A Wild Card Kiss Page 11

  That is easy to answer. Business has been a wonderful escape, and a healthy one too, I suspect. I’ve poured my heart even further into our company in the last four months and it’s paid off. “It’s going great. Olive and I hired a new VP of business dev, and Zachary’s been inking deals left and right for corporate classes. All sorts of companies are hiring our teachers.”

  “But lots of them want you?” he asks.

  I shrug and smile. “It’s good to be the empress.”

  He sets a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m proud of you, Katie. You’ve been focused and determined, but you never seem angry about what happened with your mom.”

  I suppose I have yoga and friends and business to thank for that. And my dad. “Life goes on,” I say.

  “But seriously, I’m impressed. You seem . . . healthy,” he adds.

  “It’s time, right?” I’ve tried to give myself that. In retrospect, everything happened so quickly with Silvio. Perhaps that was the biggest flaw in our relationship. “And honestly, we never seemed completely compatible, but I ignored that, because I was swept up in it.”

  “It was a whirlwind romance,” he seconds.

  “When I look back at the last year, I think maybe if I just took more time before we planned our wedding, I would have realized it sooner. That’s what I learned. We didn’t quite fit, but I was captivated, and I convinced myself it was meant to be.”

  “I think there’s a part of you that wanted to believe in fate,” he muses, stroking his chin.

  Huh. That’s an interesting observation. I didn’t realize I was such a fate-centric person. “Why do you say that?” I ask, eager for some insight.

  “It’s something I noticed in you when you were a teenager. When your mom and I split—well, like most kids, you wanted us to stay together, but that clearly wasn’t happening, and you wanted to make sense of it. As you tried, you’d say things like how we never seemed right for each other, or how fate had other plans.”

  That’s surprising, since I’m not a believer in fate now. But maybe I needed it as a teen to see me through a tough time. “Maybe I just wanted to believe in it.”

  Dad nods. “I’d like to believe in it too, but ultimately I think you make your own fate.”

  I tilt my head, studying his expression, mulling over his words. “You do?”

  He takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I do. I believe in hard work, putting in the time, and listening to your instincts. I haven’t always done that, but I sure try to now.”

  Those are words to live by.

  I vow to keep doing that too—pay attention to what my gut says, rather than my heart.

  I’ve taken the last few months to find my balance again, and I’ve spent lots of time with Olive, Emerson, Jillian, and Skyler. We’ve started an ad-hoc axe-throwing club, along with a self-proclaimed Snooty Wine Night.

  Girlfriend time is fantastic therapy.

  So is football. I’ve watched every Renegades game this season, just as I usually do. Harlan is on fire, and his team is having a great run. They’ve won five games and lost one. By all accounts, he’s killing it on the field, though he did leave the last game earlier in the fourth quarter than usual. That was a little odd, but the team was beating Baltimore by two touchdowns and won, so I suspect they wanted to give their stars a rest.

  And maybe it’s time for me to see more of that star.

  Maybe I’m ready.

  “Dad?” I say, giving him my attention. “I’m trying to listen to my instincts too, and you know what they say?”

  “What do they say?”

  I go for broke. “That it’s time to date again.”

  He slams his hands over his ears. “Tra la la la.”

  I laugh—because it’s fun to wind him up—until he sets his palms in his lap, muttering, “I can handle this, I can handle this.”

  “You’re such a dad,” I tease.

  He bumps shoulders with me. “Can’t help it. But seriously. I’m happy for you. If you want to date again, go for it.”

  This choice seems right. Four months ago, I was a mess. But I’ve straightened that up, and I’m in a good place—a place where I have zero plans to get serious again, and no intentions to give my heart away. Nada. But a good time? Bring it on.

  “I will. I already have someone in mind.”

  A few nights later, I host my besties for wine.

  I lift my glass and issue a declaration. “I’m diving back into the dating pool,” I announce.

  My four friends clink glasses with me. Relief and excitement swirls in my chest. I’m ready to try again, but also a tad nervous. “Dating is a shark tank, right?”

  “Full of Moby Dicks,” Emerson says drily.

  “And hammerheads,” Olive adds with a wink.

  Skyler sets down her wine glass on my coffee table, and mimes banging a drum on the punchline. Then she jerks her gaze to me and goes all business, tucking her stray red strands of hair behind her ears. “Are we going for Tinder? A matchmaker? Bumble? Something else?”

  “Because not everyone can meet a fabulous tour guide on a Hawaiian vacation,” I point out, since I can’t resist reminding her of her ridiculously good fortune.

  “Lucky bitch,” Emerson hisses as she downs some red wine then taps the glass. “Snooty Wine Club time out! This tastes like shoe leather.”

  “Well, that’s better than last week’s wine. It tasted like a veggie burger,” Jillian quips, lifting her seltzer water as she nudges our resident vegetarian.

  Emerson’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Take that back. Veggie burgers are the best.”

  “Says you.”

  “Exactly. I would know,” Emerson adds.

  I take a drink of my glass, a different red than Emerson’s, then murmur appreciatively. “Mine tastes like cherries. I’m winning.”

