Sugar Creek (9 page)

It wasn’t until halftime, when the doors opened and the fans came flooding out en masse, that she smelled the scent of donkey for the first time. Yuck. But she said nothing—because Romo would only think her weak and girly.
This is Destiny, not Chicago; they have farm animals here—suck it up.
They spent the next ten minutes vigorously handing out Cokes and Sprites, chips and pretzels, M&M’S and Milky Ways. Whenever she caught up on drinks, she took over calculating totals while Mike accepted the money and made change. And she tried to concentrate on
anything
besides her crazy yearnings.

“Hey, how’s the game going?” Mike suddenly asked a pretty, dark-haired teenage girl.

“The faculty’s beating the community leaders by four points,” she said with a smile. And Rachel was on the verge of being aghast, wondering if he was flirting with a high schooler, when the girl asked, “What are
you
doing here, anyway?”

“Got roped into it by Logan,” he answered—then handed her some peanut M&M’S before she even said what she wanted. “On me. Now be good and don’t talk to any boys.” He concluded by pointing a threatening finger at her.

“Uncle Miiiiiike,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “Knock it off.”

He tilted his head. “You know I’m not really your uncle, right? More like your second cousin. And your uncles Tim and Jay get pissed when you kids call me that.”

The girl just shrugged. “Uncle’s easier. And we like you better than them.” And then she was gone.

Hmm. Wow. He had young relatives who actually liked him? She’d just never thought of mean Mike Romo having a relationship—even a teasing, scolding one—with…well, much of anyone.

Right before the second half began, Ralph Turley, the school principal, came hurrying in the door behind them, saying, “Don’t mind me—just need to grab some towels,” which he found on the metal shelves. “Ball got messy,” he added on the way out, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Ewwww,” Rachel commented when he was gone. “That’s one example of why you couldn’t
pay
me to play donkey basketball.”

And she had no idea why Romeo was looking at her so oddly until he said, “Did he just close that door?”

“Uh-oh,” she replied, then rushed up to twist the knob and pull. Sure enough—Big Hair hadn’t lied; it was locked tight. “Hell,” she muttered.

“No big deal,” he said with a short head shake. “I’ll send out a search party for Elmer.” Then he summoned one of the firemen still manning the doors, asking him to find the janitor.

A few minutes later, a squat old man—about ninety, from the looks of him—arrived at the window. Elmer had been the custodian when Rachel had gone to school here and he’d been old
then
. In fact, he’d been the one to discover her with Russell Jamison in his closet, though she doubted he remembered her.

“Ya cain’t shut that door,” Elmer told them, pointing at it through the window.

“We know,” Mike said. “It was an accident.”

“Locks on its own, ya see,” Elmer went on.

“Yeah, we know,” Mike answered.

“Now I’ll have to dig out m’keys and unlock it, and then ya need to keep it open. Cain’t shut it,” he repeated. “It’ll lock up on ya again.”

“We understand,” Mike told him.

After which Elmer toddled around the corner and could be heard fiddling with what sounded like a very large set of keys, until finally the door opened inward. “Got ’er open,” Elmer said. “Don’t shut ’er again or we’ll be back where we just come from.”

“
Got it
,” Mike said, finally starting to sound a little testy, but Elmer didn’t seem to notice—he just went on his way.

“Just in case you missed that,” Rachel said, completely straight-faced as Elmer ambled off down the hall, “that door locks if you shut it.”

And to her surprise, Mike Romo smiled. Even laughed a little. And her chest tightened when his eyes sparkled and she saw once again that he wasn’t always so awful. Apparently, his little cousin knew something Rachel didn’t.

“I don’t like admitting this,” she told him, “but you and I work pretty well together.”

He took a second before replying, “I’d have to agree, Farris. Guess miracles
do
happen.”

A moment later, a teenage couple—glued to each other and clearly in the throes of teenage love—ordered a pack of Starburst and two Cokes. And when they walked away, Rachel heard herself say, “So—I hope I didn’t hold you and your girlfriend up too long the other night.” And—oh Lord—why had she said
that
?
Shut up, already. This is actually going well now and you’re going to wreck it.

