Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (12 page)

Nodding, I agree. “Yes, sir. No burning out. I get it.”

He points to the screen. “Good game?”

“Uh, I’m not really sure. I just popped in here a moment ago.”

“I’m guessing you’ve heard then.” He scratches the back of his head, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Heard what?”

“You’re back on the football segment.” He presses his palms into his tired eyes. “I’m not sure why Spencer switched you out for Nicole after his big to-do last week, but viewer emails came flooding in wanting you back after Nicole’s segment ran yesterday.” Dropping his hands to his waist, he raises his eyebrows. “So you’re back on. Be ready to go on Thursday.”

No, no, no!
Dread fills my stomach. How can I cover Daren? I slept with him this weekend. No, we fucked, dirty and hard and more than once.

Roger frowns again. “You’re too young to get an ulcer, kiddo. Just aim for the same vibe you did the first time, and everything will be okay.”

I nod, forcing a weak smile, and he shuffles out of the office.

Same vibe? How the hell do you convey the same vibe after you’ve placed your mouth on someone’s… Oh, God. I went down on Daren. I scratched the hell out of his back. I said things to him you couldn’t get me to say at gunpoint.

I’m going to throw up. I bolt for my cubicle only to run into Brad.

“Hey, Madeline. Just wanted to see if you wanted a coffee. I’m headed out now.”

I shake my head. “No, that’s nice of you, though. Thanks.”

“No problemo.” He looks me over. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A strained laughter leaves my lips. “Just, uh, trying to get a grip on everything I have to do today.”

“Been pretty busy lately, huh?”

“Yeah. Busy. Really, really busy.”

He scratches his head, messing up his sandy blond hair. “Well, let me know if things change. I’d love to take you to lunch some time to catch up.”

Nodding, I try to smile. “Yes. I will. Thanks so much. Some time we’ll have to do that.”

When I’m finally alone in my cubicle, I know only one thing will ease my distress. Work. Lots and lots of work.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

- Daren -

The woman is never home. I assume she sleeps tucked under her desk at work. I’ve caught a few of her interviews on TV, so at least I know she’s alive.

I figured seeing Maddie on TV would take the edge off, remind me why I should be over the moon that she skipped out on me early Saturday morning. But it didn’t. In fact, it pissed me off. Especially on the field when she invaded my thoughts. Because when I’m playing ball, I’ve never had a problem blocking out distractions. Even during the ugliest times with my ex, I could always channel what I needed and clear my head.

The fact that I can’t now is troubling. Keeping my interest in Maddie on lockdown this summer only made our hook up that much more explosive. And like a junkie, I need another taste.

After being bombarded by thoughts of her for the last four days, I’ve had enough. So when I catch a glimpse of her striding up to our building through my window, it doesn’t take me long to make a decision.

When Maddie reaches her door, she balances her groceries on her hip while she reaches into her purse.

Tonight, her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. A tailored white blouse hangs wide at her collarbone with the weight of her purse tugging on her sleeve. I stare at her slender neck that leads down a path I hope to travel again. My fingers twitch to trail across her soft skin, to feel her pulse pound in her chest because I’m pushing her to the edge.

I lick my lips, which does nothing for my thirst.

And then it becomes clear. What I need to do.

A plan formulates in my head, and like a play on the field, I wonder if going out on a limb will get me to the end zone or sacked. I haven’t had to extend myself for a girl in a while. Usually, they’re just available. Which sounds like a douchebag thing to say, but it’s true. And it’s boring. What’s the fun in pursing what’s readily available?

More than that, though, I’m tired of the safe plays. Because even when you play it safe, shit still falls through.

“Need some help?” I call out to Maddie from my doorway.

She spins, dropping her groceries with a small scream.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I’d laugh except she looks genuinely freaked out. Bending over, I help her pick up the fruit that’s rolled across our shared hallway.

One of the bags has torn open, and she obviously can’t hang on to her groceries while she balances her briefcase, purse, and keys.

“Here.” I hand her a stray apple and take the keys from her.

She still hasn’t spoken or made more than fleeting eye contact. Guess we’re back to her being closed off, which does not bode well for my plan.

However, the fact that I feel fucking electrified seeing her again is the only answer I need at the moment. Girls don’t play hard to get with me. Girls hang on my arm in public or crash whatever event I’m at wanting to screw. But this one sneaks out of my bed in the middle of the damn night, and I feel like I might suffocate if I don’t see her again. None of this makes sense. I suppose playing hard to get makes a difference. Except I don’t think she’s playing anything. Because she doesn’t look pleased to see me.

Maddie’s teflon armor sets off every alarm in my head. Christ, does she regret what happened?

Bracing myself for a rejection, which is likely given her what-the-fuck-do-you-want expression, I return my attention to her keys. Three hang on a hoop, which is attached to a small charm. One key is obviously for her car, the other for our mailbox, so I grab the third and slip it into the door.

Once it’s open, I turn the chain over in my palm. “Paris?” The miniature Eiffel Tower gleams in my hand.

She stills, and her eyes drop. “Just somewhere I've been hoping to visit.” Her eyes sweep up, a hint of sadness behind them. “My parents honeymooned there."

I want to ask more, but she scoots past me and heads for the kitchen. It’s dark except for a small lamp on the counter.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Is Sheri around?”

She shakes her head. “Out of town.”

“I came by earlier this week. But you weren’t home.”

She turns to face me, her eyebrows raised like that was the last thing she thought I’d say, but then she schools her features. “I’ve been working overtime.”