  Emerson laughs. “And you deserve to win. So, tell us more. What’s the plan?” she asks, rerouting the conversation back to dating.

  Apropos, since cherries remind me of the man I’m finally ready for. I set down the glass and clear my throat. “I’m going to reach out to the guy who got away.”

  Jillian gasps. We’re talking full on, jaw-drop style. This has clearly been a dream of hers for some time. “Oh my God, I’ve only been hoping you would for seven years. Thank you for putting me out of my waiting misery.”

  “It really was all about you,” I tease. “And trust me, I wish we’d have had our Tuesday-night date several years ago. Would have made my life easier.”

  But as soon as I say that, I have to wonder—would it? Would I have started Sassy Yoga if I’d stayed here and dated Harlan?

  Something else wouldn’t have happened either. Something much more important. Someone. If we’d have become a thing, he wouldn’t have had his little girl. Maybe we weren’t meant to be then for many reasons, after all.

  Except, I don’t believe in fate.

  I believe in timing, and this timing seems right. To date. Just to date.

  My friends seem to think so too, judging from their reactions.

  Olive hoots. “Get it, girl!”

  Emerson shimmies her shoulders. “He’s such a hottie.” She turns to Jillian. “And he’s single?”

  “As far as I know,” Jillian says with a light shrug, “but it’s not like Jones and I spend all our time talking about Harlan’s dating situation.” She rubs her growing belly. “We’re a little busy.”

  I roll my eyes. “Making people, sheesh. You act like it’s so hard.”

  “Easy as pie,” she deadpans, then asks, “Is this going to be more like an official date?”

  “Rather than the sort of impromptu ones we’ve had so far?” I ask with a laugh.

  Emerson chimes in, smacking her palm on the table. “That’s how I’d put it. You’ve been impromptu dating him now and then, and he’s been impromptu giving you orgasms.”

  “He is a bit of an orgasm dealer,” I admit, as a shiver rolls down my spine in memory.

&nb
sp; After everyone leaves, Emerson stays behind to help me straighten up. As I wash wine glasses and she dries them, she arches a brow. “So, I have to ask . . .”

  I laugh lightly. This is so her. She’s uber enthusiastic but also intensely grounded. I suspect her grounded side is rearing up right now. “Of course you have to ask something. Spill.”

  She sets down the towel, stares at me with intense green eyes. “Are you ready? Truly ready? And I don’t just mean for orgasms.”

  “I’m definitely ready for those,” I say, as I turn off the water.

  She sighs. “Hello, yoga empress who doesn’t take herself seriously. Make an exception for this. You know what I mean. I get that you’re feeling good and healed, and that’s truly awesome. And I know, too, that you feel like it all worked out for the best. That the universe saved you from a bad marriage. And yes, it did. But I also know you berated yourself for being so caught up in a whirlwind romance that you didn’t pay attention to the signs that he wasn’t right for you.”

  “Want to read my soul a little more?” I tease. Because she’s nailed every detail like the bestie she is.

  She just gives a soft smile, then squeezes my forearm. “I regret it too—that I missed the signs. I mean, I even said on your wedding day that he treated you well,” she says, her voice catching.

  A lump forms in my throat. “It’s not your fault.”

  “And it’s not yours either,” she says, choked with emotion. But she draws a breath like it steadies her. “I just want to make sure you’re . . . you know . . . ready? Because every time you talk about Harlan, he seems like not only a god in bed, but also a good guy out of bed. And that’s pretty easy to get caught up in too.”

  “But I won’t,” I insist. “That’s what I’ve learned—to take everything day by day. Not zoom too many steps ahead.”

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to know. That you’re looking out for you,” she says, pointing at my heart. “Because I definitely am. And I promise to do a better job of it this time around.”

  “And I love you for that.”

  She flashes a big, naughty smile. “Then I can’t wait to hear how your first official date with the O dealer goes.”

  Really, it’s more like a third date. Every time I’ve been with Harlan, we’ve gotten to know each other. We’ve had fun. We’ve spent real time together in and out of bed.

  Maybe we will again.

  That’s all I want. That’s all I have room for.

  Time to enjoy the present. To take a chance at that third date.

  Once Emerson has gone, I pick up my phone, feeling good about my plans to reach out. This isn’t fate. This is timing. And maybe, finally, the time is right for us.

  So, I send him a text.

  11

  Katie

  As far as opening lines go, this one should be pretty clear.

  Katie: I still have your apron, shorts, and sweatshirt.

  And he doesn’t make me wait too long. As I wash my face before bed, the phone buzzes on the bathroom vanity.

  Harlan: Seven years ago, you left behind a lip gloss tube. Now, you’ve taken my clothes. You’re a variation on Cinderella.

  That’s good, right? Hinting at fairy tales? Except, I don’t know. I press on.

  Katie: I’d love to return them to you.

  I hit send as nerves rush through me. I’m asking a man out for the first time since I was dumped spectacularly. How could I not be freaking out? My skin prickles with worry. What if I read him wrong? What if I got the wrong intel? He might be secretly dating someone else and Jillian simply doesn’t know.

  But I have to put myself out there if I want a chance.

