Oh. My. God. I’m in a reality show. Forget watching one.
Ava apparently forgot all about helping me first, because she grabbed a cold bottle of water and steamed a fresh cappuccino for Denube while rambling on and on about Vicki with an i. Apparently Vicki had moved away in middle school, but now the girls had been reunited in college.
“Here you go, Blane, and this one is special for you, Ash.” She continued to preen, radiating sexual energy while I tapped my hand on the counter.
Blane stepped up behind me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. “I think you forgot Caterina’s order.”
We still hadn’t even acknowledged each other, yet he was advocating for my beverage and setting my shirt on fire? I glanced at my shoulder, checking for smoke.
Ava frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you knew her, or were together.”
“When I said I wanted to buy everyone a round of coffee, I meant Caterina here too.”
Still no face-to-face acknowledgment, and I wasn’t going to be the one to turn around. No fucking way. The stubborn Italian and Cuban in me would not be the first one to say hello.
Ava grabbed the lever on the espresso machine and put in the grinds, then pumped her arm with gusto. She didn’t take her time pouring in my shots or frothing my milk artistically. Basically, she tossed everything in the cup and shoved it across the counter to me without even making eye contact.
Noting the K she’d used when she scribbled my name, I couldn’t resist giving her a jab. “By the way, it’s Caterina with a C the next time you need to write my name on my cup.”
As I reached for my beverage, a large hand came around me and picked up the cup.
“Here you go, Caterina with a C. Good to see you. Again.”
I turned and looked up at him, since my gaze was even with his chest. “Thank you, Steele.”
He tossed some money on the counter after Ava mumbled the amount. Then she resumed kissing Ashton’s ass.
I picked up my cappuccino and the scone I’d ordered, and felt warm fingers on my lower back.
“Why don’t you sit with us?”
My spine zinged where Blane touched me, a huge red flag. I was entering a no-go zone. I liked the way his large paw felt, and not only was that forbidden for a woman like me, but he was off-limits too. Not my type.
I leaned to the side, slipping away from his hand as I whispered, “As I recall, you’re not supposed to be touching women right now.”
It was my second poor attempt at flirting in as many days. I yearned for him to say he’d rather do nothing other than touch me, or maybe that he’d been thinking about it all night. Like me.
Blane shook his head. “It was just a brotherly touch; friendly, you know? My cousin Gigi would probably call it ‘gentlemanly.’”
“That’s nice to hear, but I have to finish an English essay before work, so I can’t chat. Hope you’re not suffering too much after yesterday,” I added before scurrying away to the other side of the coffee shop.
I wanted to be nice to this guy, to smile and stare at his gorgeous face. After all, he seemed like an ally yesterday when he mentioned Sonny being an intern once. But he had to go with the brotherly thing, which was a harsh reminder I would never be who he really wanted to touch on her lower back.
“Listen,” Steele called out as he hustled after me. He slipped into the seat next to me at my table. “I don’t know what I said wrong, but I thought we could be civil. You saw Sonny take me down, and the whole atmosphere at the studio.”
“And by that, you mean the way he demoralizes me on the job?”
I was seething mad he knew, but titillated that he was across from me. I was embarrassed he knew, but turned on with him this close.
All in all, I was confused as all get-out.
This man was doing weird things to me. I’d admired him from afar on the court all last year. His prowess with a basketball made my heart stutter.
I was familiar with several sides of him. The determined look he got when he drove the ball up the court. His boyish grin after making a basket. His freshly showered look when he left the field house—I’d caught it once or twice.
Yet in his presence, I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. In twenty-four hours, he’d played with my mind in so many ways, I couldn’t even count. The night before in the studio, I’d desperately wanted to tell him I was a fan or whatever groupies do, but I let the opportunity pass. Didn’t they carry permanent markers and ask for their boobs to be signed?
Now Blane was seated across from me and wanted to have a serious chat. Who was this guy?
And who am I? I barely recognize myself since yesterday.
“I was referring to the dare. But seriously, why do you call him Mr. Boots?” he asked, interrupting my inner dialogue and setting his water down on the table.