Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (11 page)

I shook my head but didn’t get a chance to answer.

Ashton flashed me a peace sign and said, “Check you later, DJ girl.” He sauntered back out to the crowd, and I forgot all about asking Sonny to meet Dirty Soul.

And what was with all the
girl
s?

“Catie, get over here,” Sonny bellowed, interrupting my thoughts. “Come on, I don’t have all night.”

I held my breath all the way over to his table, fearing the worst. Dirty Soul finished a set right as I made it to Sonny’s side, and he took the mic.

“Yo, Hafton, you having fun? Who’s pumped? You know I am. Tomorrow’s going to be another big day. The women’s basketball team is playing a preseason game. Go, Hafton Green!”

A few boos came from the crowd.

“I know, I know. Sonny B. agrees. Men’s ball is way more exciting, all those muscles and sweat. Have no fear, those bad boys of the hardwood will be back soon. Also, tomorrow we’ll have Pimply Teenager on the main stage at noon, and the homegrown rapper Cool Ray at nine tomorrow night.”

Cheers sounded from the audience. Ray was hot. He’d gone to high school in Cleveland and was slowly making it huge. His videos were all over the Internet, his songs topping the charts, and he was about to go on a national tour.

“Dirty Soul’s going to come back on tonight for all you alternative junkies, but I got a special treat first. Sweeter than a Krispy Kreme, nicer than a brand-new Lambo, meet Catie P. My girl is a sophomore who wants to take my slot and make all you guys tree-hugging hippies. Let’s hear what she has to say for herself.”

Sonny shoved the mic in my face. “Come on, Catie, don’t be shy!”

“Hey, Hafton!” I called out, working the crowd. “How you guys doing tonight? Sonny’s right, I’m vying for his spot. What do you think? Shouldn’t they graduate him already?”

The crowd roared and chanted, “Graduate, Sonny!”

I laughed into the mic and heard my voice echo off the buildings all around us. Putting a hand over my left ear to cancel the effect, I held the mic with my right.

“What do you think? It’s time for a woman to take over the Hafton airspace. Don’t worry yourself silly, it’s not going to become a big pajama party. I’m still going to play your music and pump up your barbaric sports teams.”

I semi-lied; I needed to keep up my persona.

“We’re not barbarians,” they shouted back.

“I got you,” I said and gave another of my throaty laughs into the mic before Sonny pulled it back.

“All right, gang, kiss Catie good night. She has to get up early and study her feminism. Speaking of females, how tight is Carrie Stanford on that electric violin?”

“Tight,” the crowd shouted back.

“Well, she’s coming back. Dirty Soul will be back in five. In the meantime, I’m going to change it up for a moment. I got the Hills for you.”

Covering the mic, he whispered, “Say something catchy.”

“Until Sonny is ousted, this is Catie P.,” was what I came up with.

Apparently, the crowd loved it. They started to chant, “Oust Sonny! Oust Sonny!”

“Good one.”

Sonny smirked at me before he pushed a lever to make the music louder. The sultry beat tumbled from the speakers as I made my way back to my giveaways table.

“I thought you watched sports,” a low voice said in my ear.

A warm hand grasped my shoulder and turned me. Standing behind me—now before me—was Blane Steele.

At the sight of him, my heart raced, my throat tightened, and my neck was only one part of many that went damp. Clearly, another schizophrenic episode.

“I can’t tell all my secrets,” I quipped.

“You told me, so that must make me special,” he said, his green eyes twinkling.

I got a good look at them and his blond eyelashes and eyebrows because he had his hair pushed back with a pink sweatband.

“Guess I fucking walked right into that one,” I said. “You should move back a little; Sonny’s right there.”

I gestured to the sweatband. “What’s with the pink all of a sudden? Stanwick getting you to join the class?”

He reached out to touch my mouth, dragging his finger’s roughness along my painted lip. “You did fucking walk right into that one, and I know he’s right there. He let me back in your inner circle. And no, I’m not going to be joining Stanwick’s lectures anytime soon. It’s October. Breast cancer awareness month.”

“Oh,” was all my jock-rattled brain could make out. I squeezed my fist, pinching myself a bit, trying to shock my brain back to reality.

“You sounded good. Glad Sebastian gave you the mic back.”

I averted my eyes, trying not to look at his perfect face with the delectable-looking stubble on his cheeks. I rolled my neck, which was actually stiff from staring up more than a foot to meet his eyes. But then I settled my gaze even with his chest. Although it was covered in a Nike Dry-Fit long-sleeved shirt, I could make out every ridge and plane, and my mouth was no longer dry.

“Thanks,” I whispered to his pecs.

Blane lifted my chin with the same rough finger that had caressed my lips.

“Hey, you were great!”

I shrugged and changed the subject. “Are you having fun?”

“Now I am.”

“God, you are so cheesy sometimes. Are you having fun?” I raised my voice over the music that was blaring around us. “Don’t give me some bullshit line. Do you like the band? The food?”

Finally, I got my nerve and my personality back. That was a short mental episode.

“I do. I like their vibe and that chick . . . woman . . . is rocking out. The food was fair. I got the funnel cake for dessert. Now, that was a little slice of heaven that I’ll be paying for tomorrow when I’m running up and down the court at practice.”

“That’s why I don’t play soccer anymore. Didn’t want to give up funnel cake.”

“Soccer, huh?”

“That was a while ago.”

“I may have to challenge you to a goal-kicking contest.”

“Then I may have to challenge you to a slam-dunk contest.”

“Ha!” His shout of laughter punched me in the gut.

