Let Me Be The One Part 7

Of course, there were other things she'd felt during the past hour, in addition to the anger at her ex snooping in on her life and James trying to intimidate her.

Because when she'd looked up to find Ryan watching her from the doorway, she'd been hit with a level of silly-stupid giddy she'd never felt with anyone before. Not since she was a teenager, anyway, when she'd hear Ryan pulling his cla.s.sic rebuilt car up to the curb outside her parents' garage.

It had been so easy to go down memory lane with him and to reenact that night when she'd tried to teach him to make a pot. Only, she'd never have been bold enough at fifteen to get between his legs like that.

She'd known better today, hadn't she? Being that close to him, with her hands on his while his heart beat strong and steady against her back, his breath on her bared neck, was borderline stupid when she was trying to keep it together around him.

But how could she resist?

A knock came at the door and then her new friend, Anne, popped her head in. The clothing designer was in her mid-twenties, with bright green and blue hair and a shocking number of piercings. She also happened to be a brilliant artist with extremely wise eyes.

"Did the best-looking guy I've ever seen find you?"

Vicki had to laugh at that far-too-accurate description of Ryan. She was glad to feel the laughter rush through her, replacing some of the anger and frustration, if not the lingering desire.

"He did."

"And?" Anne held up her hand. "No, never mind. I don't want to have to hate you even more than I currently do, so it's probably better if you don't give me any details. So," she asked with a lightning-fast change of subjects, "are you ready for this afternoon?"

The board members-and James-would be here in less than four hours, along with someone to film the fellowship applicant's progress to send to her ex in Italy.

Forcefully pushing away the sense of impending defeat that wanted to ride her, she said, "Hopefully. You?"

Anne shrugged. "Who knows. They'll either love what I'm working on or hate it. But honestly, whether they do or don't, I don't much care."

"Wait a minute." Vicki was confused. "I thought you wanted the fellowship."

"Oh, I do. Badly. The money would be fabulous, not to mention the contacts." Anne shrugged. "None of that changes whether or not I like my project, though. So caring about their opinions is kind of beside the point, don't you think?"

Vicki had to nod. Because Anne was right. Beyond right, actually. "How'd you get to be so smart so young?"

"Battle scars, baby. Once I realized that I beat myself up more than they ever could, I decided to start with kindness at home." She made a funny face. "I've got to find a s.e.xier way of saying that."

"No, you don't," Vicki said softly. "Kindness is incredibly s.e.xy."

It was something Ryan had proved to her again and again.

"You want a coffee?" When Vicki shook her head, her friend grinned and said with uncanny precision, "In that case, I'll leave you to get back to your dirty thoughts about Mr. Gorgeous."

Oh G.o.d, was she that transparent?

Chapter Eight.

That night, when Ryan walked through the door, his smile made her tingly in the kinds of places friends shouldn't get tingly in when looking at each other. Still, she tried not to beat up on herself too much for being a normal woman with normal hormones. Of course she got tingly with him. Who wouldn't?

It was one thing to feel those zings of desire for the gorgeous man walking toward her. It was another thing entirely to be stupid enough to actually do something about them.

Of course, he sure didn't make it any easier for her to stuff down her perfectly normal and human female hormones when he drew her against him for a hug. Oh, what wouldn't she give just to melt here against him...

"It smells amazing. Did you find everything you needed in the kitchen?"

"Are you kidding?" She made herself step out of his arms. "Professional chefs don't have it this good. I didn't know you were into cooking."

He looked a little sheepish. "I'm not. One of the women I was dating for a while was taking cooking lessons, so..."

She turned back to the stove while trying to look like it didn't bother her at all that some other woman had cooked for Ryan here, a woman who had probably been tall and slim, with perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a small b.u.t.t. Since Vicki couldn't help her lack of inches in height-or the extra ones around her hips, either-she silently told herself to stop acting like an idiot.

Of course, it didn't help that she remembered all too vividly his dating in high school, even without having seen some of the pictures of his beautiful companions these past years in the international press. It was the downside of knowing someone so well for so long. There wasn't much that could stay hidden, even if you wished it would.

Wanting to push past the slightly awkward moment, she said brightly, "I caught the last few innings of your game. Congrats on the win." Ryan hadn't been pitching, but she'd enjoyed the glimpses of him in the dugout.

"It's a good group this year." He snagged a slice of bell pepper from her cutting board. "If everything keeps going well, I think we've got a pretty good chance of winning the World Series again."

