Winging It (15 page)

“But what if Toby doesn’t really want me? What if this is all a mistake?”

“There’s only one way to find out. And if he’s changed his mind or gotten stupid in the last few hours? That’s cool. You and me can have some fun.”

“You really think this is a good idea? You think this might work?”

“You bet. Also, I’m starving, and I can’t eat salmon while I’m driving. So I’m going to be eating most of your boring-ass pizza. You should start getting used to that idea.”

“Okay,” I said, and when the server came back with our boxed-up food and Scott’s credit card, I added, “Can the salmon ride in the trunk? I feel kind of queasy as it is; I don’t need to be smelling that crap to make it worse.”

“You are a classy, classy dame,” Scott said and steered me toward the door. “I think you and Toby are going to be very happy together.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Toby

We won the game seven to three, even playing our third line for a good bit of the game. I got two goals, and MacDonald got two. Winslow got three assists. It was a good game, a good way to close out the regular season and gear up for the playoffs.

And I didn’t care at all.

As soon as the final buzzer sounded, I headed for the dressing room, Winslow bird-dogging along behind me like he’d been all afternoon, ready to clean up whatever messes I made. He gave me a little space in the shower, at least, but was back on me as soon as we were pulling on our jeans. “Do you want to just go play some Xbox or something?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m going to get shitfaced, and then I’m going to get laid,” I told him. “It’s a classic plan.”

He sighed. “You’re sure that’s the way you want to go?”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Winslow.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an executive assistant. Maybe I could make you an appointment for a spa day to relieve some stress?”

It was kind of hard to stay mad at the guy, but that didn’t mean I was going to give in to whatever his stupid plan was. Xbox? No way.

We stepped out of the locker room and ran into a few reporters. “Nice game,” Amanda Shears said. She covered sports for the local paper.

The last thing I wanted was to talk to a reporter, but I knew my job and nodded as politely as I could. “Thanks. The team really came together. We’re looking good for the playoffs.” Maybe I should have waited for them to actually
ask
about the playoffs, but I didn’t have the patience for the game that night.

She asked me a couple other questions, one about our depth and one about hopes for the draft, and then I started edging away. But I didn’t get far before I stopped and just stared.

Nat and Scott, standing right there in the hallway, watching me. Nat standing just a bit in front, Scott hovering behind her, keeping his hands to himself, thankfully, but closer than I ever wanted him to be. I couldn’t believe she’d brought him here, couldn’t believe she wanted to gloat like that.

I was half turned to leave when I heard her voice, not loud, but clear. “Wait.”

I didn’t want to. Why should I? But somehow I couldn’t just walk away from her.

Still, I’d be damned if I’d turn around, so I stood there, frozen, staring down the hall toward the exit but unable to move my stupid, traitorous feet.

“This is question time, right?” she asked, and I could hear her moving closer.

“Nat,” Winslow said beside me, and I could hear the warning in his voice. “This probably isn’t a good time.”

“I think it is,” she told him, and something in her voice made me turn toward her. She looked like she was—no, not crying, not quite, but her eyes were even brighter than usual, and they were staring right at me, asking me for—something.

And whatever that something was, she could have it. Even with Scott standing there as evidence of her total lack of interest in me, I still would have given her anything.

“I just have a couple questions, Toby.” She was even closer now, close enough that she could lower her voice so hardly anyone else could hear. Winslow was still there, probably ready to grab hold of me if I made a move for Scott, but Scott was actually keeping his distance, staying back where he’d been when I’d first seen them.

“What questions?” I managed to ask, and then Winslow was moving, kind of shuffling forward toward the reporters, herding them away, casual and friendly and totally inescapable.

Nat swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said, “Have you ever been scared of a good thing, Toby?”

“Scared of a—” Did she mean what I hoped she meant? Did she mean
her
, not me? I had to play this right. “Yeah,” I managed. My heart was pounding harder than it had during the game. “I have been. I was. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

Her eyes were wide, still bright, and I felt like she was searching for something in my face, but I had no idea what she was looking for or how to give it to her, so I just stared back at her and hoped.

And finally she said, “I’m scared, too. And at the beach, I was looking for—I don’t know, maybe I was looking for something impossible, expecting too much because I was looking for a reason to not take a chance on—”

“You’re strong,” I said quickly, and when she just looked confused, I kept going. “You play hard, but you’re still playing—it’s not war. You’re funny, and you think
I’m
funny. We make each other laugh. You don’t take my shit, but you’re not always looking for a fight, either.” I stopped, but she wasn’t running away, so I took a deep breath and continued. “That’s why I want to be your friend. Why I want to be more than that?” It was so easy now, and I felt like a fool for not having been able to say it before. “Because you’re beautiful. Because when I’m around you I’m torn between wanting to just relax and enjoy hanging out and being hyperaware of your body and the way you move and smell and how soft your skin is. Because when I kissed you, that morning in your driveway—”

I smiled at the memory, feeling a bit shaky as I said, “Because that was the best kiss of my life, and we were just warming up. I know we can be more, and I’m sorry I couldn’t say it to you the other day and I hope it’s not too late that I’m saying it now.”

