Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

10. Hazel

CHAPTER 10

Hazel

Why do I keep letting him do this to me? Why do I keep walking headfirst into mistakes? He didn’t really give me a choice though. Yeah, go with that. Go along with all this crap, Hazel.

“I would really like to know where we are going.”

“Yeah, I know you would.” He laughs at me, again.

I can’t stand him over there, knowing he’s in charge, withholding information. This is so dumb. Would he really fire me for not going with him?

You’ll never know, because you caved instantly the second he smiled.

“It must be pretty important, to go to all this trouble. Getting me out of work and all.”

“Zip it. You’re getting no clues.”

He’s going to bribe you. To drop the union stuff.

This is what Campbell was talking about. He’s being nice to me, just to figure out what I’m up to. He’s using his good looks and charm and he’s laughing on the inside, knowing I’m falling for it. I’m just a kid to him, someone who can be manipulated easily with my hormones.

What if he’s taking me downtown to corporate? Geez, why did that just occur to me? What if he’s about to march me in front of a team of lawyers? My stomach starts to cramp up.

This was a horrible idea.

My fears must be written all over my face, because he snickers after glancing my way.

“It’ll be fine. I’m not driving you out to a field with a wood chipper ready.”

“Wow. I hadn’t gone that dark in my thoughts. Dang.”

“Dang.” He laughs. “You crack me up. What were we talking about last weekend, when we got together in that bar?”

“Is this a hint? Because we talked all about your little company.”

“And other things, like sports.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Then I see U.S. Bank Field in the distance becoming larger by the second. “Are we going to the Vikes game?” I squint at him.

“Nope. Twins.”

“Sure, sure. Like they made the postseason. Good one.”

“Maybe Mall of America. Do some shopping. Ride the roller coaster.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something you’d do on your day off.”

“You don’t know me.” He says it in this mock-sarcastic voice.

It’s actually kind of funny, but I’m not laughing at him. No, no more jokes of his are funny. He’s not cute and endearing.

Campbell would kill me just for being here with him, but he kind of made me. He said I’d get written up, right?

Yeah, keep justifying this, Hazel. Keep doing what you’re doing. Nothing can go wrong.

I haven’t been to a Vikes game in a few years, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t pull into the general parking area.

He follows signs leading to some section up close to the stadium. I can’t bring myself to guess at what’s coming next, so I keep my mouth shut and settle for wishing I was dressed a little nicer.

At least I’m getting paid for this.

And at least he smells heavenly too.

Stop! Stop sniffing!

He parks the car, walks around, and opens the door. “Come on.” He takes my hand in his.

God, why does it feel so good? I remember the first time I got out all on my own. I didn’t need his damn hand to help me out.

This time, I just wanted to see what it feels like. To have my hand in his. Just once. There’s no harm in that, right?

It feels good, to be fair. Man, his hands are so soft, but you can feel the power in them. They’re gigantic. What would it feel like, to have them around my waist?

Hazel! Focus!

Him and his giant hand leads the way through a door with a sign labeled Members’ Area . There’s an elevator inside, and a short ride takes us to an enclosed concourse completely unlike what I’m used to as a normal, regular person. No jostling fans, no chanting, no face paint. It’s like a little private business section walled off from the normal folks. Everyone I see around me is dressed well, like Paxton is. Jeans and sweaters that are Viking purple and gold, but something tells me they weren’t purchased anywhere near a Target.

It’s like he’s so oblivious. Why would he think I would enjoy this? It’s almost hilarious, watching him try to navigate this thing going on between us.

“It’s the corporate box.” Paxton stretches out his arms once we reach it and opens the door for me.

I walk through and, of course, we’re right over the fifty-yard line. “Whenever I have a chance, I try to go to home games with my dad. It’s been a few years. We’ve never had seats like this.”

I can’t believe I’m anywhere near a place like this. There’s food laid out buffet-style on tables with linens, drinks, anything we could want. We’re not crammed in with thousands of other people, there’s no chance of a drunk guy sitting behind me spilling his beer all over my head. It’s overwhelming and awesome. My dad would love it, for sure.

“This is… Insane.”

“Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.” He lifts the lid on a heated pan to reveal a tray of sausage and peppers, and another of roast beef swimming in gravy. “Anything you want, they’ll bring it up for us.”

“Do you always bring people here? Watch the games from here every week?” I can’t get over how nice it is, right down to the padded seats that I’m pretty sure are heated.

“You mean do I bring dates here?” He shakes his head. “Definitely not. More like business colleagues. Stuff like that.”

“It’s an insane view.” The game’s about to start, too, though I can’t bring myself to care much.

This is nuts. He’s way too old for me. Even if he behaves like he’s younger. I shouldn’t be here. It feels wrong. I glance out and down below at all the fans down there. That’s who I belong with. Not up here in this swanky penthouse of a suite. Yes, it’s ridiculously nice, but how many seats could they have fit for more people out there? Why do the rich people get to enjoy the best seats, the best food?

