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  “You, too, Tate,” Kevin said.

  “We were beginning to think you were a myth,” Elle said as they sat back down, the two girls in the middle with the men flanking them.

  Tate glanced at Ryan curiously.

  “I’ve just been keeping her all to myself,” he said, giving her a private smile.

  “Can’t say that I blame you,” Elle said.

  Kevin leaned forward in his seat. “Ryan, let’s me and you go grab snacks before the game starts. Elle and Tate can gossip about us while we’re gone.”

  “Yep, and the faster you leave, the sooner we can begin,” Elle said.

  Tate laughed and pulled her feet in so Ryan could pass. He stopped in front of her, bending forward to brace his hands on her armrests, and lowered his face close to hers, the bills of their hats touching. “Beer, hot dog, popcorn, peanuts, foam finger?”

  “The consumables would be great. All of them please.”

  “God, I love how you eat.” He tilted his head to give her a smacking kiss on the lips, then left with Kevin.

  “Ryan tells us you’re an ER doctor at Atlanta General,” Elle said once they were alone.

  Tate nodded, wondering just how much Kevin and Elle knew about their past. “Going on four years now. I lucked out in getting to come back to Atlanta after I did my residency in Florida.”

  “Tough job. I admire you for it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is it all you hoped it to be and more?”

  “Most of the time, though it has its days like a lot of professions do I suppose. What is it you do?”

  “Graphic design. I work for an ad agency here in Atlanta, but they let me work primarily from home. Super bonus points because I’m not really a people person.”

  Tate smiled at her frankness. “Oh yeah?”

  Elle’s mouth twisted wryly. “I don’t have much of a filter. It’s gotten better since I met Kevin. He has a way of reining me in, whereas in the past, it’s cost me relationships and several waitressing jobs while in college. He doesn’t put up with my bullshit, which is probably why we work so well together.”

  Tate’s gaze darted down to the choker around Elle’s throat, wondering if it meant what she thought it did, which was more than simply a pretty decoration for her slim neck. She wasn’t naïve about some people’s darker sexual proclivities, but she wasn’t curious to explore those for herself either. If that’s what cranked your motor, or kept you in line like in Elle’s case, then knock yourself out. As long as you didn’t do something stupid or dangerous enough to wind up in her ER.

  She noticed some interesting ink on the inside of Elle’s left wrist. “I like your tattoo. Is that a flower?”

  Elle moved her arm closer so Tate could see it better. “It’s an artichoke.”

  Tate had figured that out by then. Odd choice for a tattoo, but still very realistically drawn, about an inch and a half in diameter, and perfectly colored. When Tate looked at Elle’s face again, she bit her lip. “My brother did it for me. Luckily, the artistic gene runs in the family.”

  “I’m guessing there’s an interesting story behind it,” Tate said.

  “There is, but it’s dirty.” Elle smirked. “If we ever get drunk together, I’m sure my filter will come off and I’ll tell you the whole sordid thing.”

  “I can’t wait.” Tate meant that.

  Elle patted her arm, laughing. “I knew I would like you, Tate.”

  “So, how long have you known Ryan?” Tate asked, fishing where she shouldn’t be.

  Elle pursed her lips, doing the mental math. “Well, let’s see. Kevin and I have been together for almost six months, so … four months I guess. It took me a couple of months of being with Kevin before I was ready to meet his staff. Or more likely, Kevin was ready for them to meet me. But I liked Ryan instantly. Everybody does, especially Kevin. Having Ryan at the restaurant has really taken a load off his shoulders.”

  Tate smiled. “Ryan’s an easy guy to like.”

  “He’s incredibly sweet, too,” Elle said. “Too sweet for all the hell his family put him through.”

  In spite of sitting in the blazing sun, Tate’s skin prickled with unease. Should she take advantage of the opening Elle had just handed her? See just how much information she could bluff her way into getting?

  “I agree,” she said.

  “I mean, if my dad did something like that I’d never speak to him again,” Elle said, scowling at the back of the person’s head one row in front of them. “What a nasty mess.”

