Pathway to Love, page 17
Courtney said, “You don’t think that Chuck Rossi is going to have an issue, do you?”
“I would’ve said no, but you know politics being what they are, and some of the little…some of his classmates might give him a hard time.” Flann looked at Ben. “Blake is trans, and he’s been out for a few years. He’s also a new kid here, which has its own challenges. He’s already caught a little flak about trying out for the basketball team.”
Ben said, “Is he going to be the first trans kid playing on one of his school’s teams?”
Flann nodded. “As far as we know.”
“If the coach is a good coach, he’ll handle it,” Ben said.
“Chuck is good,” Courtney said, “plus he’s been really vocal about the girls’ sports teams getting equal funding for equipment and training space in the school district, so he’s likely to be sensitive to Blake’s situation too.”
“I hope you’re right,” Flann said. “I just want Blake to have a fair shot. And hell, to have some fun.”
“We ought to be able to help with that,” Ben said. “Let’s go play ball.”
* * *
Court won first pick after all and took Blake and Flann for her team. Ben had Harper and Margie. Flann would at least have a good time trying to muscle Ben out of the paint and was physical enough to do it, while Blake was quick and wily and fast off the dribble. As for herself, Ben had an inch on her in height and a whole lot of an advantage in skill, but she had a good three-pointer, and even though she’d only get a point for a deep basket, she planned on hitting as many of them as she could. Court hadn’t seen Harper play since they were all younger, but she’d probably be on par with Flann in terms of skill. Margie could play on the high school team, from what Court had seen of her in the recreational games. All in all, their teams were well-matched—except for Ben.
But hey, it was just a game, right? Yeah, right.
Court pulled Flann and Blake aside. “Keep the ball away from Ben. Once she has it, she’ll be able to shoot from most anywhere. Flann—you need to get in her road. Blake—steal off Harper or Margie if you can, and take your own shots whenever you’re open.”
“Right, Coach,” Blake said, bouncing on his toes.
“I’ll stick with her,” Flann announced optimistically.
Court put a hand out for Flann and Blake to grip, and they headed onto the hard-packed earth court in front of the barn with a whoop.
While the night drew down around them like a blanket, floodlights on the barn eaves lit as bright as day the area beneath the basketball hoop clamped to the side of the barn. The river and the wind rushing through the corn provided a steady murmuring backdrop to their shouts, occasional catcalls, and cheers for the first scores.
A few minutes into the game, Court could tell Ben was holding back. She passed far more often than she shot, even though she almost always worked her way into a position to score. Instead, she got the ball to Harper and Margie, giving them the chance to shoot. When their side got the ball, Flann tried to tie Ben up so Court and Blake could work a pick and roll. They kept the score close until Margie yelled, “Come on, Ben, shoot the ball. Let’s bury them.”
Ben’s laughter held a challenging note Court had not heard before. They’d spent time together in almost every circumstance—tense moments in the emergency room, quiet focused interludes in the OR, and, after the sudden release of stress at the end of a case, lighter moments when conversation flowed easily. They’d talked over meals in the cafeteria and while drinking coffee in the OR lounge waiting for a case to start. But she’d never heard Ben really laugh as if an idea thrilled her. She liked the sound of it.
“I am shooting,” Ben yelled, passing the ball to Harper, who drove for the basket and would’ve made an easy layup if Court hadn’t planted herself there first and taken the charge. She almost went down on her ass when Harper shouldered by, missing the shot in the process, but no one called foul. It was pickup, after all.
She managed to regain her balance, and Ben flashed her a questioning look of concern. She grinned and waved her off. Then, riding the adrenaline high and the pure joy of the competition, she mouthed, Chicken.
Ben pressed her lips together, and the ball suddenly came to life in her hands. She cut around Flann and broke for the basket. Almost faster than Court could follow, she shot off the dribble. The ball arced, streaking through the crescent of light cast by the floodlights as it rose and soared and dropped through the rim.
“Woo-hoo,” Margie yelled. “That’s the ticket!”
“Show-off,” Flann shouted.
Ben merely grinned. She didn’t repeat it but went back to feeding the ball on almost every opportunity. Even with her not playing full-out, when Margie hit a jumper from midrange, Ben’s team reached the final score with a margin of two. Cheers erupted. Court, Blake, and Flann clapped good-naturedly.
“Great game,” Harper said, leaning over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “I think I need to do that a little more often. I’m getting out of shape.”
“That’s what happens when you have a desk job,” Flann said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
Harper shot her a look. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Another game?” Margie asked brightly.
Harper groaned.
Flann shook her head. “Not on a school night, kiddo.”
“Oh, come on,” Margie said. “It’s early yet.”
“Hey, I was talking about me,” Flann said, tossing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. “I’ve got an early case tomorrow, and Abby’s on days. We need to be getting home.”
Ben said, “I need an early night too.”
Flann clapped Ben on the back. “We need to get you on our team, next time there’s a pickup game.”
“I’m going to go find Presley,” Harper called. “Night!”
When Blake and Margie went on ahead, Flann stayed back with Court and Ben.
“So, Blake is good, right?”