And what does he want from me?

Is he trying to get me into bed?

I mean, if things were different, I wouldn’t mind one bit. But I can’t do that. What is happening here?

Just get through this. Just be nice and polite, and get through it. You’re being paid to watch football, in a suite, with food.

We eat sandwiches and drink beer and cheer whenever there’s a good play down on the field. He tells me about his family, his nephews.

“You ever bring the twins, your nephews?”

“No, they’re not big on patience. They’d tear this place apart. I can’t wait until they’re old enough to come though.”

“No offense, but I find it hard to believe this image of uncle you’re painting for yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Before I know what he’s doing, he strips off his coat, then lifts the back of his sweater until his ribs are revealed—along with a bruise roughly the size and shape of a four year old’s shoe. “Two days old. Little shithead blasted me in the ribs trying to climb onto my shoulders.”

“Ouch.” Can he possibly hold that shirt up a little longer so I can examine the rest of him?

Hazel Strous!

You were thirsty before, but getting a small peak at his chest and abs was too much. Holy hell, is it hot in here? Am I fogging up the glass?

“You’d be surprised the damage a four-year-old can inflict. Multiply that by two, and you see why I’m constantly on the DL.”

“The down low?”

He laughs. “The disabled list. They injure me, weekly.”

It’s obvious he adores them. His face practically glows when he talks about them, and he does a lot of that. It’s so freaking sweet it almost makes me want to like him.

I think I do like him, actually. Way too much. Why’d he have to bring me here? This sucks!

It doesn’t suck to stare at him.

Shut up!

You would suck, right now, if he asked you to.

Oh. My. God.

He gets so into talking about his nephews, it’s almost halftime by the time the subject turns to my family. I don’t have nearly as much to say as he does. “Just the three of us. I was a late baby, and my parents didn’t even expect to get lucky once. I’m their little miracle.” I grin when I say the last word.

“You’re something. I don’t know if I’d call it a miracle.”

I punch him playfully on the arm. His big, solid bicep. “Hey!” Damn, it was hard as a rock too, like punching a brick wall.

“I am a miracle.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” He laughs. “I’m glad they got their miracle.” He looks right at me, his smile warm. “I’m sure they’re happy about it too.”

“Yeah, I suppose, most days.” I laugh, but it’s an awkward laugh. Ugh. I’m in serious danger of liking this man way too much. Why does he have to be so charming? And for crying out loud, why does he have to be so hot? Turtlenecks have never been so sexy. Did I like turtlenecks before this?

No, but on a six-four mountain of muscles, they do something for me.

“Hang on a second.” He picks up a napkin, motioning toward my face. “May I?”

Well, now I want to die of embarrassment. “Great. Am I wearing gravy?”

“You make it look good.” He laughs lightly, then leans in, dabbing the corner of my mouth.

He’s way too close. Like way too close. All of a sudden, I have to remind myself to breathe.

Our eyes lock, and I need to look away or else risk throwing myself at him. This is way too dangerous. He makes me want to forget everything else in this world, all this history between us from the last week. My palms are sweaty and my knees tremble just slightly by the time he leans back, giving me some space again.

And the craziest part of all is, I don’t want him to lean away. I want to grab his idiotic neck and yank his mouth onto mine.

It’s almost a shame when the game is over, though we didn’t pay very much attention to it the second half. At least we won, meaning there’s a lot of cheering and high-fiving from the fans as they start filing out of the stadium.

I turn to Paxton, exhilarated and disappointed all at once. “Not a bad day of work. You should bring other employees to do this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He checks the time, frowning. “Looks like you’re still on the clock. Which means I have to keep you busy.”

There goes my heart, taking off like a jackrabbit and thumping against my ribs again. “What do you have in mind?” Dangerous question, you idiot. Did you just try to sound sexy when you asked it too?

He looks over like he hasn’t thought this far ahead, then his eyes light up a little. “What about a tour?”

“Wait, huh? You can do that?”

He snickers. “For what we give this team, we can do whatever the hell we want.”

He notices the way my nose wrinkles in distaste.

Yeah, I’m sure we spend millions on this, but people can’t have extra maternity leave.

“Yep, tour it is.” He grabs me by the hand and leads me out into a hallway.

It’s amazing how he knows exactly when to change the subject when I’m about to start hating him again.

It’s kind of cute though, the childlike glee on his face while he shows me around the press box and the locker room area. He’s not flashing his money and influence to impress me. He’s not showing off. It’s more like he knows how big of a fan I am and will know how cool I think everything is.

He’s full of all kinds of trivia about the stadium, like he’s talked to the workers here, heard all their stories.

Maybe he should listen to his own people the way he does here.

No wonder the twins love wrestling and tussling with him. At heart, he’s one of them. A little boy trapped in a man’s body.

Yep, it’s definitely a man’s body.

And he saved the best for last. “Come on.” He tugs my hand when I plant my feet, too stunned to move.