  “And for Ryan to clean up,” Tate said, feeling like a total shit but unable to stop herself.

  “Yes! Exactly,” Elle said, following it with a muttered, “horrible.”

  She knows everything, Tate thought, and that kind of pissed her off again. As close as they were—back then and now—Ryan was still hesitant to tell her what happened, yet he’d spilled his guts to his boss and his boss’s girlfriend. Yeah, that hurt like a bitch.

  “And then his poor mom, trying to kill herself because of it.”

  Oh my God!

  Tate must’ve made a weird noise, like she was choking or having a stroke, something far out of the realm of ordinary human sounds, because Elle’s head spun her direction so fast it was a wonder she didn’t sprain her neck, and all the color drained from her face. The way Elle’s eyes widened said Tate looked exactly the same way.

  “Fuck it all, you didn’t know, did you?”

  Tate just shook her head, feeling a little queasy, and a lot like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe.

  “Jesus, I thought you knew. Kevin will throttle me for this.” Elle covered her mouth with her fingers.

  Tate finally recovered enough to speak. “Elle, I won’t say anything, I promise. And I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m terribly sorry. It was awful of me to lead you on that way. It’s just that Ryan won’t tell me what happened, and I can’t get past some things until he does.”

  Elle grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. “He will, just be patient with him. I said enough for you to know it was bad. But just so you know, Ryan didn’t tell me. Kevin did, and if he finds out I told you anything he’ll never tell me another secret as long as I live, which may not be for long.”

  “Stop. I swear no one will know you said a word.” Over her shoulder Tate saw Ryan and Kevin making their way back to the seats, arms loaded down with food and drinks. “Here they come. Take a deep breath.” Tate did the same. “Relax. We’re going to eat a bunch of crap that’s bad for us, drink too much lukewarm beer, and heckle the shit out of the Cubs.”

  That got a laugh out of Elle, and Tate laughed, too, even though she wasn’t visiting anywhere remotely near Happyville.

  ****

  For the rest of the game, Tate managed to put up a solid fun-girl front, cheering and chatting and generally having a good time, even though during the lulls her mind ground away at what Elle had told her. So she drank more beer hoping the cogs in her brain would get sticky and sluggish.

  She didn’t get drunk. Tate just wasn’t built that way. Too many years spent in and around an emergency room had molded her psyche to avoid trouble at all costs. She saw danger where others didn’t, or they chose to ignore it, and going from slightly buzzed to outright sloshed was definitely dangerous after today. Alcohol loosened more than just inhibitions, it loosened tongues, too, and a runaway mouth could be disastrous.

  Elle kept giving her questioning looks, basically asking if she was okay without uttering a syllable, and Tate would bump her with her shoulder or wink and smile. She genuinely liked the girl, wanted to spend more time around her and Kevin, and that wouldn’t happen if Elle thought she couldn’t trust Tate to keep her word, or if she feared she’d crack under the pressure and get her in trouble with Kevin.

  The day passed in a surreal blur, and the Braves won the game, four to three. Hugs were exchanged all around before they left the stadium, and Tate whispered in Elle’s ear again not to fret
. They made tentative plans to get together for dinner the next time all four of them simultaneously had the time off.

  Ryan stopped by a market on the way home, grabbing a few supplies for dinner, while Tate waited outside on the back of the motorcycle with the information Elle had unwittingly divulged nagging away at her like a splinter. When he returned with one bag small enough to fit between their bodies for the rest of the ride, Tate was curious but didn’t peek inside. Chances were she wouldn’t be able to figure much out anyway due to her sorely lacking culinary skills.

  “I know you’re tired. Go ahead and grab a shower while I start dinner,” Ryan said once they were inside her apartment. “You want a glass of wine, or did you have too much beer?”

  “I think I could drink a gallon of water right now, but maybe a glass with dinner later.”

  Tate schlepped to the bathroom, her head throbbing from the noise levels at the game and from being forced at beer-point not to work through the riddle of Ryan’s parents. She turned on the taps, then wilted onto the toilet lid to tug off her sneakers and socks. She’d made it down to her underwear when Ryan tapped on the doorframe with a knuckle and sauntered in, an unopened bottle of water in his hand.