Sobering, I asked, “What are we doing here,” voicing my thoughts without thinking, but was interrupted.

“Hey, excuse me!” A guy across the table waved a ticket at me. “Can I have one of those CDs? Here’s my ticket.”

What the hell? Couldn’t they see I was confronting a gorgeous man about why the hell he was talking to me?

I took the guy’s ticket and handed him a CD that was complimentary for people dumb enough to buy a VIP ticket. You could hear the music anywhere.

Blane quietly waited at the side, watching me work. I’d just turned back to confront him again when he asked, “What time are you done?”

“What’s going on, Blane? I thought we discussed this.”

“It’s cool. What time are you done?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to walk you back to Southern.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll buy you a funnel cake if you say yes.” His eyes twinkled. “Mmm . . . yummy, gooey funnel cake.”

I couldn’t resist a smile. “Yes. Now, go.”

I went back to my job wondering how I went from brushing Blane off a few nights ago to now letting him walk me home.

Funny what one will do for funnel cake.

Blane

M
o had invited us over for happy hour before the music fest. He’d opened up a full bar in his kitchen with one of the freshman team managers running it. The season wasn’t in full swing yet, and there was nothing wrong with us kicking back a bit before it got going.

Besides, it wasn’t like Coach Conley didn’t know what went on. He’d been a college player himself before he blew his knee out and ended up coaching rather than playing in the big leagues.

I was downing my Jack and Diet Coke when Mo sat his ass down next to me.

“I’m gonna tell the team next week,” he said in a low voice. “She’s keeping the baby, and there’s no way I wouldn’t cop to being a dad. I’ll do what’s right. But I’m all-in, in case you were worried.”

Setting my tumbler down, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Not worried, dude. You’re a good man; you’ll do right by the team and your lady. By the way, who is it?”

He looked away, mumbling, “That’s the tricky part.”

“Maurice?” I growled his full name, sensing that what was about to come next wasn’t going to sit well with me.

He ran a hand over his short Afro and let out a sigh. “D-man’s sister.”

“Shit,” I said on a long exhale. “He’s going to whip your ass.”

“I know. I’m ready for it.”

“His mom is not gonna play. She’s a tough Puerto Rican, no joke. The last time she came to visit, she nearly beat him over his room being a mess. Now you knocked up her baby girl. What is she, a sophomore?”

Mo nodded. “I think we’re gonna move in together. If I don’t put a ring or some shit on her finger, their dad is gonna go ape-shit.”

“No way I want a front-row seat to your sit-down with D. I think I’ll leave my apartment for that.”

He lowered his head, and I noticed sweat forming on his forehead.

“Listen, man, you’re doing what’s right,” I said. “But you’ve got to make a real go of it. My dad knocked my mom up and married her, but couldn’t give up the side pussy. Now he’s alone and driving a rig over half the year. Don’t let that be you.”

Mo nodded. “Thanks, man.” He stood and crossed back to the bar.

Fuck it, I thought, and followed him.

After another drink, we headed out to the festival. Originally, I didn’t want to go because I knew she’d be there. Cate. She’d blown me off big-time, and I wasn’t accustomed to being brushed off. But fuck that too, because after chatting with Mo, I had a new plan, and the music fest was the perfect place to make it happen.

We hustled over to the food trucks first before winding our way into the crowd. Ashton disappeared to see Ava, and I got caught chatting up every Tom, Dick, and Jeanette. I’d worn my sweatband for the outing, ready for the season to roll, but it had been a mistake. Everyone wanted to see me, not that I could have hidden at six foot four.

When I finally got away from everyone, I caught a quick glimpse of Ash and decided it was the best time to do what I needed to do.

And I did.

Then I went back and enjoyed the party. Cate’s voice echoed off the buildings lining College Avenue, and my brain was not the only organ to perk up. Kill me now, but my dick liked the sound of her voice, the throatiness of her laugh, and the ballsy way she spoke. I smiled to myself, happy as fuck to see her stop bowing down to Sonny.

When she was through talking, I went to find her. Sonny let me back behind the table with a wink—I’d already fixed that shit moments earlier—and I was standing right behind my little vixen wrapped in red lace.

I mumbled into her ear, inhaling her citrus scent, and had to refrain from licking her neck. We chatted until our conversation was rudely interrupted by that jerk wanting his freebie CD.

I wanted to yell, “Get the fuck away,” but thought better of it. I would be the one walking her home, and that was all that mattered. My game plan was in motion, and if there was one thing about me—I always knew where the X’s and O’s were supposed to be.

When the music finally died down for the night, I stood waiting to the left of the radio station’s area. Leaning against a tree, I called out, “Cate, hurry.”

She flashed me an evil look. No, she wasn’t to be messed with when it came to work. The thought niggled in my brain, making me squirm a bit, but I pushed it back.

My silence and patience only lasted another five minutes, and then I sneaked up on my prey again.

“Let’s go,” I said in her ear. She jumped at least a foot, her head colliding with my chin.

“Shit, you scared me!”

Laughing, I grabbed her by the waist and tossed Miss Feminism over my shoulder caveman-style and walked her straight out of the booth.

“Put me down,” she yelled, smacking my back. “What about my funnel cake?”

“They shut down, so I owe you one. And I’m not putting you down until we’re far enough away that I know you won’t go running back to work.”

“Blane, I’m heavy. Put me down.” Her voice cracked on the
heavy
part, and I did as she asked.

I grabbed her hand and stilled her movement, forcing her to face me. “You’re not heavy.”