When he uncorked a bottle of red wine, she shot a glance at the bottle and then at him. "Can we agree in advance that if I fall asleep on you again tonight, we'll both pretend it never happened and that I can totally hold my liquor?"

"Agreed," he said with a grin. He handed her a gla.s.s before pouring his own and lifting it in a toast. "Here's to finally making it past first base with the potting wheel today."

She laughed as she clinked her gla.s.s against his. "And to ex-girlfriends who went absolutely crazy at Williams-Sonoma." At his confused expression, she laughed again and said, "It's a cookware store."

She was about to take a sip when he leaned in as if he were sharing a secret. "She couldn't cook worth a d.a.m.n."

Relief shouldn't have bubbled up in her that she had something on the supermodel who had previously graced his kitchen. But she forgot all about being petty as she got her first sip of wine.

A moan escaped her lips. "My G.o.d. What is this?" After one incredibly smooth taste, she wouldn't be surprised to find out it cost more than her monthly rent in Prague.

"One of Marcus's special vintages."

She took another sip and closed her eyes to really savor the taste. "Yet another reason why you have the best family ever. You don't know how many times I wished I was a Sullivan."

Her eyes flew open as she realized what she'd just-stupidly-blurted. Quickly putting her gla.s.s of wine down, she busied herself with turning down the burner, plating their salads, and bringing them over to the small table by the windows rather than into the big dining room on the other side of the kitchen.

Ryan followed her with their gla.s.ses of wine. As soon as they sat down, he told her, "I always loved it when you came over to our house. We all did."

She jammed her fork into a cuc.u.mber and tried not to flush too brightly at his sweet words. It didn't help that he was pure female fantasy in his dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks. Ryan in jeans and a T-shirt was yummy. In dress clothes he amped the yum way up. Especially when she thought about reaching over to help him off with his tie and then uncovering his tanned muscles one b.u.t.ton at a time "How did your meeting with the fellowship board go? They must have loved your new idea."

She thought about it for a minute before saying, "You can never really tell what they're thinking when they put on their poker faces."

It occurred to her how nice it was to be able to share these feelings with a true friend who had known her since those early years when she'd been working so hard just to capture laughter with clay. With almost anyone else, she would have felt she needed to make her answer shiny and snappy.

It was even nicer when he said, "If they don't love it-if they let James or your ex sway them in any way-they're all idiots."

"Spoken like a true friend," she said as she smiled across the table at him. "Actually, Anne said something interesting to me this afternoon that I'm still processing."

"Is she the one with the blue and green hair?"

"It was orange a couple of days ago," Vicki said with a laugh. "She was probably the only person there tonight who didn't care about people's opinions of her work and wasn't living and dying on every smile or frown."

"Isn't she up for a fellowship, too?"

"She is. And I know how much she wants it. But at the end of the day, the most important thing to her is that she's proud of her work. Not whether a random group of powerful people think she's talented enough to receive a grant."

"Aren't you proud of your work, Vicki?"

It was a good question. One she'd been trying to figure out the answer to for a very long time.

"I've had a few great moments," she said slowly, "but sometimes I wonder if the in-betweens are enough to make it all worth it."

Ryan put down his fork. "Do you know how many pitches I throw on average in a game?" When she shook her head, he said, "Almost a hundred and twenty. How many of those do you think are great pitches?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Twenty. Maybe thirty. Some guys beat themselves up for that, but my first Little League coach made sure I knew that baseball wasn't about being perfect. It was about having fun first, winning second."

"It sounds like you had a really great coach."

"One day I hope I'm as good with my kids as my dad was with all of us."

Vicki's heart turned to mush. "I wish I could have met your father." She looked at him and mused, "Although, I suppose in a way I have, just by knowing you and your siblings. He was obviously an extraordinary man to have created such a wonderful family."

Ryan's answering gaze was so intense she wondered for a moment if she'd said something wrong. Finally, he said, "As long as you love what you're doing, Vicki, it's all worth it."

That flutter in her belly at the way he was looking at her had her feeling lightheaded as she took away their salads and brought over large plates of goulash and hunks of crusty bread.

"How was your meeting after the game?" He hadn't told her what it was for, but she a.s.sumed it had something to do with the Hawks.

"It went all right. I thought it would be easier to get people excited about bringing sports back to schools, but it's taken three months to pick up our first serious donor. Fortunately, I think this couple is pretty close."

She couldn't get over how different Ryan was from her ex-husband. If Anthony ever did anything nice for anyone, he broadcast it from the rooftops. Would Ryan even have mentioned his charitable work if she hadn't asked about his meeting?

"You're raising money to bring sports back to schools?"