Ben nodded. “If he shows up at the tryouts ready to play and puts himself out on every drill, shows some spirit, I think he’ll do fine. He’s got good speed and handles the ball well. Make sure he’s hitting his free throws.”
“Thanks.” Flann waved and jogged off toward the house.
Court strolled by Ben’s side as everyone else disappeared. Once out of the circle of light in front of the barn, the night was suddenly upon them—the scents, the sounds, the warm night air like a dream she never wanted to wake from.
Ben said after a moment, “Nice game, by the way.”
“Back at you. I love to watch you play.”
Ben looked startled. “Really?”
“Well,” Court said, “you’re beautiful when you move.”
Ben stopped. “That’s not the kind of thing people usually say.”
“Maybe most people aren’t looking at you while you’re making basketball magic. I happen to like to.”
“Courtney…” Ben murmured.
“You know, my friends call me Court.”
“I think Courtney is a beautiful name,” Ben said quietly, “but I’ll remember that.”
If she put her arms around Ben’s neck right now and stepped in to her, if she kissed her, Ben would kiss her back. She knew it. She wanted to do it, and that kept her rooted to the spot. The want was so unexpected, coming from someplace she didn’t recognize, she couldn’t take the chance. Oh, she recognized lust and the healthy, wholesome, fun sex that followed. This was different, an ache, a yearning, and a desire so sharp she felt she could almost put her hand over the pain. A need that powerful was terrifying.
“I got a text from Sam,” Court said to break the spell. “He’ll have a Volvo for you here in the morning. In plenty of time for you to get to the hospital.”
“Thank you for doing all that,” Ben said. “I guess I better grab my luggage so you can get out of here. Long day.”
“Yes,” Court said.
A few moments later, she led Ben back through the kitchen, along the hall in the quiet house, and up the stairs to the second floor. The door to the bedroom stood open, and moonlight illuminated it brightly enough that neither of them tried to turn on a light. Ben stepped inside and set her bag down by the foot of the big four-poster bed. Court stopped just over the threshold. With the muted light from a lamp at the far end of the hall behind her and the silver glow of moonlight behind Ben, they were trapped in twilight.
“Thanks for everything today,” Ben said.
“Thanks for having me scrub—”
Ben took a step forward and cupped Court’s face in her hands. “I wasn’t talking about the OR.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ben’s palms along Court’s jaw were soft and strong, her fingertips just grazing the edge of Court’s hair at her temples. Court leaned into Ben’s hands. Ben was going to kiss her. No danger there. Court liked kisses—they came in so many shapes and forms, light and playful or demanding and eager. No matter the form, she knew where they were going. Kisses were a prelude to sex—a stepping-stone to the fast and the furious and the fun. She’d been wanting that kiss for hours.
Ben’s mouth was warm and firm when it finally met hers, her lips silky soft and tasting a little of salt. Ben’s fingertips slid into her hair, and the pressure of the kiss changed, deepening, breaking away for an instant and returning with an edge of hunger, as if the kiss was everything Ben needed to survive. Court went as still as the air just before a summer storm, a slow-building explosion churning inside. She wanted the kiss never to end. She wanted to feed the hunger with the teasing brush of her lips and the taunting touch of her tongue. She wanted to make Ben as crazy as she had somehow become. She wanted to kiss her until the thunder rolled.
Court realized her palms had somehow found Ben’s chest, where the muscles tensed and trembled, and she curled her fists in the soft fabric of her shirt. She could have stepped away, could have broken the kiss so easily. Could have made some light comment or casual invitation, and the night would have become one she recognized, one where she would be safe. And she would have lost more than she’d known she wanted—the yearning as sweet as any pleasure, the ache more piercing than any climax.
Ben dropped one hand away from Court’s face and circled her waist, her fingers spreading on the hollow at her lower back, holding her deliberately against the length of her tight body. Ben’s lips slipped over hers, escaped for a heartbeat, a bird on the wing, and landed again with a flutter that became a demand.
Court moaned. No, she would not, could not, stop. This kiss, and another and another, was what she craved—where the heat of Ben’s mouth stole her breath and the shuddering tension in Ben’s thighs made her own weak. Court pressed closer, and then her arms were around Ben’s neck and her breasts were against Ben’s chest, and her hips lifted to join their centers.
Court flicked at Ben’s lower lip with her tongue and nipped, desperate for the taste of her. Ben growled deep in her chest and angled her mouth, joining them more inescapably. The storm in Court’s depths rose, furious and wild, pounding against the shores of her reason. She moaned, a need she didn’t recognize driving her. Soon, soon, she would be lost. A whimper, foreign and helpless, escaped in a breathless gasp.
Shaken, a stranger to herself, Court buried her face in Ben’s throat. “Oh my God. Ben.”
Ben lifted her mouth away and whispered against Court’s temple, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask.”
“You did—when you touched me the way you did,” Court said, pressing her mouth to the angle of Ben’s jaw, nipping lightly, “you asked. You gave me all the room I needed to stop. Believe me, I didn’t want to.”