Mike tossed her a sideways glance. “I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever.” Rachel glanced down, pretending to straighten the bills in the money drawer.

Then she felt Romo’s eyes on her, and like earlier, grew
a little too warm. “Just so you know,” he said, “I took her straight home.”

She drew in her breath, her stomach pinching at the reminder, and still refused to lift her gaze. “Look, I don’t need the gory details. It was pretty
clear
you were headed straight home.”

From her peripheral vision, she saw him tilt his head. “No, I mean I took her home, to
her
home. Then I went home to
my
home. That was it.”

Oh. God. It was like he’d lifted a boulder from her chest. “Not that I care what you do…but, uh, why?” Finally, Rachel peered up at him, more than a little curious. “Because she didn’t look like someone who was hoping to be dropped off at the door.”

Mike just shrugged. “Dunno. Wasn’t into it. Wasn’t into
her
. Was in a bad mood.”

“You don’t need to remind
me
,” she said, recalling his tirade about her parking mistake. “But…most guys would be happy to let her
change
their mood. She was certainly willing to try.”

“Like I said, just wasn’t meant to be. And I just…wanted to let you know.”

She couldn’t prevent a slow grin from sneaking onto her face. “Afraid I’ll think you’re easy, Romo?”

He grinned back, just slightly, and their eyes met, and his sparkled again. And it was almost as if his gaze had some direct connection to the crux of her thighs, since, again, that’s where she felt it.

“Watch it,” she teased him, “or you’ll just be giving me more ammunition. Next thing you know, you’ll be hearing it all over town—all Romos are easy lays.”

He laughed, shrugged. “We’ve had worse said about us. Probably by Farrises.”

Which made her giggle. Yet then she caught herself and said, “Stop that. I don’t like you and I refuse to have any fun with you.”

“Too late, Farris. I think you
already
like me. A little anyway.”

She didn’t deny it, but she did cast him a sideways glance. “I’m just waiting to see what you do to ruin it.”

When the game was over and most of the crowd had gone, Rachel wondered aloud, “How do they get the donkeys out? Through the lobby?”

Mike looked amused as he started putting away the un-bought chips and pretzels. “Nope, they herd ’em through the back, by the locker rooms.”

“Oh,” she said on a sigh.

He glanced over. “Am I crazy, Farris, or do you actually sound disappointed?”

“Not really. They stink. But I’ve never been to a donkey ball game, and here I am at one, without even seeing a donkey.”

He blinked. “You grew up here and never saw a donkey ball game?”

“Wasn’t my thing,” she explained.

And then, to her utter surprise, he took her hand and said, “Come on.” After which he led her out into the hall, through the lobby, and into the gym.

“There you go,” he said. They arrived just as the very last donkey was being led toward the back door on a lead line. And Rachel smiled. She wasn’t sure why. At the absurdity of it all? Or because Mike Romo had just indulged her sudden urge to see a donkey? Or…because he was still holding her hand and it was making her thighs feel achy and sexy.

“He’s bigger than I expected,” she mused about the donkey. Then noted that the protective surface had already been rolled up in large sections and was being hauled out as well. The floor looked good as new. “That fake floor makes for easy cleanup.”

“Speaking of which, we’d better get to ours.”

She nodded, and only then did he finally let go of her hand. And now, damn it,
that
was tingly, too. All the way up her arm. Sheesh. What kind of crazy lust
was
this?

As they passed back through the now empty lobby, Rachel noticed that Elmer must have come along and locked down the metal partition while they were gone, closing the concession stand window. They stepped inside—leaving the door open, of course—and Mike counted the money while Rachel started cleaning. It wasn’t a lot, just some soft drink drips on the counter and floor. By the time she finished, thinking the place looked as tidy as when they’d arrived, Mike had a total. A moment later, the money was in the bag, and she zipped it shut as Mike stooped to unplug the calculator—giving her a nice, even if too brief, view of his butt.

After placing the calculator back where she’d found it, Rachel announced, “All right, guess we’re done,” then walked to the entrance and shut the door to retrieve her pashmina from the hook on the back. She wrapped it around her shoulders, picked up her purse—and turned to see Mike slap his hand against his forehead, looking at her like she was an imbecile.

