Off the Mark, page 15
I resisted the urge to look away. To lie. It didn’t feel right, pretending with Rowan when I’d just done that with my dad.
“What gave it away? Me babbling about cheek kissing?” I said breezily.
Rowan’s smile was comforting. “Don’t worry about it. I’m legitimately asking, friend to friend.”
I tugged on an earring, fiddling with the clasp. “My dad video-called right before you showed up. He and Penny wanted to ask me about my new boyfriend.”
Jaw dropped, Rowan pointed at his chest and mouthed me?
I laughed, and the act loosened my shoulders. “That’s where the ‘ginger hunk of burning love’ came in.” I tipped my head back and forth, unsure of how to express the complex knot of emotions that call created. “My dad knows I’m stressed about the eviction notice, stressed about money. He offered to sell the house, which I don’t even think we can do, but I wouldn’t let him do that even if he could. Let him lose the one place we had that made us a family.”
“You’ve always been responsible for a lot, Charlie.”
I shrugged it off. “I would do anything for him. My dad raised me by himself and it wasn’t easy. Let me run wild on a dirt bike when I asked, and that—” I paused, throat taut. “It’s how you feel about baseball. Racing that bike is my entire soul. And he was the one who put me on it when I was five and said go get ’em, tiger.”
I smiled at the memory. Rowan did too, then said, “I’m sensing a but.”
“He’s never been that great at managing his money. And sometimes makes…bad decisions. Or at least shortsighted ones. I’d help him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But every time we avoid some financial catastrophe, my hope is that the next time will be different. So far, that hasn’t been the case.”
Understanding dawned slowly on his face. “When I came back to Philly after my injury, I spent the first year telling everyone I was all good. Told the neighbors I was lucky to have pitched in the majors for sixty-one games, and that letting go of a lifelong dream was no biggie.”
My stomach twisted in sympathy. “I watched my dad get crushed by that loss. I know…I remember how you felt, Rowan.”
“Getting people’s pity and sympathy wasn’t my thing. I’m sure it ain’t your thing either. But I know what the hope can do. When it was just me and Dean together, I told him the pain didn’t mean shit. Someone was going to call and tell me they made a mistake. My coach would reach out. My teammates, my agent. The truth was, they didn’t want me anymore. Not like that.”
He raked a hand through his dark red hair. “Every day I was furious with myself for being so goddamn disappointed when I knew the outcome was always gonna be the same. The hope tore me up inside more than anything.”
He moved closer, three more steps, until he was officially close enough to kiss me. I tipped my chin up, my hands behind me and gripping the dresser.
“I understand why you feel so conflicted about your dad’s situation, is what I’m saying,” he added. “The hope makes it complicated.”
“This whole ‘being a human’ thing keeps getting complicated,” I said with a wry smile. “It super sucks.”
“It does, but not all the time. Sometimes the complicated parts are the most fun.” He stayed focused on my mouth. “Where would you like me to kiss you, Charlie?”
All the air in my lungs vanished. Rowan’s body language was restrained, his expression friendly. Like this was a transactional arrangement and nothing more.
Which it was.
This leashed control was more arousing than if he’d taken this moment to make a sloppy move. Every other man I’d dated or fucked would have done it.
That was because every other man I’d been with had been utterly predictable. Deep down, I believed Rowan was predictable too.
But this caution had a different flavor to it. Part of me wished he would make a cheap pass or tell a stupid joke so I could roll my eyes and slip back into the dynamic we’d perfected over the years.
And slip away from the allure of this small, darkened room and his whispered question.
Where would you like me to kiss you?
I tilted my neck, exposing my cheek again, and tapped it. “Here is good.”
He fully closed the remaining distance between us. I felt the heat of his palm at my hip. The drag of his fingers as they slid around to my lower back. And then his face, dropping toward mine.
There was a pause. His breath feathered across my cheekbone. Then his mouth, performing that same delicate caress. The mouth that loved to taunt and tease me, the mouth that formed the smile he employed like a weapon, bewitching those around him.
Those lips had performed plenty of sinful acts, yet here he was, pressing them to my skin like I was something precious. Quick, barely a second. He moved back, but not away. His fingers still flexed against my spine and his mouth hovered near my cheek.
The tip of his nose pressed into the hair at my temple.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Is there anywhere else you’d like me to kiss you?” Rowan whispered.
“No, that was sufficient,” I whispered back, voice shaking. “As long as you do that and act like you worship the ground that I walk on, we should be able to pull this thing off.”
He hummed under his breath. “It’s important that this goes well tonight. For your reputation. For the rec center. If I have to stare at you like every time you smile at me, it feels like I’ve been hit on the head with a sledgehammer, I’ll somehow find the strength to do it.”
“This is why I asked for your help. Your superior flirting abilities are unmatched.”
He exhaled, his warm breath dancing along my hairline. Tingles raced up my spine.
We needed to go. I needed to go.
Actually, I needed to go back in time and ask someone less Rowan-like to be my fake boyfriend.
“Is there anything else you need from me before we leave?”
I swallowed. “There’s a lot that I want right now. I don’t think you can magically make them happen. But I appreciate the offer.”