“Why do you look surprised I came by? You left my bed in the middle of the night, Maddie. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She unfreezes and places the groceries on the counter before reaching over to flip on the recessed lights above. Her white blouse is paired with a gray pencil skirt and black heels. Simple yet stunning on her.

She keeps her back to me when she speaks. “That was a mistake, Daren. We never should have slept together.”

I chuckle. “Sweetheart, you make it sound so mundane. I believe we ‘fucked each other’s brains out.’”

The sharp inhale of her breath gives me some satisfaction that she’s been affected by this. I know I have been. Were it not for my brutal training schedule and Sunday’s game, I would have camped out in front of her door sooner.

Because when I woke up alone that morning, I should’ve been relieved. Instead, I was disappointed. And now, days later, she’s hijacked my brain, my dick and everything in between. Before I’m tempted to wonder if this is one-sided, her chest rises and falls like she just came in from a workout, and I smile.

For all of her aloofness, I think she wants this too. Because a person doesn’t forget sex that sublime.

Finally, she turns around.

“Can we talk about what’s going on here?” I ask, motioning between us.

“What do you mean? We are talking.” Her face is impassive, which only gets under my skin.

“I mean, can we cut the bullshit and get real for a minute?”

Her eyes narrow. Good. I can work with anger. “Real? Okay. I can get real. We hung out. We hooked up. It was fun. Now it’s over. Is that what you want me to say?”

She rolls her eyes at me before she returns to her groceries. I step up behind her and still her hands, caging her in.

“Stop.” Leaning down to whisper in her ear, I fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder, carry her back to my cave, and spank her ass. “What’s with the fuck-off vibe? I thought we worked past that.”

Her shoulders still. “This can’t happen,” she whispers.

“What can’t happen?”

“This. Us. I thought you just wanted a good time on Friday night. I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Ouch, Wildcat. That hurts. Where’s your neighborly affection? I thought we got along well. So I want to hang out again. What’s the big deal?”

“So you just want to fuck me?”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t put it as bluntly as that, but yeah,” I say, leaning closer, “I’d love to fuck you again. But truthfully, I like your company. That feisty mouth and all. Nudity is optional, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it on the menu.”

Goosebumps break out on her arms.

“We can’t.”

“Why?” She’s quiet for so long, I grab her shoulders and spin her around. “Why, Maddie? You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy what we did. Because if I recall, you enjoyed it at least three or four times on Friday night.”

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. I tilt her chin up. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want to hang out again. Say those words, and I’ll leave you alone.”

She braces her shoulders back. “Hang out? As what? As friends?”

“Yeah, as friends.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“I don’t know. Something like that.” I let go of her and run my hands through my hair, my frustration growing. “Let me put my cards on the table. I don’t screw around. Not during the season. If I’m in a relationship, fine. But I don’t fuck around with girls. I don’t drink. I don’t party. One, because I’m not wired that way, and two, because football sucks up every ounce of energy I have. I don’t have the time to date a girl right now. And relationships come with baggage I’d rather not deal with. God knows I come with more than a carry-on, and judging by the mistrust in your eyes, you do too.

“So me coming here breaks my own rules. Because I’m not looking for anything serious. I just got out of a long-term relationship, and I’m not interested in diving into another. At the same time, I think you and I definitely connected. We had fun even before I got you naked. And the naked part? It’s given me spank bank material for the next several years.” Her eyes widen, a smile ghosting her lips. “But you do live right next door, which is pretty convenient. So if I’m faced with the choice of rubbing one out at night or having your hot little body wrapped around me, then I’m gonna choose door number two. But I’m a modern man, so this arrangement would go both ways. I seem to recall you having a pretty insatiable sex drive yourself. If we do this, I’d be at your booty call command.”

I expect her to laugh or tell me I’m wrong and say we didn’t connect on some kind of cosmic level when we were naked. Instead, she braces her hands on the counter behind her. “We can’t.”

“So you’ve said. I need more than that.”

Shaking her head, she sighs. “I’m back on the sports segment, Daren. I’m interviewing you on Thursday. I’m not sure if you realize this, but sleeping with a source is generally frowned upon in journalism.”

Okay, that kind of sucks. I get her reluctance. But I still think there’s a way we could go about this without jeopardizing her career. “This is sports. It’s not as though you’re covering Watergate. I’m a quarterback, for fuck’s sake.”

“And I need to maintain a professional relationship with you. It’s bad enough I’ve basically licked my way up your body.”

Goddamn. What a memory. “Thanks for the visual, babe.” I wink and she blushes again. “Let me ask you this. How are you supposed to cover me? What angle are you supposed to take?” I don’t mention the obvious, like horizontal, diagonal, or upside down.

“The same way we did the first interview. You teach me the basics of football.” She shrugs. “People really liked our rapport. They liked the quasi-flirting, so I need to keep things light.”

“Give me more credit. I was fully flirting with you.” She cracks a real smile, and I’m wondering if we’re getting any closer to the goal. “Think of it this way. We need to have a good relationship so you’re more relaxed in front of the camera? Right now you look like you’d rather get your appendix removed with a rusty blade than hang out with me.”

Her smile grows. “Not true.”

I edge closer and lean down to whisper in her ear. “Think of this as my way of helping you to relax around me.” I stroke her soft hair, and after a moment she leans into my palm. “Our own kind of aversion therapy.”

Her head tilts back. “How do you know about aversion therapy?”

“I was a psych major, or at least I was for two years before I switched to business, but I paid attention.”