“What?” she said, confused.

“You just shut the fucking door, Farris.”

She gasped slightly as his words shot through her. “Oh. Shit.”

“Shit is right.” This was a lot different than earlier—the window was locked and the place had emptied.

She widened her eyes on him, beginning to feel a little panicky. “Do you think anyone’s still out there?”

In response, he joined her at the door and they both began beating on it and yelling. “Hey! Hey, we’re locked in here!” Rachel screamed.

“Anybody out there?” Mike called.

“Help! Get us out of here!”

“Elmer? Dude, if you’re still here, come let us out!”

After a minute, they stopped, quieted, and listened. To nothing. Not a sound. They were locked in the concession stand and no one was outside to hear them. On the rare occasion Rachel had actually rushed off without her Blackberry, too.

She dared to glance up at Mike, who stood right next to her—glaring down. He looked ready to kill her. “Why the
hell
did you shut that door?”

She bit her lip. “I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to get my pashmina from behind it. It could have happened to anyone.”

He simply stood hovering over her, shaking his head in disbelief. “And what the
hell
is a pashmina?”

She motioned at her wrap. “This. It’s Persian.”

“Looks like a shawl to me,” he muttered.

Now it was
her
turn to glare at
him
. “No, your
grandmother
wears a shawl.
This
is a
pashmina
.”

“Well, your damn
pashmina
just got us stuck in here. Hope you’re happy.”

Rachel sighed audibly. He was back to being his jerky self, that fast. “No, as a matter of fact, I’m
not
happy. I’m freaking
miserable
, actually.”

“Well, it’s your own damn fault,” he complained.

And that was
it
. She stared boldly up into those dark brown eyes of his, thoroughly disgusted. She’d had it with his rude behavior. She’d had it with…everything. “Look, I didn’t want to come here tonight. I did it as a favor for a friend. I don’t even want to be in this stupid town, but here I am, trying to help out my grandma. And now I’ve got
you
, giving me ridiculously expensive tickets and acting like I’m a terrible person every time I see you. Well, I’m not that terrible, Romo. So why don’t you just take your attitude and your blame and your self-righteousness and shove it up your—”

“Stop!” he said then, reaching up, closing his hands tight on her upper arms. “Be quiet! Be quiet.”

At first, she thought maybe he’d heard something outside and wanted to listen. But that’s when she realized he was staring at her lips. And that somewhere during her diatribe his eyes had drifted half shut, while his mouth now fell slightly open. He still had that light, stubbly beard going, and being right next to him like this, she could smell that musky scent again—in fact, it was permeating her senses. He stood so close, just a few inches away. How had she not noticed that until now?

As she’d spoken, her adrenaline had risen, and peering up at him, she heard herself breathing—and
he
suddenly seemed to be breathing pretty heavily, too.

“Maybe we should just do this, get it over with, get it out of our systems,” he said.

She blinked up at him. “Do what?”

And then he kissed her—hard.

His mouth sank over hers with such power that she had to lean into him just to keep from collapsing.

“Oh. That,” she breathed when the kiss ended.

Then she instinctively kissed him again, pressing her hands to his chest. She was a little shocked—by his actions, by hers—but mostly just…pleasured.

“Yeah. That,” he said, voice ragged with passion.

After which their mouths came back together, kissing feverishly, and Rachel followed the urge to ease back against his sturdy body, now feeling his kiss…everywhere.

Mike pulled her to him and his hands roamed her back, her ass. She felt that big bulge of his hardening against her thigh and hungered for it more than she’d known she could. Part of her couldn’t believe she was standing here making out with Mike Romo, but
most
of her couldn’t think straight enough to stop. She
had
been aching for him—she couldn’t deny that. And maybe he was right, about them getting it out of their systems. As more and more pleasure echoed through her body,
it seemed as good a reason as any to barrel full steam ahead.

And then he slowed down. Just a little. He lifted both hands to her face and kissed her more deeply, his tongue snaking between her lips. She met it with her own and surged with moisture below.