Burn (8 page)

“I figured as
much. Where are we going?”

“It’s a
surprise.”

“I was hoping
you
wouldn’t
say that.”

“You’ll like it,
I promise. As far as the ride goes, just remember to relax and enjoy it. The
first few times we turn a corner will feel strange to you. Your natural
instinct will be to tense up and maybe fight gravity, and that’s normal, but
you won’t fall off. Hold onto me and let your body do what mine does, okay?”

“Okay,” she
said, despite the chalkiness of her mouth and the sweat dampening her upper lip.

“Climb on.”

Ryan helped her
mount up, securing the chin strap on her helmet tightly, then flipped down the
tinted visor on the front. He pointed out the pegs where she should rest her
feet. Satisfied that she was ready to ride, he swung a long leg over the seat,
strapped on his own helmet, and cranked the bike. Tate leaned into his back,
wrapping her arms around his waist. He touched her hand once before grabbing
the handlebars.

“Ready?” he
asked loudly, voice muffled by the face shield.

Heart thumping wildly,
Tate gave him a thumbs-up.

“Hold on.”

She tightened
her arms around him, linking her fingers together, and Ryan took off out of her
apartment complex.

At first it was
weird, like he’d said, getting used to the movement of the bike and fighting
off the urge to tense up (or scream in terror) when they took a corner, and she
was sure Ryan drove slower than he normally would if he’d been riding by
himself. But after a few miles of weaving through traffic, she grew accustomed
to the motion, trusting Ryan’s instincts, and relaxed against him.

And she had to
admit it was kind of a turn-on—two warm bodies pressed so closely together with
what essentially amounted to a giant vibrator between their legs.

They’d ridden for
about fifteen minutes when she spotted Turner Field looming up ahead and
figured out the surprise. She grinned at the back of his head, giving his waist
a squeeze. He navigated the maze of parking, finding an area specifically for
motorcycles, and rolled the bike to a smooth stop.

He climbed off
first before helping her do the
same.
Tate tugged off
the helmet and sat it on the back of the bike, then fussed with her hair.

“Tell me you
liked the ride.”

“I loved the
ride.”

He pumped his
fist. “Yes. That’s my girl.”

Those simple words
sent a ridiculous amount of heat to her face and between her legs.

From the same
compartment where Ryan had stowed her sunglasses, he produced a pair of his own
along with two Atlanta Braves baseball caps.

“You look
beautiful,” he said, “but I brought you one, too, so you wouldn’t fret about
your hair.”

Tate snatched
the hat out of his hand and tugged it on, then donned her sunglasses. She
wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for a grateful
kiss. He lingered on her mouth far longer than she expected, groaning at having
to stop their very public display of affection.

“Thanks for the
surprises,” she said.

“They’re not
over yet.”

Once Ryan had
the helmets secured to the bike with some sort of long locking cable and the
keys pocketed, he grabbed her hand, and they headed inside the ballpark.

Memories came
flooding back when the smells hit her—freshly mown grass, popcorn popping, stale
beer, and hot dogs roasting—along with the many afternoons they’d spent here in
what seemed like a lifetime ago. Eight years melted away to minutes. Suddenly
it was just yesterday, Tate’s hand clasped in his as they made their way
through the thick throng of fans to the cheap seats up in the nosebleed section
of the stands. He’d held on like he was afraid he’d lose her in the crowd if he
let go.

Now he grasped
her hand just as tightly, and Tate realized he’d never really lost her, even
when something or someone had forced him to let go. The parts of her heart that
had turned to solid ice after he left were all thawed out now with only a tiny
spot or two of frostbite remaining. Maybe if he ever got around to telling her
what had happened, those would go away, too. There’d been a few times lately
where she’d sensed that he was about to unload, but then a shadow would darken
his eyes, the moment would pass them by, and Tate pushed away her
disappointment.

He showed their
tickets to an usher, and they were politely led to seats not far behind home
plate. Well,
this
was a far cry from
the old days when the players looked like little plastic Army men way down on
the field below them.

Tate let out a
low whistle as they settled in. Both teams were on the field warming up, and
they were so close she could’ve literally lobbed a baseball and hit one of them
from where they sat, preferably a member of the Chicago Cubs since that’s who
the opponent was for this game.

“Well done, Mr.
Hart. Well done.”

“It helps to
know people.” He winked.

“And who might
these
people
be who garner such primo
seats this early in the season?”

He nodded over
Tate’s shoulder. “You’re about to meet them.”

Chapter
Seven

Tate instantly
recognized Kevin Lattimore as he weaved his way down the steps, a tall, gorgeous,
dark-haired woman in tow. Every few feet someone would stop them for a
handshake, a high-five, or a photo, and Kevin would graciously comply while
behind him the girl’s expression said she was completely unaffected by the fact
that she dated a local celebrity. If Tate wasn’t mistaken, she’d even rolled
her eyes a few times.

“That’s Kevin,
my boss,” Ryan murmured close to her ear.

“Who’s the
woman?”

“His
girlfriend, Elle.”

“She’s pretty,”
Tate said, studying her objectively as they drew closer. Her outfit bordered on
being Goth—ripped jeans, black boots, a tight black long-sleeve top with
three-quarter length sleeves and a giant red letter A on the front, a
tongue-in-cheek homage to
The Scarlet
Letter
perhaps—and her hair was dark as midnight as well, brushing her
shoulders in loose curls. Around her throat was a choker of some type—more
black—but her face wasn’t heavily made-up. In fact it appeared she almost wore
no make-up at all. Already Tate liked her, and they hadn’t even been introduced
yet.

“She’s a hoot,”
Ryan said. “Wait until you meet her.”

The two of them
finally reached their row of seats, and Kevin stepped back to allow Elle to go
ahead of him, keeping a guiding hand on her lower back. From the tender way
they looked at each other, Tate could tell they were deeply in love.

When Ryan stood,
Tate followed suit, taking off her sunglasses and sliding them over the bill of
her cap.

“Tate, this is
my boss, Kevin Lattimore, and his girlfriend, Elle Conner.”

They shook
hands. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

“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.