The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(44)

“That is not a cabana.”

“They call them cabanas.”

He tentatively touched the mattress she was sitting on. “Is that a waterbed?”

She settled on to the surface, letting it jostle her. These things usually had a waiting line for them on weekends, but they were empty on this weekday night. “Yup. Come on in.”

Gingerly, he got inside, the mattress waving with the weight of his body. He ran his hand over the cotton surface of the covering of the mattress. “They wash these, right?”

“I’m guessing very much so.” She tried to sit so her back was against the plastic wall, but the mattress made being upright difficult. “Don’t think about it too hard.”

“Got it.” He adjusted himself, but no matter what he did, she was going to be attached to him. The waterbed wouldn’t allow them to sit on opposite ends, and she rolled right next to him.

She hadn’t planned on wrapping herself up in him. Her instincts had only urged her to get them far away from the source of his agitation.

It had been so long since she’d cared after the emotional well-being of a romantic partner like this, and she didn’t quite know how to feel about it, but that was something she could dwell on later. Finally, she gave in to water and gravity and rested her hand on his belly, her head on his chest. He froze for a second, and then his arm went around her shoulders and he pressed her against him. The mattress stopped waving, and they sat there quiet for a few minutes. The lights from the stars and buildings around them bathed them in a blue glow.

It wasn’t silent. The noise from the bar and the pool filtered through, but in this odd egg-cabana, they were alone. It was nice. Peaceful.

He let out a deep exhale, the air coming from his toes. “You want to know what that was all about, don’t you?”

“I mean, I may not understand. Anger over sports isn’t really in my wheelhouse. I reserve my anger for other things. As you’ve seen.”

“People can get real emotional over sports. And me.”

“I’ve heard you called the Lima Charm before. Why did that guy call you a curse?”

His hand rubbed up and down her arm. “When I was a kid, my dad and uncle played for the same team for a while. I would go to some of the games. The games I went to, they won. My dad started calling me his lucky charm. As I went up through college, the name morphed. I had a way with the media, with the public, with women. It turned into the Lima Charm, among my teammates, and then the media heard, and you know how it goes.” His body tensed, then relaxed. Like he was forcing it to relax. “It became the Curse when I retired. Or rather, how I retired.”

“How did you retire?”

“I walked at halftime in the middle of a game.”

“What?” She lifted her head. “You can do that?”

“I did.” That big, calloused hand ran up her back to her neck and he massaged her there.

At the first touch, she wanted to melt into him and forget talking, but she couldn’t do that, not without satisfying her curiosity about one more thing. “Why did you do it?”

His chest rose and fell. “My friend got knocked out with a hard hit. Like out cold. He came to, and they wanted to put him back in the game. He was clearly concussed. Could barely recognize any of us, was seeing double, and they wanted to put him back in the game so he could get a concussion on top of a concussion. I told them, if they tried it, I’d walk. Then they tried it.” He grimaced. “So I had to walk.”

“You walked for your friend.” Do not let that melt your cold dead heart.

But as much as she might wish otherwise, her heart was neither cold nor dead, so there it went. Melting into a puddle.

“We were closer than friends. We were teammates. We played college ball together. He was my brother.”

“I can’t believe they wanted him to play with a concussion.”

“I can.” He lifted a shoulder. “I knew better, because of—well, anyway, the week before, they’d distributed a pamphlet in our locker room about how concussions wouldn’t lead to permanent problems if each injury was properly managed.” He smiled bitterly. “But they didn’t even want to manage my friend properly.” He resettled his weight, the waterbed shifting with him. “Anyway. A lot of my teammates and the fans were angry with me. Someone coined the Lima Curse, and I guess there are still people who remember that ten years later.”

She ran her palm over his smooth jaw. He was leaving things out, but she wasn’t going to badger him. “I’m sorry.”

He grunted. “I can’t believe I spewed all this out. I don’t usually like to talk about myself like this.”

“It’s the waterbed,” she said solemnly. “The waterbed of truth.”

He chuckled. “Makes sense.” He played with her fingers and sobered. Without another word, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

It might be that he was embarrassed by the vulnerability he’d revealed and was simply deflecting any further questioning, but that was fine with her. She kissed him back, eager. Damn it. She did like him.

Which was fine. You could like temporary bed partners. Keep telling yourself that. Emphasize the temporary.

Their lips parted, both of them panting. “Do you remember, back on the beach, when I went down on you?” he murmured. “That first time, right after we got inside the house?”