His lips brushed across my temple. “I can make some things happen for you. All you have to do is ask, Maddox.”
The persistent throb between my legs twisted, became a true ache. Rowan had no idea how many times I wiped down the bar while watching women he had taken home nights before stumble in with the kind of smile that said I just had the best sex of my fucking life.
It was a gossipy town. These women always talked about him in front of me, shooting me sly glances because we all knew about Rowan, right?
His easy confidence wasn’t an act. I could give a single, one-word command, and this man would fall to his knees eagerly. Make me forget the past couple weeks, forget the pressure, forget all the people I was disappointing.
I wanted to forget so very badly.
I’d had plenty of meaningless sex—and that was practically Rowan’s specialty—so why couldn’t I shove this big, brawny man backward onto my hotel bed and help us both forget for a little while?
A burst of happy laughter and loud voices from the hallway had us stumbling apart. I slid my hands into my pockets, cocking my head at the door.
“That was a really good practice session,” I managed. “The cheek kiss should work. Are you…um, are you ready?”
There was a flicker of disappointment on Rowan’s face, but he smoothed it over. Grinned at me like he hadn’t a care in the world. “I was born ready, babe.”
I pulled open the hotel door and he followed me down the hallway. “Yeah, try that one again.”
“Let’s see…I was born ready, cupcake?”
“I’ll put on an actual clown suit, wig and all, and wear it on my next race before I ever let a man call me cupcake.”
I pressed the elevator button while Rowan eyed me with a playful look. One hand came to rest by my head, and he leaned close. “Then how about…kitten?”
“Oh, fuck off, Rowan,” I said with a laugh. “There’s nothing kitten-like about me. What part of my personality is soft and cuddly?”
“What part of your personality isn’t stubborn and full of mischief?” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
The ease of it, the pure flirtatious affection, amped up that need between my legs.
“You might have a point,” I admitted, stepping backward into the elevator as the doors opened. It was empty, and Rowan went to stand against the opposite wall as we started our descent.
Still felt much too intimate.
“Kitten-cupcake it is then,” he said smoothly.
I shook my head with a barely concealed smile. Then snapped my fingers, digging into my pockets as I remembered I’d made something for Rowan.
“Here, take this.” I held out a worn piece of notebook paper, filled with my scribbled notes. “I spent the afternoon doing some research. I hope it helps.”
Brow furrowed, he opened the paper and scanned it. Looked up at me sharply. “Is this a list of potential donors who will be here tonight?”
I nodded. “Tonight and at most of the other events. They’re rich, they love dirt bikes and—also—happen to love getting their asses kissed in public settings. From what I could tell.”
I stepped over to tap the first name, Steve Duncan. “I’ll point this dude out to you once we get downstairs. He’s your warmest lead.”
Rowan held up the sheet. “This is so fucking helpful, Charlie. Thank you.”
“It was no biggie. Besides, we had a deal. I help you, you help me, remember?”
His throat worked. “Right. Our business transaction.”
That flicker of hurt on his face was back—larger this time—but the elevator door was dinging loudly as it reached the lobby. Rowan took my hand, and then we were stepping into a busy space—cameras, fans, vendors, people milling about with cold beers. This event was 100% a shameless attempt at courting better press for motocross—with the exception of The X Games, sports involving dirt bikes generated less overall media and interest, even as our fan base was growing larger and more dedicated.
As we made our way through the crowd, we walked beneath a large white banner that read Dirt Bikes Are the Future.
“There’s Dempsey,” I said, spotting a hot pink pantsuit. “And…that’s Steven over there, by the bar. Do you want an introduction before I head onstage?”
Rowan brightened. “I’ll be fine. Talking to people has always been the easy part for me.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re not nervous?”
“Nah, I’m golden. Are you still nervous about tonight?”
I hesitated, realizing he had done a decent job of distracting me. “Much less than I was.”
A harried-looking person with a headset rushed up just then. “Charlie Maddox? The panel is starting in fifteen minutes, if you could please come with me?”
“I’ll be right there,” I promised. And when I turned back to Rowan, he very softly kissed my cheek again.
“Go kick some ass,” he whispered. “I’ll be in the audience if you need anything.”
And I leaned into him without a second thought.
15
ROWAN
Charlie strode towards the stage, but not before flashing a very pretty smile at me over her shoulder.
It was clearly for the audience. Clearly for the fans.
Which made it all fake.
My brain knew that. My body sure as hell didn’t.
I didn’t have to force the look of minor obsession on my face as I watched my pretend girlfriend move through the crowd. I’d been painfully, desperately into Charlie Maddox from the moment we met.
My lust for her itched under the skin, a constant distraction. Even now, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, couldn’t stop staring at the nape of her neck, her bloodred lips, her leisurely swaying hips.
She’d been understandably nervous back in the hotel room, but that wasn’t the case now. She climbed the stairs to the stage with her chin raised proudly and her shoulders thrown back.
I wanted to taste the curve between her neck and her shoulder with my fucking teeth.
