Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (12 page)

Her dark gaze skittered over our surroundings in the moonlight as she tried to find something to look at other than me. “I am, seriously. And friends don’t carry friends.”

“This again.”

She started to protest, and I only knew one way to shut her up. I glanced around us, taking in where we were—near the quad, halfway between town and the dorms—and dragged Cate to a nearby cluster of trees.

“Cate—”

“Catie,” she corrected me.

“Cate, listen, we’re friends but with potential for so much more. Stop bulldozing me. You’re a closet sports watcher, and I’m a closet feminist.”

This made her giggle.

“And stop with this heavy business. You’re a woman, as far as I can tell, and women have tits and ass. Many men like that, including myself.” Silently, I added,
But I only realized that a few weeks ago when your curvy ass walked into the studio.

Her eyes got round, and the sight of her pulse fluttering in her neck made me want to sink my teeth in and leave a mark.

“You can’t say stuff like that.”

“I can and I will,” I protested. Or maybe I argued or demanded; I wasn’t sure.

“No. I’m not that kind of woman.”

I gently pushed her back against the tree and leaned my body into hers. “Caterina, you can be all woman, have wants for yourself, and still have the desire to be desired. I don’t think the two have to be mutually exclusive.”

I had no clue where this shit was coming from. All of a sudden, I was spewing philosophy and women’s rights dogma as if I knew what the hell I was talking about.

I’d spoken to my cousin Gigi the day before, and she’d made me realize my man-whore rep was worse than I suspected. Then she let me know women are prickly creatures. They want to categorize everything.

“Your girl wants to have a big career in helping women realize their potential, and she’s all liberated with the swearing. But she’s still a girl, and she may not know it, but she wants to be wanted,” Gigi had insisted, and some of it must have sunk in.

I pressed my body against Cate, showing her how much she was desired, and a small gasp escaped her lips. I took it as an invitation and kissed her.

When my mouth met hers, there was no stopping myself. I bit down gently on her lower lip to demand entry, and when she parted her lips, my tongue played with hers and my pelvis pressed a bit harder. I was leaning over her petite frame, so I lifted her onto my feet so she could reach me better, and bent to meet her halfway.

“Blane, Blane,” broke through my haze.

I stopped immediately, running my palm over her cheek before sliding my fingers into her hair.

“Sorry.” I let out a deep breath. “I had to do that, but I’m stopping.”

“I don’t think we should do that,” she said, the words seeming hesitant.

“I dig you, so why not? I’ve never liked anyone like this before. I get why you don’t want to take me seriously, but I mean it. I like you. You’re funny, sassy, smart, and sexy as hell. I want to kiss you again.”

“We can’t. Sonny.”

All this time, we’d been in each other’s arms. Now I pulled away to settle my palms on her shoulders and stared her down.

“Christ, if I never hear that asshole’s name again, it won’t be too soon. I’m sick and tired of him. Every time I’m with you, it’s all about Sonny.”

“I’m just stating the facts.” She looked up at me, her eyes a little glassy, reminding me of Gigi when her high school boyfriend ditched her for someone else at the prom.

“I took care of Sebastian. He’s going to treat you right, and he’s not going to breathe a word about us. I know how to handle him . . . with tickets and girls.”

Cate broke free. “You
what
?”

Shit.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said, backpedaling. “I just took back my life.”

Cate glared at me. “Did you really go and talk to Sonny about my internship?”

“I may have mentioned it, but so what? I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” she shrieked. “Because I’m helpless? Because I’m poor, tiny, fragile-yet-round Caterina?” Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “I don’t need your protection, Blane Steele. Stay the hell away from me, you hear me?”

She turned and ran into the night. For the second time, I stood there gaping, jilted and helpless because of a five-foot-tall stick of dynamite.

Catie

T
wo weeks had passed since I’d run away from Blane for the second time. The very next day, I’d marched right into the music fest and accosted poor Sonny at the DJ table.

“Blane can go fuck himself, you hear me? Whatever he told you, it doesn’t matter. I’m my own woman. You hear me?” I’d kept repeating, “You hear me?” until Sonny finally responded.

His blond head had whipped around faster than if the Playboy bunnies had shown up on College Avenue. The stupid guy had been practically salivating.

“Babe, your fire keeps getting better. We’re putting you in charge of the mic for thirty minutes tonight. Hell, yeah!”

“Cut it with the
babe
shit,” I’d spat back, and then calmed down. “And what’s with the change of heart? Last week, you were super pissed when my heat came out over the air, and now you like it. It’s because you’re listening to Steele.”

“No way in hell, babe, huh-uh. You started out all meek and shit to me, let me boss you around. What the fuck? I was confused because I thought you were all ‘hear me, I am woman,’ and now you’re showing me that spunky side. Me likey.”

Of course, he’d butchered the expression
I am woman, hear me roar
while throwing up his air quotes.

But I did get the mic that night for thirty minutes, and I even got to introduce Cool Ray. So there was that. But as I did, I’d wondered if Blane was out in the crowd.

The entire night, I went back and forth between thinking of him and chastising myself for taking Clara’s advice to be more demure in my job. I had no idea why I listened to her; she’d made a career of husband hunting while working the Chanel makeup counter at Neiman Marcus. In the end, she spent more time chatting with married men buying perfume for their wives . . . or their secretaries.