  Heaven help her, why did he have to be so sweet and perfect and good? Why couldn’t he have some glaring defect in his personality that would make her feel less wretched about the way she’d treated him that first week he came back into her life?

  “You okay, honey?” And there he went again, making her sinuses sting with tears desperately wanting to gush like a tapped spring.

  Tate lied with a nod and ducked her head, scrubbing at her flattened hat-hair while she got herself under control. “Just mourning the end of my day off,” she mumbled.

  “Did you have fun?”

  She took the cold bottle of water he offered, twisting off the cap. “I had an amazing time. Thank you for taking me.”

  “My pleasure.” He leaned in for a soft kiss, but didn’t linger. “Elle really likes you. Kevin just sent me a text saying she won’t shut up about Tate.”

  “I like her a lot, too.”

  “Good. We’ll see them again soon.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You got a little sun.”

  “Great, more freckles.”

  His eyes softened. “More for me to kiss later. I would join you in the shower, but I need to check in with the restaurant, then get started on our dinner.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Spaghetti Carbonara.”

  The junk food she’d eaten earlier was gone, judging by the way her stomach rumbled its approval. Ryan laughed and left her alone.

  “You’re spoiling me rotten!” she yelled.

  “You’re worth it!” he shouted back.

  “No, you are,” she whispered. “And I don’t deserve you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ryan drifted out of a dream where he played first base for the Braves and into some real life ball play. A warm, wet mouth explored his cock while a few talented fingers sojourned farther south, stroking and gently fondling his sac. Keeping with the cheesy baseball metaphors in his head, he’d rounded second base and was quickly bearing down on third.

  Of all the really nice ways a man could be woken up, a blowjob from a gorgeous redhead would have to be near the top of his list. He groaned in pleasure, feeling his cock swell and stiffen further with blood, and blinked his eyes a few times to clear the fog of sleep and get his bearings.

  He was in Tate’s bed, which they had thoroughly desecrated the night before. Twilight oozed in through the cracks in the drapes, lending a soft filtered light to the room. It was early still—too early for her to be waking up with sex on the brain. Then she took him deep, and he decided to simply appreciate Tate’s sexy brain, no matter the hour.

  Biting the inside of his cheek to keep his morning hair trigger from going off, he reached down to tenderly stroke her hollowed cheek. She released him with a lazy pull, nuzzling the base of his cock with her nose, mumbling something under her breath he couldn’t make out. It was almost as if she lingered inside a dream herself.

  “Tate.” She opened her eyes languidly, resting her chin on his hip. The hand between his legs kept up its stroking, across his perineum and then lower still. His muscles tensed a little at her boldness, but he didn’t try to stop her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I wondered if you were really awake.”

  A soft hum was all he got in response before a fingertip grazed his asshole. Ryan hissed sharply, thrusting his head back on the pillow. He made a grab for the base of his dick, clamping down hard to keep from losing his load all over him, her, and the bed.

  Rounding third.

  “Great reflexes for this time o’ the mornin’, laddy,” Tate said in a fake Irish brogue.

  Ryan’s laugh shook the bed.

  She peeled his hand away and surrounded him inside the Heaven of her mouth once again, that single inquisitive finger now rubbing, rubbing, driving him out of his mind. Ryan shifted his legs further apart, letting her have her way with his body since she seemed determined to make him lose control. Everything between his hips grew tight, just like the suction of Tate’s perfect mouth. No time for a polite warning, he spilled down her throat. Fortunately, they’d already reestablished where their respective sexual boundaries lay.

  A guttural moan vibrated his chest as he came, pleasure spiking, leveling off, and then waning, the darkness of temporary oblivion swallowing him up as if he’d dreamed the whole damn thing.

  Sliding into home.

  Tate’s hair tickled his stomach as she resettled herself against him, her little snuffling sigh drifting over his skin. He brought a hand up to caress her back while he gathered his wits.

