Page 15 of The Catch

Not that I thought of it often, but I imagined he would read poetry to Ames at night. Stanzas he wrote about her beauty and his undying love for her. And she would sigh because, right after he made tender love to her, they'd philosophize about love and life deep into the night.

Ever since college— she always went for guys like him, never for the jock. And Aidan had fame and money to back it up, too.

"What I'm hearing is that I can call him names," I say.

She chuckles, but doesn't take me up on my offer. Pity. I would have enjoyed it.

"I was busy, too," she adds instead. "Catering for the network was a big chunk of my day. It kept the business running, so I could get creative instead and try new recipes to keep you guys happy. It was great. I was finally getting close to doing what I like to do best andcook—but I have to stop that again. I can barely make it intoyourkitchen these days, I'm so frustrated."

I put a hand on her knee and rub in a comforting pattern. No wonder she looks worried. There's no time to be sad.

She sighs. "I should be busy trying to find a new client. Go back to my business and reassure everyone that I'll do everything I can to keep things afloat. Instead, I'm spending most of my time in your bed, trying to figure out what went wrong."

"If you'd spent any time in my bed, we'd both know it, Ames."

The words escape me before I know what I'm saying. I freeze. She does, too.

I watch her, carefully tracking for any signs. Why the hell would I say that at this time? Damn my flirtatious nature.

She lifts her eyes at me. The line of her lips stretches slowly, so slowly into a smile. It pushes a button inside, and I let myself grin. Friendly dimples to the rescue. Playing them up to claim innocence has always worked well for me.

"I meanthisbed, Gael." She laughs. "Yourguestbed."

My first name on her lips is a tease, because she knows I prefer my nickname. It's her version of scolding me.

Fuck. Do I want her to scold me?

Double fuck, because I shouldn't be thinking about that.

I should be supporting her as she figures out what comes next. I should be thinking of a way to make sure I stay with the Strike. All of my focus should be on winning and being named the MVP.

And yet, I make a small offer.

"We'll find a way to get you out of this trouble, Ames."

I know what I'm good at. I'm good at football. I'm the receiver they call the catcher, cheekily pointing out at my fame and my dating habits. I'm the easy-going guy who you call in case of an emergency. To my dates, I'm a fun time and a wonderful lay. It's not a long list, but it's plenty for my friends.

She nods. "I'll start by going back to the office. Look at the numbers. Draft an initial plan."

"You got this, Amelia."

Ames is heartbroken and seeks something I don't have. All I can offer is friendship. I will be good to her anyway.

Chapter 6

Ames

It's eight in the morning. The professional kitchen that houses my business is dark when I arrive. Without the tight schedule to supply food to the network, most people won't be needed until ten, when prep for the Thunderdome delivery starts.

Damn. I only have eight clients. A few single individuals who are rich enough and busy enough to outsource the cooking part of being an adult.

It's why I dragged myself out of Saint's bed— well,guestbed to come to the office. I need to look at the numbers, see how long I have until I have to restructure, downsize or, worse, close up shop.

My stomach hurts at the thought. Anxiety fists and squeezes the poor organ.

I walk through the tiny reception area and go straight into the hallway. A small meeting room is at the front of the space, next to my office. Past these two square rooms, the large cooking area takes eighty percent of the unit I rent.

Everything is white and stainless steel. Pristine and orderly. It isn't about getting things symmetrical or perfectly aligned, so much as wanting things to be done the right way. There is always a right way to do things, if you look hard enough.