Wanted Distraction(22)

Her embrace tightened. “I know.” A few seconds more and she pulled away. “I’m being melodramatic. Damn PMS.”

With that, she turned away and walked back over to her desk. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen her expend. I was a little concerned, but I knew Taylor well enough to let it lie. She only talked about her feelings when she wanted to.

Returning to her chair, she gave me one last word of advice. “Don’t give up so easily, Cherish. You’ll regret it.” Her gaze fell on her keyboard and she went back to her work. I was smart enough not to pursue her outburst.

Several hours later, a courier arrived with an envelope for me. It was Royal Palms’ stationary, rather than Rattlers’, but I knew what was inside. Lifting the flap I found two tickets to Saturday’s game. And a note.

I stared at the folded piece of paper, terrified to open it and read whatever it was Carter felt compelled to say to me.

I was already dying on the inside. Last night, I’d held in my arms the dream of a lifetime. It had come to fruition and had been everything I’d hoped for and more. Yet being infatuated with Carter and actually being in love with him were two very different animals. The latter meant I would never do anything to create strife in his life.

I’d never been in love with anyone else, true, but I did know this was sacred and special and significant. A gift to be treasured, not abused. And if I jacked his program because of what I wanted, that would definitely be abusing everything that existed between us.

Naturally, I wasn’t the least bit thrilled to take the high road. But it seemed crucial in this situation. So I put the letter and the tickets back in their envelope.

As I slipped the packet into my purse, I asked Taylor, “Will you go with me to the Rattlers’ game on Saturday? I need to interview Carter afterward.”

“Strength in numbers?”

I nodded.

“Of course I’ll go. But you’re going to the Diamondbacks’ game with me on Sunday.”

“Deal. I’ll teach you about stats.”

“Huge relief. Thanks.”

My dad and two brothers had played years of baseball, so I knew quite a bit about the sport. For that very reason, I’d volunteered to take it on as a story when we’d brainstormed features. Too bad I’d let my heart and my libido convince me to sway Taylor to swap assignments.

But what was done was done. And as far as Carter and I were concerned, I had to take a step back from it and let it simmer. He had a game to win and I had work to focus on as well. Following the arena football story, I’d need to get right on another feature. Since I didn’t have any ideas in the hopper, I decided to get out and about, see what was happening around Scottsdale in hopes of gaining some inspiration. And motivation. I needed my mind off Carter and his scorching-hot kisses and hunky body.

It was a beautiful day, not too hot for this time of year, so I put the top down on my car and drove around the city, thinking it was too late to write about the Arabian Horse Show that had been in town a couple months ago, and the PGA tournament had come and gone as well. There were no culinary or wine festivals in the coming weeks, nor were there any ritzy car auctions taking place. The most noteworthy thing happening on the scene was the sudden closing of McCormick and Schmick’s, one of my favorite restaurants. But that wasn’t going to bring in readers, and it was old news anyway.

With a sigh, I realized my creativity waned severely. I typically had my finger on the pulse of Scottsdale events and activities, but I couldn’t conjure anything exciting currently happening. Rather, my mind was on football. And naked limbs twined together.

Exasperated, I kept driving—right out of town. I took the Loop 101 to the I-17 and headed north, the breeze stirring my hair around my shoulders, though not blowing too badly because of the wind guard behind me. About and an hour and a half later, I was in a cooler climate, though it was still quite lovely and refreshing. I took the 89A exit and wound my way through the scenic Oak Creek Village and the red rock canyons of Sedona.

My mother lived on a golf course in the area, with breathtaking views of the unique red rocks rising up all around her house. Her back patio was the most relaxing place I’d ever been, even beating out a day at the spa. As I pulled into her intricately designed driveway, decorated with pavers, a small measure of my anxiety eased. I snatched my purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car. She was home, as I’d expected. My mother was a brilliant artist and spent most of her time in her home studio, which overlooked the backyard filled with lush foliage, vibrant flowers, ponds and tall, mature trees, all serving as a beautiful foreground to the canyon in which her upscale community sat.