Ben’s heart pounded against Court’s breast, erratic and fierce. The drumbeat of her desire made Court’s nipples tense. Ben’s hand pressed along her spine, each fingertip a separate point of fire burning the length of her clit. Court bit her lip against another whimper. She couldn’t take much more.
Ben’s lips brushed her ear. “I think I could keep kissing you all night.”
“If you tried,” Court said, slowly trailing her thumb down the center of Ben’s chest, making Ben twitch, “you would have to do a lot more than I could possibly do in Ida Rivers’s house.”
Ben rested her forehead against Court’s and laughed unsteadily. “You and me both.”
“But just so you know,” Court said, her voice just as unsteady, “I really, really want you to. Kiss me again.”
“Court…” Ben’s voice broke, and she muttered a curse.
“All night would be good for starters,” Court went on, pressing her palm against Ben’s abdomen, reveling in the quick clench of muscle at her touch.
“Court, we—”
Court lifted her fingers to Ben’s mouth, lightly tapping her lips. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. All we did was kiss, Ben. Let’s just let it be that.”
Ben shivered, so unexpected a reaction that the storm Court thought she’d leashed threatened to swamp her. God, she wanted her. And knowing that Ben wanted her aroused her even more.
She slid both hands back to Ben’s chest and traced the course of her collarbones lightly before rising up and gently kissing her.
“Good night, Ben,” she whispered, stepping away.
Ben’s thumb brushed the corner of Court’s mouth as her hand fell away.
“Good night, Court.”
* * *
Ben watched from the window until the red flicker of Court’s taillights disappeared around a bend in the road, extinguished between heartbeats with the finality of their broken kiss. The kiss she’d begun without a thought and would never be able to forget. She couldn’t claim surprise—not when practically every minute since her arrival had brought some unexpected event. Neither could she pretend to be unaware that almost from the moment she’d opened her eyes, Courtney had been part of those events. First she’d been only the nameless woman standing at the side of the court, watching her play with an intensity that radiated through the quiet morning, who had left her thinking about her long after she was gone. She’d reappeared at the café, meeting Ben’s stare and returning that curiosity with a nod of recognition.
Hello, I know who you are.
Of course, she hadn’t—not then and not even now, not even after the kiss.
Those encounters might have been forgotten had she not run into Courtney at the hospital, as if she’d been waiting, as if she’d been meant to be there. Ben snorted in pained amusement, remembering that their meeting had been just the opposite, in reality—Court turning abruptly, almost into her arms.
We’ve met, Courtney had said.
The introductions already seemed superfluous, before Court led her off on a tour to introduce her to the landscape that would become her world. Only hours later, they were thrust together in the midst of a life-threatening emergency, followed by case after case, united across the bodies of the injured they were charged to heal. Just as quickly as the urgency of a day filled with crises threw them into one another’s path, a ride through a golden September evening to another world filled with warmth and connection brought another kind of intimacy. One that lingered and grew until it seemed wherever Ben turned, whatever she touched, with her hands, with her mind, with her every sense, she found Courtney.
And when the night had finally drawn to a close, and the quiet echoed with the images of Courtney’s smile and the sound of her laughter and the knowing in her eyes, Ben had had no choice. She’d had to relive every one of those moments with a kiss. Once unleashed, every surge of pleasure demanded more. She might never have stopped—she’d never know. Courtney had kissed her, had cleaved to her, heat to heat, and had finally done what she could not. Stopped.
Even now, all she wanted was to touch her again, to rekindle every moment.
We’ve met, Courtney had said.
So many things she’d wanted to say with that kiss, and she hadn’t known it until too late.
When no returning headlights broke the black night, she quietly made her way down the stairs and out through the kitchen to the shed beside the barn where Flann had stored the basketball earlier. She found it and began to play.
* * *
Courtney got back to town at a little before eleven. Wide-awake—beyond awake. She couldn’t have slept if she’d wanted to, and she didn’t. Her skin seemed too tight to contain her body. Her muscles hummed as if electrified. She was a live wire searching for a place to go to ground.
She could run, she could try a cold shower, she could try her own hand to release the tension scraping her nerves raw. None of that appealed. Not when she knew very clearly exactly what she needed and who she wanted. Since Ben Anderson was not going to magically appear in her bed tonight—and if she’d read Ben right, very possibly not any night—she was in no hurry to get there. All she’d have to look forward to would be an hour of tossing and turning and wondering how Ben’s misplaced sense of responsibility would declare itself. Because Ben was going to worry about that kiss, that amazing, off-the-scale kiss that—oh, by the way—they’d both wanted. And which she’d like very much to repeat, and soon, thank you very much. Because when had a kiss ever been more exciting than any other thing she’d ever done with a woman? How was that even possible? But it had been. Ben had kissed her, and every single atom in her body had begun vibrating, while a furnace opened inside her and stoked a hunger so great she ached. Still.
She had to move, go somewhere she wouldn’t torture herself wondering what she would do if a kiss was all she would have.
On a weeknight, everything was closed in town with the exception of Bottoms Up. She left her car in front of her house and walked the block and a half to the tavern.
“Hi, Denny,” Court said as the ex-biker, now family man turned business owner and bartender, turned her way. “A draft, thanks.”