Now it had actually been fourteen whole days since that night with Blane at the music fest. I wished I could say the Stealer was out of my system, but no such luck. The memory of our short kiss haunted me during the day and drove me crazy in my dreams. It was my choice to flee—I’d accepted that fact—until yesterday, when Sonny offered up the gig for me to DJ on Halloween.

“Really?” I’d exclaimed.

“Yeah, babe.”

“Seriously, Sonny, no more babes. You sure this isn’t about Steele and his talking with you?”

I had to ask; I wasn’t about to let a guy fix things for me. Nope, that was how my mom operated, which is where Clara got the whole meet-a-rich-fucker idea. My dad wasn’t enough for my mom. She thought she was worthy of more, so she left him when we were little and began flaunting her Cuban ass all around town.

Sonny interrupted my thoughts. “Not in the way you think, but those dudes got a rager going on in their building. A pre-season Halloween bash, and I’m not missing it.”

On Halloween, I made my way to the studio wearing ratty, worn-in jeans, a black sweatshirt thrown over an orange lace camisole (not that anyone would see it), and Snoopy Halloween socks tucked into my Chucks.

Blane had called me sassy and sexy. I almost laughed at the memory. All it took was one look at my ridiculous Halloween getup, and you’d know I was neither sexy nor sassy.

My mind wandered continuously to Blane and what he might or might not be doing. Was he drinking? Was he by himself or did he have a date? Would he listen to me on the air?

Oh. My. God. I was turning into my sisters. My mom would be so proud.

I walked through the studio doors and gave a quick wave to the security guard before I made my way to the booth.

Music had been on autoplay for the last two hours. Sonny had prepped some playlists, but eight o’clock was coming quickly, and it was my time to take over. I’d be on from eight to midnight. Usually, it was
Sonny’s Saturday Hookup,
but tonight it was
Saturday Showdown with Catie
. I decided to ask for callers having relationship problems, figuring it would provide for some kind of showdown.

Clearly, I was winging it, seeing as I had zero relationship advice.

I flicked on the light and sat in Sonny’s swivel chair. It was so warm back in the booth, I shrugged off my sweatshirt, leaving me in the Halloween spirit in my camisole.

When the last song wound down, I flicked on the mic. “Hey, Hafton, Catie P. here. Remember me? I’m taking over for Sonny tonight. He had something better to do than entertain all of you. Lucky me, I get to trick-or-treat all night on the air with you. In fact, if you call in tonight, you’ll be entered to win a treat. The bakery is giving away a dozen doughnuts to a few lucky callers.”

I hit
PLAY
on the sound-effects board and the soft hum of a bubbly cauldron joined my voice.

“Right now I’ve got something from the graveyard, the ‘Monster Mash.’ Who remembers that one? I’ll be back in a few with some more spooky tunes, but here’s the deal, Hafton. If you and your significant other are having a Halloween tiff, call in. We’ll see if we can get to the bottom of it on this special episode of
Showdown with Catie
.”

I inhaled deeply while the “Monster Mash” played and grabbed my water bottle out of my bag. Four whole hours alone in the booth. I should have been ecstatic, but instead, I was sullen. I rubbed my hand along my temple, tucking my hair behind my ear as I adjusted my headphones.

“Get it the fuck together,” I muttered to myself, and hit the
ON AIR
button.

“Who has big Halloween plans tonight? Partying? Trick-or-treating? Or staying in for a romantic night for two? I doubt the last. Well, I’m here for you, playing Halloween hits, taking calls, and giving out doughnuts. One more tune to really get us in the mood.” I flicked
PLAY
as I switched the mic off, and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” flooded the airwaves.

The lights on the phone flickered, and I blinked my eyes in disbelief. People were actually calling my show.

I took another swig of water and swished it in my mouth before swallowing, then closed my eyes and took a series of deep breaths.

Vincent Price began his monologue at the end of the classic scary song, cueing me that it was nearly over. I shot a hard glance at the
DISCONNECT
button, making sure I knew where it was as there was no one at the station to preview callers. If someone got inappropriate, all I had to do was click it.

“Hey, Catie P. here tonight. Who’s this?”

“Hi, Catie. My name’s Michelle.”

“Hi, Michelle, how are you doing this Halloween? Are you dressed up?”

A little sniffle came over the line. “Yes, I’m a cowgirl, a sexy one.” Her voice was hoarse and hesitant. “I was supposed to go to the Halloween Hoedown, but my date didn’t show.”

“You know what, Michelle? I bet you make one heck of a cowgirl, sexy or not, and you should go hit up a different party. Callers? Who’s listening that has a wicked party going on? Give me a ring at the studio, and I’ll connect you with Michelle.”

She giggled. “That’s so cute, Catie. You think?”

“I know! Hold on the line while I take the next call, and I’ll be back to get your e-mail address so I can send you party details.”

With that, I clicked
HOLD
and picked up another call. Loud music pumped over the line in the background.

“Catie?” a guy screamed over the music.

“Yeah?” Somewhat nervous, I hovered my finger over
DISCONNECT
.

“Sonny here. Don’t ruin my show, babe, while I’m busy knocking freaky boots.”

This time I laughed. “Well, if it isn’t our fearless leader on the line. Are you having relationship problems, Sonny?” I figured while the cat’s away, the mouse would play, and I was going to get out all my zingers.

“Hey, turn that down for a sec,” Sonny hollered over the line. “You need a Twitter name, Catie girl! We wanted to tweet you from this party, but we couldn’t. Tell the audience that Monday we’re starting a contest for the most creative Twitter handle for you!”