Game On(42)

Next to me Nathan cleared his throat. I was afraid of what he was going to say, so I immediately blurted out, “I’m going to call a taxi.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, but I was already halfway across the parking lot, my phone out.

“Sophie!” he called, running after me. I tried to ignore him, but before I could dial the cab company, he had taken my arm and swung me around. “At least let me give you a ride back to the hotel,” he said.

I still couldn’t look at him. I was afraid to see his mussed hair and clearly-kissed mouth.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I responded.

“It’s just a ride,” he said, and my mind immediately imagined the two of us naked, horizontal, and participating in a different kind of riding-based activity. My face flared hot. How could I have let this happen?

“OK.” I finally lifted my eyes to look at him, regretting it immediately. He looked so concerned, his hair falling across his forehead, dangerously charming. When I climbed into the car, I did my best to position my body as close to the passenger side door as possible.

The spacious interior of the car seemed to shrink with each mile, the tension filling the space between us. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I glanced over at him. Luckily his eyes were on the road, but mine fell to his capable hands wrapped around the steering wheel, then moved down to his strong forearms dusted with hair, his pitcher’s muscles flexing as he turned onto my hotel’s block. His shirt was snug against his arms, those f*cking gorgeous arms, the muscles looking like they had been carved out of marble. And goddamn, that chest. Shirts that tight should be outlawed for the sanity of the nation. For a moment, I thought about saying “screw it” and climbing over the gears and ripping that thin cotton away so I could have full, necessary access to his glorious body.

But that would be a bad idea.

We pulled up to my hotel and I was preparing to jump out before I did something totally stupid when Nathan reached over and grabbed my hand, his green eyes burning with need. Fuck. How could I resist him?

“Sophie,” was all he said, and then he was leaning towards me and I was leaning towards him and then my phone rang.

It was my editor’s ring tone.

I pulled back so fast that I hit my head on the car window.

“Are you OK?” Nathan leaned towards me, concern all over his face, but I jerked back again and thwacked my head a second time.

“I’m fine!” My voice was way too loud and I scrambled for my phone which was still ringing. “I just have to get this.” Without looking at Nathan, I answered the phone. “Mike! Hi!”

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“I’ve been working on the article,” I told him, not liking the concern I heard in his voice. I grabbed for the car door, forgetting for a moment that my seatbelt was still buckled. I slammed back into the seat, wincing.

“What’s going on over there?” Mike asked, as Nathan’s fingers gently curved over my searching ones and unhooked my seatbelt for me.

I still couldn’t look at him. “Look, I’m just about to walk into my hotel, so can I—”

“Tim’s joining you,” Mike interrupted.

“What?” I froze, not sure I had heard correctly. “Why?”

“This story is about blow up,” Mike told me. “And we’ve gotten nothing from you so far. I’m afraid you don’t have an angle.”

“Just give me more time—” I pleaded, hating that I was doing this in front of Nathan.

“Tim is just going to help you out,” Mike told me. “He’s got experience with guys like Nathan. He’ll be able to find the dirt.”

“But I—”

“You’re running out of time, Sophie.” Mike sounded regretful. “They’ll be announcing the draft soon. We want to get ahead of this. Get everything we need on this guy before the news comes. Tim is good at that.”

Tim was a vulture and the worst possible person to send to deal with Nathan. I looked over at the person in question and he glanced back at me with a smile. I tried to smile back, but I knew that things were about to change. For the worst.

“What wrong?” Nathan asked as I dropped my phone into my purse. The pleasant tingle of desire and need had faded and now I was just filled with frustration and anxiety. Tim. Of all the people they could have sent, they decided to send Tim. He was literally the worst. The f*cking worst.

“They’re sending another journalist,” I told Nathan, burying my head in my hands. Perhaps I should just pack and leave, obviously no one at the Register had any faith in what I was doing and my own confidence had taken a serious blow with the news.

“Another journalist?” he asked.

“Tim Malis.” My voice was muffled through my hands, so I lowered them but kept my head down. “He has a lot of experiences with articles like this.”

“Does that mean you’re going back to Houston?” The disappointment I heard reflected my own.

But I shook my head. “They want me to stay, to work with Tim, get him up to speed. But he’ll probably take over.” And take credit, I thought. Not that I was going to want my name on anything that he wrote. I lifted my head. “He’s not a nice guy,” I told Nathan.