Warning Track (Callahan Family #1) - Carrie Aarons Page 0,50
the Alaskan king crab stuffed shrimp, I can’t help the way my eyes roam over her face in the flickering candle at the center of our table.
Colleen is a beautiful woman, there is no doubt about that. Her features are gorgeous, the tiny ski slope of her nose and her round, high and typically flushed cheeks. Those big doe eyes, the color of a perfectly aged scotch. All of that whiskey-brown hair swirling around her petite frame. I want to get lost in her for hours, though I know I need to make her more comfortable before I propose something like that.
There is a spark between us that just does it for me. Colleen is as beautiful as she is real, a stone’s throw from a lot of the women I encounter as a professional athlete and a Los Angeles resident. When I saw her standing outside her hotel room, later to learn she’d locked herself out, I knew it was fate intervening.
She was jealous of Marlena being in that family suite, which means she’s just as affected by me as I am by her. I couldn’t help kissing her in that supply closet, and wish I could do so out in the open now. I’m not sure when the tide of my feelings turned for her, but between all I’ve seen her do professionally, and how she handles herself in tough situations, it makes me even more attracted to her.
The rest of our dinner goes well, with both of us silently agreeing to drop all the tension and expectations or boundaries between us. We talk about stupid stuff, like our favorite Christmas present we ever received or the last place either of us has eaten truly delicious seafood. For her, it’s Montauk. For me, it’s Malibu.
By the time the check comes, which I wrestle from Colleen’s grip with a wink, we’re more relaxed with each other than we’ve ever been in person. This dynamic finally feels as comfortable as we did when we were texting for those couple of days after she was attacked in the parking lot. It’s friendly with some heavy flirtation hiding just underneath the surface.
The walk back to the hotel is picturesque, as it’s a breezy night to walk along the water.
“Do you have a boat?” she asks randomly.
I shake my head. “No, too much maintenance. I like to go out on the water, but that kind of upkeep for something I’m not truly invested in? No, thanks. My house back in LA is on the beach, though, so I do have jet skis.”
“I love to jet ski. Well, I haven’t done it in a long time. Actually, it’s been a long time since I took a vacation. But if I did take one, jet skiing would be on top of the list in terms of excursions.”
I can’t help but be distracted by the thought of her in a bikini, her legs straddled over the roaring engine of a jet ski.
“What is your favorite kind of vacation?” I clear my throat, hoping she doesn’t notice how husky it has suddenly become.
“Definitely the kind where you lie on the beach and someone brings you drinks with little umbrellas. Or maybe occupying a seat at a swim-up bar on some island resort. When you’re as busy and travel as much as we all do in the professional sports world, I have no desire to go on a sight-seeing vacation. I want to be as lazy as I possibly can. Preferably with many massages included.”
And now I’m picturing rubbing a naked Colleen down on a massage table, or having her underneath me on a beach chair on some secluded white sand. Maybe this line of questioning isn’t as innocent as I would have liked.
We pass a small park inside a fancy little condo neighborhood. The development reminds me of something in Alexandria, a place Bryant has taken me once or twice when I played games in DC as a minor leaguer. It’s upper crust and expensive, this inner harbor paradise, but it doesn’t make it any less appealing.
The garden is gated off, but I can make out that there is no lock in between the vines of ivy growing up the red brick walls meant to keep outsiders from entering.
I lace my fingers in Colleen’s, a move that must take her by surprise, because she startles a little, and walks us toward the community’s garden.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to go in here,” Colleen hisses.