  He should respond in kind plus some, he thought. Roll her beneath him and slide inside her once his dick recovered, or at the very least say something dumb like “that was amazing, thanks”. But in a matter of two minutes, three at the most, she was practically snoring. Ryan gently eased onto his side, pulling Tate closer, and tucked the sheet up around their bodies.

  Love swelled fiercely inside his chest. No use denying that’s what it was, just as he acknowledged he’d never stopped loving her. How could he when for years he’d dreamed of being able to hold her again like this? He just had one more obstacle to clear. His reasons for leaving her before couldn’t hang between them forever. The time for spilling his guts drew closer with every passing day. He’d worried that last night might be it.

  During dinner, she was almost taciturn. It felt as if he pried every word out of her, but Ryan didn’t press, thinking she was simply tired from their long fun day in the sun. Her mood shifted once they finished cleaning the kitchen. By the time his ass hit the couch she was climbing astride his lap, stripping off his shirt, her hands roaming greedily over his skin. He had no complaints whatsoever. It was just … odd given the way she’d behaved earlier.

  Their lovemaking had become nearly frantic in nature before he managed to tire her out enough to slow down. He’d made her come four times. Even in sleep, she’d seemed restless. He’d felt her leave the bed at least twice during the night before she’d woken him up a few moments ago with her sweet mouth wrapped around his cock.

  Usually she slept like a log, especially on nights before work. Her shift started at noon. Ryan had to be at the restaurant at eight a.m. for a planning meeting with Kevin and the architect on the new restaurant, so he wouldn’t allow himself to fall back asleep. Instead, he lay there enjoying her warm body curled close to his and marveled at how lucky he’d gotten to have her back in his life.

  Eventually he left the bed as the clock ticked closer to six-thirty, dressed in the living room so as not to wake Tate, and rummaged around in her kitchen cabinets. When he found half a bag of chocolate chips, inspiration struck.

  ****

  Tate awoke to a silent house that smelled amazing. The sheets smelled like sex and Ryan, and that scent was potent enough,
but layered on top of it was the heavenly aroma of baked goods. Dating a chef definitely had its perks. She rolled over to stretch tender muscles and found a note on her pillow.

  Sorry I didn’t get to wake you properly to return the favor. Have an early meeting with Kevin. Left you a surprise in the kitchen to hopefully make up for it. See you soon, R.

  Smiling as she scrambled out of bed, she tugged on a robe. On the bar in the kitchen sat a small platter of muffins. Chocolate chip and made from scratch, it was a miracle he’d found all the necessary ingredients in her pathetic excuse for a pantry.

  She was completely, hopelessly, head-over-Nikes in love with Ryan again. No doubts this time. Tate didn’t bother to fight off the mistiness over that acceptance. She just poured herself a tall glass of milk, sat down at the bar, and in short order, devoured three entire muffins while a few tears silently slid down her cheeks. When she’d inhaled every last crumb, she blotted her face with a napkin, put the remaining three muffins in an airtight container, and showered for work.

  That evening the ER was slow for a nice change. It allowed Tate time to catch up on some overdue paperwork, but unfortunately it also gave her time to think over what Elle said about Ryan’s mom.

  Thinking was all she’d done since she’d tricked Elle—something else that was eating at her conscience—whenever she had a still, quiet moment, which was why she’d wanted Ryan to basically fuck the sense right out of her. And it worked for a few hours … until she woke up at two and again at four, and then at five-thirty when she sexually assaulted his poor exhausted penis.

  Fighting the urge to wonder was giving her a headache, so Tate gave in, doodling inside the back of a chart while she pondered the terrible things Ryan’s dad could’ve done to make kindhearted Evie Hart try to kill herself.

  The uncomfortable thought of child abuse kept resurfacing in Tate’s brain. That could certainly shred a mother to pieces, turn a family inside out, destroy a home. She supposed it could’ve been infidelity, or spousal abuse, but would either of those send Ryan running back home without an explanation to Tate? Probably not. The darker sins would, however. He would likely be distraught, ashamed, angry, and the thought of him going through all of that turmoil alone made Tate’s heart hurt for him.