This was the exact kind of thing Clara had warned me about. Of course, she’d hidden behind good intentions. No doubt, she’d meant to ruin my plans. “Catie, if you act all aggressive and barracuda, they’re going to stick you in the corner. Act demure and appreciative.”
Bitch. She’d set me up for failure, and now I was clawing my way out like a cat in heat stuck in the gutter. I stomped my foot just thinking about it, and a pile of CDs came toppling down on my arm. I stomped again.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by a muffled, “You okay in there?”
I yelled back, “Yeah,” and went back to stacking and organizing.
There was another knock.
I was in no mood for more Sonny Boots and his dictatorship. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
I grabbed the handle and flung the door open, nearly knocking myself over. Standing tall above me was a mirage—one that resembled Blane Steele holding a bakery bag.
Stunned, I blinked hard, trying to be sure I was awake, but had no idea what to say.
He smirked down at me. “Hey.”
“Um, hi. What are you doing here?”
A bead of sweat trickled down my spine. I tamped down the urge to sniff my pits and quickly wrapped my arms around myself, remembering I was practically naked.
“I heard your big moment,” he said. “You were good. Funny, I mean. I would have liked to hear more.”
His blond hair flopped over his eyebrows, skimming his eyelashes, and I wondered how he saw clearly when he played ball. Then I remembered he always wore a dark green sweatband. In fact, there were rumors he didn’t wash it as long as the team was winning, one of those sports superstition things. All of a sudden, I wanted one to keep.
Oh God! Gross.
Wait a minute . . . Blane Steele thought I was funny. He heard me on the air tonight!
“Um, thank you?”
Blane stood there wedged sideways between the door and me as the bright lights from the hallway flooded the dark space, highlighting all of his perfections.
And my imperfections.
I snatched my sweatshirt and pulled it over my head, tugging it down hard to cover my butt.
“I don’t know. You sounded like you were having fun, and I wanted to congratulate you.” He held the bag up in the air and waved it from side to side. “Ashton went back to Mean Beans, so I tagged along to grab you a scone like you had the other day. A celebratory scone, I guess you could say.”
“That was thoughtful,” I said, wary. “Is that what you usually deliver to all the ladies?”
I didn’t know what the hell to say. Standing before me was one of Hafton’s most notorious man-whores, fumbling over his words and bringing me scones. Clearly, he could see I didn’t need any more scones. My mom would insist I say I wasn’t hungry, pretend to be stuffed even if I hadn’t eaten all afternoon.
“It wasn’t really thoughtful, more selfish. I wanted to see you, since we’re friends and all, and I didn’t know how to reach you. So the scone is more like a bribe or an incentive.”
He flashed me a smirk, sly and full of raw sex, drawing my attention to his lips. They were perfect, very masculine, and not really pink or red but somewhere in between. Stubble lined his jaw, all blond and scruffy, framing his mouth.
He wanted to see me?
My eyes traveled his face until they met his. Crisp and clear green pools of cocky speculation stared back at me, and I was pretty sure my panties disintegrated. I quickly stared at the floor, expecting to see a pool at my feet, gushing from my girlie parts—which were most certainly not into all my women’s lib and what-not.
“Well, it was good you had your best interests in mind.”
“And yours. When’s Sonny putting you back on the radio? Do you have time for a quick break?”
I cleared my throat and turned to resume slapping the CDs back into a neat pile. “I don’t know, definitely not tonight. But I have to finish this, so I think a break is out.” I waved my hand over the disorganized mess next to me, and tried not to pout like a lovesick sorority girl.
“What’s this you’re doing? Seems a bit below your pay grade.” He leaned one arm against the doorjamb, flexing his bicep against the sleeve of his T-shirt. His eyes crinkled in what appeared to be sincerity.
“This is part of what I’m supposed to do. I’m getting these ready for the music fest, where I’ll be grounded.” The last part came out on a mumbled whisper, more for me than my present company.
“What did you say? Grounded?”
I’d never felt smaller, and it wasn’t just because of his six-foot plus frame looming over my five feet three inches. “I shouldn’t have made that joke insulting Sonny. He gave me a chance and I fucked it up—messed it up. Excuse my language.”
“You were being funny. I ate it up, as I’m sure everyone else listening did. He’s being a prick. You need to go talk with him. And for the record, I’ve heard the word fuck before.”
This time he smiled big, showing his dimples, and the combination made my traitorous nipples harden.
Lock it down, Catie.
“You want me to say something to him, Cate?”
Cate. His nickname for me was sophisticated and sexy. I’d always been cute Catie or cuddly Caterina.