I knew what it was like to want something you could never have. There’d been a time in my life when I wanted my shoulder to be magically fixed, when all I thought about were the lights, the stadium, the pitcher’s mound beneath my cleats. Used to wake up dreaming about my fingers sliding over the leather stitching, the way my palm understood the shape of a baseball better than anything else.
Now here I was again, staring at Charlie and probably looking as starved as I felt.
I dragged a hand down my face. I had a list of names she had clearly spent a lot of time on—and less than fifteen minutes to charm this Steven guy, who was still lurking near the bar.
I scanned the list again, my thumb stroking across her handwriting. Pennsylvania native, she’d scrawled. Gives to a lot of charities, lives out in the suburbs, huge sports fan.
There were at least twenty names on here, each one with facts and details. It was worrying, how happy I’d been when she handed this to me. The same sweet warmth had flooded my chest as the day she’d sent all that food.
I figured that wasn’t a good sign.
I took a big breath and made my way over to the bar, where Steve was in the process of ordering another beer. A surge of nerves spiraled through my veins, surprising me.
Charlie was right, as usual. I was nervous.
But I kept my focus on a memory from today at the rec center—getting to Elaine’s office early and finding a handmade card taped to the door. The picture was a lopsided circle with lines shooting out, what looked to be three or four eyes in the middle of it. Beneath it read: Thank you Mr. Rowan. You are doing an awesome job!!!!!
So I sent up a quick prayer to the gods of nonprofit fundraising and went for it. Raising a finger, I leaned an elbow on the bar. “I’ll take another one of those beers if ya got it?”
The bartender nodded, pouring me a glass that was as cold as it was frothy. I made eye contact with Steve and lifted it.
“Cheers. Are you here for motocross too?”
He nodded enthusiastically, then clinked his glass against mine. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, white with gray hair and an outfit that said I’m wealthy but also relaxed.
“I sure am,” he replied, then shook my hand. “Steve Duncan. I’m a huge moto fan. Huge. And I’m sorry to have been so obviously spying on you, but are you…with Charlie Maddox?”
I kept my smile loose. “Rowan O’Callaghan. Also a huge fan, though yeah, that has a lot to do with being Charlie’s boyfriend.”
“Wow,” he said, looking genuinely impressed. He pumped my hand a few extra times. “It’s an honor.”
“That’s how I feel about dating Charlie.”
He cocked his head, then snapped his fingers. “The ballplayer. You were that hotshot local kid who got called up to the Mets. I watched you blow out your shoulder while pitching against the Giants a few years ago. That’s you, right?”
My casual smile froze in place while I scrambled for a polite answer. Dean and I were used to people’s strange, offensive reactions to our very public injuries. It was annoying, especially from a guy like Steve, who was probably eager to talk a big game about what he would, or wouldn’t, do if he was on the field.
Not that he had any idea what it was like to stand on that mound, in front of thousands of screaming fans, and throw a ball sixty feet away over the world’s smallest target.
“That’s me all right,” I said, forcing a laugh.
He winced in exaggerated sympathy. “I always feel so bad for you guys when those injuries happen. You’ve got these big dreams and shiny contracts, then bam. One bad throw, and you’re out for life. This is why I love sports so much. It’s like watching a Greek tragedy. All that excitement and all that heartbreak.”
He clinked his glass against mine again. “Not that I have to tell you that.”
My back molars ground together. “You sure don’t, Steve.”
Steve glanced away for a moment, like he’d recognized someone in the crowd. I tried to find a lead into the rec center, based on what I knew about him. Speaking of tragedies, my nonprofit is totally fucked. Wanna help?
“I’ve been following dirt bike racing for a long time,” he continued, turning back to face me. “I even used to follow Charlie’s dad, Malcolm. He was really something else to watch. Shame what happened to him too, all those accidents. Their bodies get so beat up out there.”
He didn’t look like he thought it was a shame. He looked like he had when describing the loss of my lifelong dreams as a Greek tragedy. Like we were all just actors in a play and not people who felt legitimate pain.
“I bet a boyfriend like you is a real…” Steve faltered, waving his hands through the air like he was worried he was about to irritate me.
“A real what?” I prompted. Already irritated.
“A stabilizing influence. That Charlie’s a wild one. You don’t get a nickname like hers for being well-behaved, right?”
This guy was moments away from nudging me with his elbow like the creepy uncle at a barbecue.
“Charlie is her own person, an incredible athlete, and a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” I said mildly. “She sure as shit doesn’t need my influence.”
But he was already bobbing his head along with my words. “Of course, of course she is. I meant no offense. Promise.”
The lights in the room flickered, calling everyone to attention. Steve smiled nervously then tipped his head toward the stage. “Looks like things are about to start. It was nice chatting, Rowan. Such an honor to meet you.”
He slipped past and was out of sight before I had time to register that I hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk about the center.
“Fuck,” I muttered, setting my glass down and leaving cash next to it. I knew that part of this job was getting money from people you didn’t like—and I’d talk to donors way more annoying than that asshole to save the senior program and Dean’s job.
But my temples were throbbing from having to be fake polite to yet another baseball fan who thought I was a throwing arm and nothing else. And my stomach still churned with frustration at the way he spoke about Charlie.