"Sports are my first target, and then the arts programs if I can pull in enough for both."

She knew she was grinning at him like a fool, but he was that great. "I think that's so fantastic, Ryan. Because, honestly, I don't know if I would be a sculptor if it hadn't been for the cla.s.s I took in eighth grade. Mr. Barnsworth told me the ashtray I made in his cla.s.s belonged in a museum. Becoming an art teacher was always my backup plan. At least until the districts got rid of them all."

"P.E. teacher was my backup plan."

"You were thinking about being a high school teacher?"

"Until the scouts came calling, yeah, I was."

How could she not have known this about him? And why did it have to make him even cuter? She could just imagine what it would have been like in the halls of their old high school if he had become a teacher instead of a pro baseball player. Every time Mr. Sullivan walked down the hall, the giggling from crushed-out girls would have been deafening.

"I subst.i.tuted for a while," she told him, "right after college." Until she'd married Anthony and he'd supported them both with his sculptures. She'd been grateful, but not nearly as grateful as he'd expected her to be.

"Oh man, I'll bet those lucky punks in your cla.s.ses didn't hear a word you said."

She had never thought about herself as the object of teenage crushes. Was Ryan right? Had she been?

"That could explain why they all seemed so s.p.a.ced out all the time."

"They probably didn't want to come up to the front of the cla.s.s, either."

She almost spit out her sip of wine. "Just eat already. It's not nearly as good cold."

Finally, Ryan took a bite of the goulash. And then another. And then one more before saying, with his mouth full, "I can't believe you made this." He shoved another bite in. "It's the best thing I've ever tasted."

"Thanks, but we both know your mother's straight-from-Italy spaghetti sauce is better. Just barely," she joked, "but still better."

It had been years since she'd sat down at the boisterous, crowded Sullivan dinner table, but she'd never forgotten how good the food had always been. Or how much fun it had been to be surrounded by all the laughter.

"By the way," she said after they'd both eaten in companionable silence for a few minutes, "I was thinking more about the latest turn of events with Anthony joining the board. I really don't think James is going to try anything again, not knowing my ex-husband will be coming in from Italy." She put down her fork and pushed the rest of her goulash away. "You're amazing for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend, but I can't let you keep putting your real life on hold for me."

He was frowning at her as he said, "I'm not putting anything on hold."

"I heard you cancel those dates," she reminded him.

"If I'd known you were back in town, I would have cancelled those dates anyway." He grabbed their plates and headed over to the sink. When she got up to help clean the pots and pans she'd used, he poured her another gla.s.s of wine. "You cooked. I'll clean."

There shouldn't have been anything s.e.xual about what he'd just said. They were talking about dirty dishes, for G.o.d's sake. And yet, the subtle command to relax sent a flutter of heat down deep in her belly. But even as she reached out to pull up a stool at his kitchen island, Vicki couldn't stop herself from enjoying the picture he made-a big, strong man elbow deep in suds, even though he could easily have employed a full-time staff to cater to his every need.

Which was why, instead of sitting down, she grabbed a clean dishtowel and started drying off the plates he'd just washed. She needed to fill her hands with cotton and porcelain and keep them too busy to accidentally fill them with Ryan's hard muscles, instead.

"Hey," he said with a raised eyebrow as he watched her put the dry plate away, "I thought you were relaxing with a gla.s.s of wine?"

"I was, and now I'm helping you clean up."

She pretended she didn't see the look in his eyes that told her he wasn't used to being ignored when he wanted a woman to do something. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he tell her how he wanted her and expect her to behave if she wanted him to please- She caught his dark gaze on her and almost dropped the wine gla.s.s in her hand as she realized she'd just been caught fantasizing about him. Moving to put the gla.s.s away, she prayed he couldn't figure out what was making her so fumble-fingered. G.o.d, she hoped he couldn't tell how aroused she was from nothing more than drying dishes next to him at the sink.

"I don't want you dropping your guard around him, Vicki. Not yet. Let's wait a few more days before we drop the high-school-sweethearts act."

How could she blame Ryan for being concerned about her when she was the one who'd dragged him into the situation by panicking twenty-four hours ago?

And why did it hurt so bad when he called their act exactly what it was?

"If it will make you feel better, I guess we could do that."

"It will make me feel better. A lot better."

Working well together, they soon had the dishes cleaned and put away and he was taking their gla.s.ses of wine into the living room. He put them side by side on the coffee table and clicked on the TV.

"What do you want to see?"

Two hours on the couch next to Ryan. How on earth was she going to survive that?