Susanne Novan - Driven

"It’s alright," Dylan repeated, leaning over and laying a warm hand atop the one Cat had balled into a fist on the table.

Cat blushed again, and looked away. "Coach," she said in a very low, quiet tone, "people get hauled into court for sexual harassment for things like this. It blows up in the media, especially with celebrities. It could ruin your career."

Dylan squeezed Cat’s hand. "I don’t think you’d do anything like that, would you?"

Cat looked back at Dylan, eyes wide. "Never! I would never…"

"Then there’s nothing to worry about."

"But…."

"Cat, I said it was okay, and I mean it. Yes, what happened surprised me a bit, but…." Dylan’s voice trailed off as she gathered her thoughts. "I’d be lying if I said that it in any way made me uncomfortable."

"Really?" Cat asked softly.

"Really," Dylan replied, before releasing Cat’s hand and straightening in her chair. "The fact is…." she paused, then plunged ahead, "… I find you very attractive, Catherine. What happened between us, what we shared, well…it wasn’t at all unwelcome."

For one of the first times in her life, Cat was struck speechless. She looked at Dylan, barely blinking, her eyes shining as if lit from within.

Smiling, Dylan reached out and gently tapped Cat’s chin. "Gonna catch flies."

The sound of Dylan’s voice brought Cat out of her daze, and she flushed, then cleared her throat. "Organic ones," she replied, voice slightly hoarse.

Dylan laughed aloud, shaking her head at Cat’s joke. Then she sobered. "Whatever happens between us, we’ll need to take it slowly."

Cat nodded. "Slow is good. I can work with slow."

Dylan’s smile reappeared. "Good. So can I."

"Coach?"

"Dylan."

"Excuse me?"

"My name. Dylan. I think since we’ve traded bodily fluids, so to speak, you can call me by my name, don’t you?"

Cat’s face lit up again as a broad smile wrinkled her nose. "Okay, Dylan." It sounded weird to her ears, but she thought she could live with it.

"And your question?" Dylan teased.

"Question? Oh! I…um….thanks."

"For?"

"Just…thanks."

"You’re welcome." Dylan looked up at the clock over the counter and frowned. "It’s getting late. We should probably think about heading back. Early practice tomorrow."

"Don’t remind me," Cat groaned. "Let’s just hope I can shoot better than I did tonight."

Dylan shrugged, unconcerned. "You had stuff on your mind."

"And thanks to you, I’ve still got stuff, but it’s a lot more pleasant stuff."

Shaking her head, Dylan rose to her feet, followed by Cat. "Shall we?"

The two walked through the store, and around to the back where their cars waited. The lot was dark and shadowed, but Dylan didn’t get any sense of

danger from it. It was empty save for their cars.

Cat let go a mighty yawn, then belatedly covered her mouth. "Oops!"

"Don’t let your coach see that," Dylan replied, smirking.

"Couldn’t have that. I hear she’s a real slave-driver."

"Among other things," Dylan placidly agreed.

"Yeah, she’s a real bear if you get on her bad side, which I try not to do too often."

"You’re making progress."

Cat chuckled. "All around, though, she’s pretty cool. And…." Cat stopped and turned to Dylan. "She’s got the sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted."

It was meant to be a light-hearted comment, given the conversation between them, but when their eyes met, their smiles dropped away. Cat raised her

chin as Dylan lowered her head, and their lips met sweetly, softly. It was a kiss not so much of passion but of promise. A promise of what lay between

them and what that could become.

Each allowed themselves to be lost in it for a moment, closing their bodies together in a gentle embrace that was warm, and comforting.

When they finally broke apart, their smiles reappeared, and they gazed at one another, eyes bright even in the darkness of the lot.

"Oh, I can tell. This is going to be nice. Very nice," Cat purred, still tasting Dylan on her lips.

"Oh yeah," was all Dylan had words for.

*******

Cat picked up the phone, took her tea from the counter, and tucked her Kleenex under her arm as she headed to the couch. Once she was there she sat

everything on the coffee table, which was littered with aspirin bottles, various nasal decongestants, throat sprays and a big bottle of Nyquil.

She felt awful; it was the worst cold she remembered since childhood. Hamlet yawned and flipped over on his back, his favorite toy lodged in his mouth.

"Yes, I called it a cold, alright?" she grumbled. "God, just kill me. Maybe then I can get some sleep."

She stared at the phone. Something, some inner voice, was telling her to call her folks. She didn’t know why it was so insistent. She’d, after all, called them at least twice a week since she’d moved away.

This was different, though.

"Probably the fever," she muttered before lifting the handset from the receiver and dialing the number she knew by heart.

The phone rang three times before her mother finally picked it up.

"Mom, it Cat."

"Sweetheart, you sound awful."

"I feel awful. I have a horrible cold and I needed my Mommy," she whined in the most convincing voice possible, which wasn’t really hard.

Her mother chuckled. "I’m glad to hear it. Do you have a fever?"

"Probably."

"Have you taken your temperature?"

"Mom, my throat is sore, my nose is so plugged I can’t take a drink without feeling like I’m choking, and my head feels like it’s in Daddy’s vise. If I have a fever, it’s the least of my worries."

"Oh honey, I’m sorry."

"So am I."

"Gargle with warm salt water."

"Yuck." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the much detested childhood cure.

"You know it works."

Cat sighed. "Yes Mom."

"Other than the cold, are you all right sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I just felt miserable and wanted to call. How are you guys doing?"

"We’re fine, dear. Your brother Luke has a new girlfriend who ate supper with us tonight. I’m not exactly sure where she got her manners, but it surely wasn’t within a godfearing family like ours."

Cat allowed her mother to ramble on without comment, soaking in the sound of her voice like a poultice. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and stiffened

quickly when she heard her mother’s strident tone.

"Don’t you agree, dear?"

"More than you could ever know," Cat replied, winging it. "We’re going on a road trip day after tomorrow."

"Flying?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, that should be fun. Especially with you as stuffed up as you are."

"Tell me about it."

"Can they put you in the injured list?"

"Mom, I wouldn’t let them bench me when I was hurt, I’m sure not going to do it over a cold. Besides if the team doctor thinks I can’t play, they’ll make me sit out anyhow, but I still have to go."

"I wish I could help, but I’m several hundred miles away and I’m going to see your grandma tomorrow."

"Give her hugs and kisses for me."

"Oh I will. She’s so proud of you. She’s got a big poster of you framed in the living room."

"Oh God. Where did she get that?"

"I asked her the same thing and she showed me. She got on the Internet, Cat, and ordered off the Badgers’ website."

"You’re joking, right? My grandmother knows how to use the web?"

Since her grandmother was pushing ninety, she felt justified in asking the question.

"And apparently she’s very good at it, too."

Cat laughed, which caused her to cough. "Well Mom, I feel like crap, so I’m going to drink my tea, take my Nyquil and go to bed."

"As yes, Nyquil, the take in the kitchen and hope to hell you make it to the bedroom medicine."