  So, I wait another few minutes.

  Then a few more.

  Ugh.

  He’s not writing back.

  My stomach craters to the floor. What was I thinking? He’s too good to be true. It was silly to think he was waiting for me to drop back into his life. Like he’d be ready at a moment’s notice when he could be snuggling with Miss Right this very second.

  Le sigh.

  I wait for the sorry, you’re too late shoe to drop.

  I’ll just . . . find something else to do to pass the time till he officially turns me down.

  Maybe I should put on a face mask. Drop into a lotus pose. Enroll in my Yoga for the dating challenged class, since it’s become somewhat of a regular routine for me.

  Harlan: Hey! Abby woke up and wanted a glass of water . . . so natch, I had to fetch it.

  * * *

  Katie: Of course! That’s part of the job, I imagine.

  * * *

  Harlan: Dad apparently = water fetcher, among other jobs. She’s back in bed now. But enough about me. Tell me more about this apron you want to return, Cinderella.

  My heart does a cat-cow pose, stretching joyfully. Nerves begone. He’s flirting. He’s definitely flirting. But still, it’s best to ask for pertinent intel.

  Katie: I will. But first. Are you still as single as the day is long?

  * * *

  Harlan: Woman, would I flirt with you like this if I weren’t single?

  And now I can’t resist.

  Katie: Are you flirting with me?

  * * *

  Harlan: If you can’t tell, you ought to be put over my knee and spanked with the whip you left behind.

  A shiver runs down my back as I head to my bedroom, flop down on the soft pillows, and bask in his messages.

  Katie: Was that an official offer to spank me?

  * * *

  Harlan: Put on that apron and I will make my request official.

  * * *

  Katie: And things are getting hot.

  * * *

  Harlan: But seriously, it is holy fucking good to hear from you. And since I’m a gentleman, I’m going to do something right now.

  Before I can tap out a reply, my phone rings.

  Settle down, woman. Be cool. Don’t let on you’re in high school again and the hot guy is calling you. “Hi.”

  And it comes out like Minnie Freaking Mouse.

  Real smooth, Katie.

  “Hello, sweetheart. I’d love to administer a good spanking, but first things first. I’ve got a game this weekend, so how about I take you out for foosball and dinner on Tuesday?”

  I nearly dance. “A Tuesday night redo?”

  “More than seven years in the making.”

  “I’m game,” I say.

  “It’s a date,” he says, sounding pleased. I feel pleased. As freaking punch. “How have you been?” he asks, sliding right into chatter again, as easily as we’ve always talked.

  Yup, this is good timing. Good fun.

  “I’m pretty darn good,” I say, relieved to mean it wholly.

  “Yeah?” He asks the question not like he doubts me, but more like he’s sure glad I’m saying so.

  “I am,” I confirm. “I’ve spent lots of time with my friends and my sister and my dad over the last few months. It’s been good for the soul.”

  “You’re close with them?”

  “Definitely. All of them. My dad has always been my rock. Ever since I was growing up. He was the one who was there for me whenever I needed someone.”

  “That’s awesome. What’s he like?”

  Ah, that’s an easy question, and one I love answering, since I admire my father so much. “He’s great. He’s always believed in me, supported me. When I was younger, he told me I was strong and independent. He instilled in me a belief from a young age that I could do anything I set my mind to. Fine, maybe anything didn’t include flying to the moon or singing opera, but still.”

  Harlan chuckles. “If you can fly to the moon, I want a ticket on that ride.”

  “And I’d give you one,” I say, right as Harlan slides into a croon, singing a little of Frank Sinatra’s tune of that same name.

  Oh. My. Stars.

  The man can sing too. “Now you really have an unfair advantage,” I say.

  He chuckles. �
�You and your list of unfair advantages.”

  “Hey! You started it, having all these pros,” I toss back.

  “Would you prefer cons, woman? Sheesh,” he says, then shifts back to the dad talk. “Also, I like your dad already.”

  I laugh. “You don’t even know him.”

  “But that’s how it should be with a dad and his daughter. That’s how I am with Abby. Do I think she’s the most adorable creature to ever grace the face of this Earth? Hell yes. Do I tell her that every day? No way.”

  “What do you tell her instead?”

  “That I think she’s smart and kind and friendly. That those are the things that matter.”

  A loopy smile takes over my face. I’m not even sure I want to have kids, so why is it so damn sweet how good this guy seems to be with his girl? But then, the answer lies in why I see my own dad a lot. “That will make a difference for her. I love having a good relationship with my father, and I think it’s great that you focus on those things with Abby. My dad taught me to believe in who I was on the inside, not on the outside.”

  “Sure seems like it worked. You’re full of spit and fire,” he says, emphasizing each word with his very Harlan-like panache.

  “Hey, are you saying I’m a spitfire?”

  “The very definition and that’s a damn good thing.”

  I’ll take that, thank you very much. “I believed in myself too, and I chased after my dreams with the tenacity of a lion going after a gazelle. Sort of like how you are on the field.”

  He lets loose an embellished roar. “You know that’s what they called me several years ago? King of the Jungle? It was my nickname.”