Read Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) for Free Online Page A

thousand degrees in the tiny box, and the door refused to stay open and allow fresh air inside.
    I tore off my sweatshirt. Left to my own devices in a tank top and leggings, I tossed the stupid plastic cases into piles organized by local artists.
    Maybe I would get strep or chicken pox, or a million lice crawling around my massive head of hair, and not be able to go to the Hafton Music Fest. I’d been looking forward to it, but now thanks to my stupidity and inability to follow rules, I’d be stuck behind a table and not onstage spinning tunes.
    This was the exact kind of thing Clara had warned me about. Of course, she’d hidden behind good intentions. No doubt, she’d meant to ruin my plans. “Catie, if you act all aggressive and barracuda, they’re going to stick you in the corner. Act demure and appreciative.”
    Bitch. She’d set me up for failure, and now I was clawing my way out like a cat in heat stuck in the gutter. I stomped my foot just thinking about it, and a pile of CDs came toppling down on my arm. I stomped again.
    A knock sounded on the door, followed by a muffled, “You okay in there?”
    I yelled back, “Yeah,” and went back to stacking and organizing.
    There was another knock.
    I was in no mood for more Sonny Boots and his dictatorship. “What?”
    “Can I come in?”
    I grabbed the handle and flung the door open, nearly knocking myself over. Standing tall above me was a mirage—one that resembled Blane Steele holding a bakery bag.
    Stunned, I blinked hard, trying to be sure I was awake, but had no idea what to say.
    He smirked down at me. “Hey.”
    “Um, hi. What are you doing here?”
    A bead of sweat trickled down my spine. I tamped down the urge to sniff my pits and quickly wrapped my arms around myself, remembering I was practically naked.
    “I heard your big moment,” he said. “You were good. Funny, I mean. I would have liked to hear more.”
    His blond hair flopped over his eyebrows, skimming his eyelashes, and I wondered how he saw clearly when he played ball. Then I remembered he always wore a dark green sweatband. In fact, there were rumors he didn’t wash it as long as the team was winning, one of those sports superstition things. All of a sudden, I wanted one to keep.
    Oh God! Gross.
    Wait a minute . . . Blane Steele thought I was funny. He heard me on the air tonight!
    “Um, thank you?”
    Blane stood there wedged sideways between the door and me as the bright lights from the hallway flooded the dark space, highlighting all of his perfections.
    And my imperfections.
    I snatched my sweatshirt and pulled it over my head, tugging it down hard to cover my butt.
    “I don’t know. You sounded like you were having fun, and I wanted to congratulate you.” He held the bag up in the air and waved it from side to side. “Ashton went back to Mean Beans, so I tagged along to grab you a scone like you had the other day. A celebratory scone, I guess you could say.”
    “That was thoughtful,” I said, wary. “Is that what you usually deliver to all the ladies?”
    I didn’t know what the hell to say. Standing before me was one of Hafton’s most notorious man-whores, fumbling over his words and bringing me scones. Clearly, he could see I didn’t need any more scones. My mom would insist I say I wasn’t hungry, pretend to be stuffed even if I hadn’t eaten all afternoon.
    “It wasn’t really thoughtful, more selfish. I wanted to see you, since we’re friends and all, and I didn’t know how to reach you. So the scone is more like a bribe or an incentive.”
    He flashed me a smirk, sly and full of raw sex, drawing my attention to his lips. They were perfect, very masculine, and not really pink or red but somewhere in between. Stubble lined his jaw, all blond and scruffy, framing his mouth.
    He wanted to see me?
    My eyes traveled his face until they met his. Crisp and clear green pools of cocky speculation stared back at me, and I was pretty sure my panties disintegrated. I