“We can’t do this!” My eyes just about fall out of my head when I stare out through the tunnel, toward the now empty field. There are a few fans being ushered out, and then some workers picking up trash in the stands.

“Sure we can.” He finally pulls hard enough to move me, and I trot along beside him until we step out onto the sidelines.

“You’re going to get us in trouble. They don’t just let anyone hang out on the field whenever they want.”

“I’m like Billy Heywood around here. We won’t get hassled by security, I promise.”

“Was that a Little Big League reference?” I stare at him, eyes wide open.

“Wow, you caught that?”

“I love that movie. Everyone has seen it here, because it’s about the Twins.”

He grabs my hand and yanks. “Come on!” He’s laughing like a kid the whole time he does it.

My feet can’t do anything but follow him onto the field, then I stop. For a minute, all I can do is stare, openmouthed, turning in a slow circle and trying to soak it all in. I’m never going to get a chance like this again.

“What do you think?” He cannot stop grinning.

“I think...” No, I’m tired of thinking. I want to act. What else do you do when you’re on a professional football field, with perfect turf? The Vikes logo right in the center?

“This!” I take off running before I can talk myself out of it.

Paxton’s laughter grows fainter as I sprint out toward the fifty-yard line from the end zone.

“Strous breaks away!”

I look over my shoulder and see he’s cupped his hands around his mouth.

That’s when I do a U-turn and head back toward him in the end zone.

He keeps up the commentary. “She’s at the thirty... the twenty... the ten... Touchdown!”

I pretend to spike a ball I’m not really holding, then do my best version of our best player’s signature victory dance, the bow and arrow.

He’s dying laughing at my impersonation. My Dad would die if he knew what I was doing right now.

Some of the workers in the stands look over and laugh at me.

Oh my God, is this really happening?

Paxton steps out onto the one-yard line. There’s something strange about watching him step onto the playing field, out of the end zone.

There’s a slight hesitation there.

“Line the fuck up, Strous, and don’t run a sloppy-ass route on me.” His voice booms at me.

Oh my God, was that how he talked to his players on the field? Because I’d follow him to battle any damn day of the week if he keeps that up.

You’d follow him to the bedroom and bend over on command too.

My cheeks grow pink just thinking about it.

“Five-yard slant, you got it?”

I nod and line up, waiting for him.

“Red forty-two, red forty-two, hut, hut.” He drops back.

I take off running five yards then slant across the middle. He pretends to throw the ball, and I catch it in stride and take off with it.

“Strous is off and running! She’s got an opening!”

I pretend to get taken out and roll onto the ground at the last second.

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I hop up and start jogging back, pretending to carry the ball.

“Oh, you trying to score on me?” He takes off right at me.

Oh. My. God.

I squeal and try to go around him.

It’s no use. He’s too big, his arms are too long, and let’s face it: I didn’t really want to escape.

“I’m coming for you, Strous!”

Uh oh.

His arms lock me up easily, and we fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, laughing helplessly. I’m on my back, staring up at the clear ceiling high above me, with steel beams forming lattices through it. My back is on the turf, and I don’t think there’s ever been a more perfect moment in the history of the world.

His chest is pinning me down, his face right in front of mine, smiling like a man reliving his glory days on a football field.

He hovers over me, slightly closer than would be considered strictly professional. In other words, he’s about an inch away from me, and if he doesn’t kiss me, I might scream.

I don’t need to scream.

Oh God. He’s moving in.

He dips his head lower, brushing his lips against mine in the gentlest way, like he’s testing the waters. A rush of energy floods my body, pure adrenaline. My hips move up slightly, just to brush against him, just a little.

What the hell am I doing?

I should play it cool. I really should, but it’s no use telling myself now that I know what his mouth tastes like.

I take his turtleneck collar in both hands and pull him closer, kissing him like it will be the last time because, let’s face it, it will be. I try to log every bit of this in my memory, every feeling, every sensation, so I can always remember it.

He growls just slightly against my lips, either surprised or pleased by the reciprocation. Maybe both. One hand slides down the length of my body while the other cups the back of my head. I’ve never felt so safe, so wanted. Everything else, all the conflict between us, just fades away to a distant memory. His fingers burn a trail down the side of my hip, even through my clothes.

Before I know what I’m doing, I hook a leg around his thigh, drawing it between mine. He’s hard and it’s big. Like really big. I need this man. God help me. I’ve never wanted anything more.

By the time he comes up for air, he’s breathing hard enough that I’d think he was the one who just sprinted up and down the field. He stares down at me, his eyes hardening. “Let’s go.” He growls the words in my ear.

Wait what? I can’t do this. I know what that tone means.

It means we’re not finished with this. Not by a long shot.

You can’t do this!

Why not?

The way I jump to my feet and allow him to drag me across the field by my hand, tells me I never really had a chance. I’m not stopping, no matter how bad my brain tells me to.

Looks like this is happening.