varsity game, but after the starting QB got injured and the second-stringer choked, the coach took a chance and played Daren. And the golden boy came through. Scored twice and won the game.

“Why didn’t you tell me? What happened to not liking football?”

Nodding, I swallow. This whole conversation makes me feel sick, but I want him to know the truth.

“I was a sports reporter in high school, Daren.” Now he really looks confused. “Look, I didn’t lie that day when I told Spencer I didn’t like football. I haven’t liked the game in a long time. But I used to love it.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing back wisps that have flown loose from my ponytail. Memories I haven’t wanted to think about in years come rushing back, and my stomach turns. “I realize none of this makes sense, but it’s a long story, and I know you need to watch your film.”

He shakes his head. “I'm done studying for tonight. Fill me in. Why did you stop covering sports?”

God, why did I say anything? Pressing my lips together, I will my emotions to calm down. But when I start talking again, it comes out a whisper. “Covering sports was something my dad and I did together.” I shrug, feeling overexposed, and struggle to describe what happened.

“I was hoping to get this internship with a neighborhood newspaper, covering kids’ leagues. I had to submit a few samples of work, and my dad thought it would be fun to write about the state championship, so I could do a mock assignment. So he took me to your game, and afterward, I asked you a few questions.”

His brows are pulled tight, the look of shock still lingering in his eyes. “Where were we? Still on the field?”

Nervous laughter spills from my lips. “No, I ambushed you on the way to the parking lot.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when I look up, his honey-colored eyes are wide with recognition. “You asked if I was scared when I walked onto the field to play.”

I still, shocked he remembers that detail. “Yes.”

He motions toward me. “You had glasses and a purple streak through your hair.”

I smile. “That would be me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Maddie, but you were like this hot, athletic nerd.” I laugh, and when I glance up again, he’s rubbing his jaw. “I asked you out.”

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“But you didn’t call me back.”

I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “So you called?”

He looks incredulous. “Yeah, I called. Twice.”

My lips tilt up in a smile. “I didn’t mean to blow you off. Trust me, I was pretty excited you asked for my number even though it was a total conflict of interest.”
Much like this is now.

I force myself to stop thinking about work. Yes, I could get fired for whatever I have going on with Daren, but I’m in too deep now to walk away.

A smile lifts his lips. “I made myself wait a few days before I called.” He chuckles, and those dimples do me in.

Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for what I need to say. I haven’t talked about what happened that week to anyone in years.

I never even told my ex what happened.

My stomach hurts, but I force myself to go on. “I didn’t realize you called because I lost my phone that weekend. And when I found it, I had about forty messages, none of which I listened to.” Daren looks confused, and I shake my head, needing to start at the beginning. “We had a record-setting cold front blow in the night of your game. Pipes froze all over the city, flooding whole blocks. My dad was a fireman. We had just gotten back from your game when he got called to work, and I was on this crazy high. Your game was exhilarating, and then I interviewed you, and you asked me out.”

I motion to my face. “You were so cute with that black grease on your cheeks and your hair hanging in your eyes. My dad was watching me talk to you from the car. When we drove home, he joked there was no way you and I were going on a date unless he chaperoned.”

My eyes water, threatening to overflow.

Daren’s fingers thread through mine. “What happened, babe?” he asks softly.

Breathe. Inhale. This is the past. Don’t let it control you.
“Dad walked into a two-story on Grove Street that night and never walked out. He helped rescue a family of four and their yappy dog. The official report says it was an electrical fire. It started as a two-alarm but quickly escalated. The temperatures dropped so fast that night. One of the hydrants failed.”

A wave of emotion that I’ve worked years to dam up cracks fissures in my heart. I shake my head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “A crew was scheduled to check the hydrants in that neighborhood, but budget cuts scaled back the frequency. Maybe if they had done the safety check… If the city council hadn’t been so concerned with elections that year… If they thought about the men who risked their lives every day to do their jobs instead of the bottom line…”

Daren’s thumbs brush back the tears tumbling down my cheeks. “C'mere.” Wrapping me in his arms, he scoops me into his lap where I nuzzle into his neck and cry.

* * *

W
hen I open my eyes
, I realize Daren is carrying me into his bedroom. He places me on his bed and then pulls out a BU t-shirt and yoga pants from his dresser and hands them to me.

“Do you really have Boston University paraphernalia in your house?” My throat is hoarse from crying like a crazy person.

“Gotcha some jammies.” He smiles, making my heart flip in my chest, and I momentarily forget my embarrassment.

But then reality sets in, and I drop my face into my hands. “Daren, I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you. I got carried away. I just haven’t talked about that night in years.”

He wraps his hand around the back of my neck tenderly, and I stare up at him. He’s still shirtless, only wearing sweatpants and a few bruises, but he’s still somehow larger than life. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m so sorry you lost your dad.” His eyebrows pull tight. “And I’m so sorry I made you cover football this summer.”

God, that is not what I want him to take away from this.

“I’m not.”

Because right now, something in me feels lighter. I haven’t spoken about my father in so long. Too long. If Dad knew what I’ve accomplished, I’m sure he’d be proud of me. Tears well in my eyes again, and I blink them back.

Daren looks like he wants to say something, but he shakes his head. “I’ll be back in a minute. After icing my shoulder all night, I need to warm up.” He kisses my forehead and heads into the bathroom where I hear the shower turn on.

It takes me a minute to find my bearings, and when I do, I realize I don’t want to be alone.