She still looked kind of stunned. “Shit,” I said. “Please tell me this is what you came here for. Please don’t let this be something to do with Scott, or—”

She moved fast then. That final step closer to me, then stretching up, her lips finding mine, her arms wrapping around my neck and holding on like she was crazy enough to think I might try to get away. Everything else faded away—the reporters, my teammates, the fans looking down from the end of the hallway—it was all gone, leaving just me and Nat, the way it always should be.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nat

“You’re sure this isn’t too soon?” I tugged at the strap of my dress and wished I was wearing running shoes instead of the low-heeled pumps Dawn and my mom had insisted on.

Toby shook his head. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. But the idea is for us to bring people who are important to us. It’s a team dinner, and they want the
whole
team, not just the players. Family, girlfriends…” He shrugged. “So, for me, it’s not too soon. But if you don’t want to be here—”

I kissed him. We’d only been together for a day and a half, and sometimes it was hard for me to remember that kissing him was allowed. But once I remembered it was an option, it made everything much easier. Because my kiss told him everything I needed him to know. I wanted him, wanted to be with him, wanted to be touching him whenever possible. But I was still a little unsure about some things and sometimes needed reassurance. And when he kissed me back, he gave me everything I needed.

He pulled his mouth away just long enough to murmur, “I shouldn’t skip the dinner, but I can make it short, probably. I could duck out early, if you don’t want to be there, or if you want to come but not stay for the whole thing, that’s cool.”

Another kiss, this time with our bodies closer together, his suit jacket cool and unfamiliar against the bare skin of my arms. “I want to come,” I whispered to him. “I don’t care how long it goes. It’s fine.”

“Yeah?” We were leaning now, his strong body pinning me against the wall of my front hall, and my mom was just in the kitchen, so we couldn’t get too carried away, but I hadn’t known how much I’d wanted this until I got a taste of it, and now it was all I could do to keep myself from feasting, just dragging Toby up the stairs and pushing him onto my bed, or the floor, or wherever was handy and just—

“Yeah,” I gasped, forcing myself to pull away. “Damn. Probably some time in public wouldn’t be a bad thing. We could cool off a little.”

He caught my wrist before I could get too far away. “I don’t want to cool off,” he said. “And just being in public isn’t going to be enough to keep me from wanting you.”

When Scott had talked about the two of us going to his dad’s condo at Blue Mountain, I’d frozen, but when Toby said he wanted me? I melted. Like, my knees went wobbly and I had to lean back against the wall just to stay upright.

“Toby?” my mother’s voice called from the kitchen. “Nat?” After she’d walked in on us in the rec room yesterday afternoon, she’d gotten pretty good about announcing herself before she entered a room. It’s not like she saw anything all
that
crazy, but it had been enough to embarrass everyone, and I was sure she and I were heading for one of her serious conversations pretty soon. “You’re still here?” she said now as she poked her head out the kitchen door. “I thought you were meeting the others before the dinner?”

There wasn’t anything wrong with the words, really, but there was something strange about the way she said them. I squinted at her, trying to figure out what was going on. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge,” I said slowly, “and you’re trying to get rid of us. Do you have a
date
?”

“No!” she said quickly. She froze for a moment as if trying to think of a cover story, then sighed. “Not a date. Guests.” She looked at Toby. “Your parents and I are just… Okay, we’re trying very hard to not get
too
excited. We can’t live your lives for you, you’re still in early days and we shouldn’t put pressure on you—hence the secrecy, which I’m obviously terrible at—but honestly, sweetie—sweeties—” She rushed toward us and wrapped us both in a big hug. “We’ve thought you two would be perfect together since you were little kids!”

She stepped away and brushed honest-to-God tears from her eyes, then laughed when she saw our expressions. “Okay, that wasn’t cool, I know. But, yes, Toby, your parents are going to come over before your team dinner and the three of us are going to drink a little champagne and be silly. And then, I promise, we will all go back to trying to be neutral and giving you your space and letting you find your own paths.”

“You’re so weird,” I told her, which was totally true, but really? It didn’t bother me. My mom was weird, sure, but I didn’t have to be embarrassed about it because Toby already knew that, just like I knew how
his
parents were weird. All the stuff that would have been awkward with someone else was just easy with Toby.

My mom just smiled at me, and then Toby bent over and kissed her cheek and said, “I’m sorry we kept you all waiting so long,” and she was crying again.

I grabbed his hand. “We need to get out of here before your parents show up and the whole thing gets even crazier.”

So we ran out the front door, hand in hand. There was still snow on the ground, but the path was clear and the sun was shining. Toby opened the passenger door of the ratty old Corolla and I brushed past him to sit down, and then he jogged around the front and got in beside me.

His suit jacket was a little tight across his shoulders, like it had been bought in the fall and he’d put on muscle since then, and his hair was a bit ragged and the car smelled like a weird mix of sour milk and pepperoni, just like it always did. In other words, everything was perfect, and as soon as we were on the road I took his hand in mine, and I knew I wasn’t going to let go.

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About the Author

Cate Cameron
grew up in the city but moved to the country in her midtwenties and isn’t looking back. Most of her writing deals with people living and loving in small towns or right out in the sticks—when there aren’t entertainment options on every corner, other people get a lot more interesting!

She likes to write stories about real people struggling with real issues. YA, NA, or contemporary romance, her books are connected by their emphasis on subtle humor and characters who are trying to do the right thing, even when it would be a lot easier to do something wrong.

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