Текст книги "Loving Him Off the Field"

Автор книги: Jeanette Murray

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When Aileen did something, she went all the way.

Kissing her thigh where he’d nipped her earlier, he crawled up her body to the correct position. But as he reached for the packet of condoms sitting on her nightstand, she clamped one hand around his wrist.

“My turn.”

“Freckles, you just had your turn,” he said, then glanced down. Her smoky eyes were darker than he’d seen them before, and a little on the wild side. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive what she had in mind, whatever it was.

She pulled the foil packet from his fingers and pushed at his shoulder until he flopped down on the bed beside her. As the bed was only a full, he hadn’t gone very far. “You need a bigger mattress.”

“I could probably still fit in a toddler bed. I don’t need one. Plus, where the hell would I put it?” She busied herself with pushing his T-shirt up and over his head. He let her.

Good question. The shirt fell to the floor and she was licking a path from his neck to one nipple before he could ask if she’d tried rearranging the furniture before. Sharp teeth nipped at the flat disc and he yelped. “Ow!”

“Payback,” she said, then kissed a path down to his happy trail. “I’ve always found this to be one of the sexiest things on a man.”

“That? Really?” When she kissed down to where the waistband of his athletic shorts was, the tip of her tongue darting under the elastic, he struggled to follow the thread of logic.

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, tugging down his shorts an inch at a time. He was probably going to expire before she got to his cock. “It’s not vulgar to show off in public, but you don’t see it often. It’s such a masculine little area.” She hollowed her cheeks as she sucked hard enough to leave a little red mark on one of his hips. “I’m a total sucker for a nice happy trail.”

“You’re welcome to check mine out anytime, Freckles.” As she wormed the shorts down over his ass, he lifted it briefly to give her some assistance. The shorts and his boxer briefs were flung to some far corner, his ankle socks having come off with them. God knew where they landed. And then he had absolutely no thoughts about clothes at all.

She gripped his erection with one hand, her fingers barely making it around the base all the way, and licked delicately at the head.

Killian gripped the sheets for dear life. If he survived her exploration, he was setting the pace for the rest of the afternoon.

She took him in her mouth, pulling hard. He nearly came off the bed in surprise. “Jesus, Freckles. Warn a guy . . .”

“Hmm,” she said, her eyes watching him with an amused glint that told him she knew exactly what he was going through . . . because he’d put her through it five minutes ago.

“I don’t,” he began, then had to clear his throat as she pumped him with her fist. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

She pulled back enough to say, “Maybe I want you to.”

But he didn’t give her the chance to resume. Hooking a hand under each arm, he spun her around until she was beneath him. With some quick work, he donned the condom and was inside her before she could blast him for taking over before she was ready.

Head thrust back into the pillow, she submitted. He kissed below her ear, whispered words he’d regret using in the morning. Words that gave more than a hint at his growing feelings for her. Ones she could use against him easily in emotional warfare.

But if she heard him, if she processed the words, she didn’t let him see it. Her eyes were closed, and she moaned as he rolled his hips on a downward thrust. “So good,” she whispered. “So, so . . . yeah,” she finished with a sigh.

“Almost there,” he warned, his body tight as a bowstring.

“I’m right with you.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, and he wondered if there were some double meaning to it. But then she came in a glorious gasp, her eyes flying open wide with the magnitude of it, and he knew she hadn’t heard him before.

With relief singing through his veins, he let go and gave in to the climax shuddering down his spine.

Chapter Fourteen

Killian reclined against the squeaky headboard of Aileen’s bed. If the thing hadn’t been propped against the wall behind it, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have held his weight. The woman herself lay draped over him, not at all covered by the one corner of the sheet left on the bed. The result was a wood nymph, napping in the warm sunlight in a field of clovers, unconcerned for her modesty.

She shifted slightly, her elbow narrowly missing his groin. With a wince, he moved her arm away from the family jewels. With that, she blinked her eyes open. No hesitation, no sleepy discovery for her. Just wide-awake Aileen.

“Hey,” she said, her voice sounding rusty. With a stretch, she sat up, then snagged a shirt from the floor and tossed it over her head. It was his, and it swallowed her torso whole. “Sorry I conked out for a bit. All that running, you know.”

He chuckled. She’d run for maybe three minutes, total. “Yeah. One sprint a day will really get ya.” He reached around her and picked up a photo from the dresser. Which, given how tiny the studio apartment was, he could reach without getting out of the bed. It was her, looking similar to now, so it couldn’t be too old. She stood in the goofy wardrobe of a graduate, in front of a large brick building. She was grinning at the camera, and he noticed under the gown that she wore her familiar Converse. “The obligatory cap and gown photo, huh? How long ago was this?”

“Few years. I took five years to graduate. Had to go part time for some of it. Ernie took that.” She held out a hand for the photo, smiling at herself, and he was glad the memory was a good one. “I couldn’t afford to go full time, and I refused to take out student loans. Best decision ever, since I couldn’t do what I’m doing now with student loan debt hanging over my head like an ax waiting to fall. I’d have to take whatever shitty job was around to make ends meet.” She let the photo drop in her lap and grinned at him. “Oh, wait . . .”

He smiled and settled the frame back on the dresser. “You don’t like your job?”

“The job itself . . .” She lifted one shoulder. “I’d like different assignments, more intense ones. I want to be the one on the field flagging down players between quarters to ask what went right, what went wrong. Making the coaches respond to tough questions.” She stretched like a cat coming out of a long nap. As she spoke, she talked around a yawn. “But getting to know the players off the field is fun, too. It’s just not where I want to be in twenty years.”

Since kicking a ball around wasn’t what he wanted to be doing in twenty years either, he could relate. He glanced around the room, found a photo that he could easily assume was Aileen at around age five or six, standing with two adults beside a car. She was an adorable little girl, her hair more red than brown, with two braids and dirt smudges on her knees. Her smile displayed two missing teeth, and her cheeks were dotted with her unloved freckles. “Who are these two? Your parents?”

Just like that, the friendly moments died. Her smile dropped off, her eyes shuttered like someone battening down the hatches before a hurricane, and her shoulders slumped. “Put that back, please.”

He hesitated. He really should ask. Dig harder. Wasn’t that the entire point of the back-and-forth? That he annoyed her enough she left him alone?

No, even as he set the picture back gently, he knew their arrangement, and his desire to get out of the interview, had nothing to do with wanting to know more. He just . . . wanted more. Wanted more inside info on her thoughts, her wants, her past. Slippery slope.

But he wouldn’t push today. Tomorrow was his official turn to interrogate. He’d try then.

* * *

Aileen paced in the practice field bleacher, checked her watch, then dropped back down with a groan. What the hell was taking so long? She wanted to get back to the basics with Killian. After he’d left her apartment, she’d given herself the stern talking to she’d needed, and was ready to roll again with the professional aspect of their relationship.

No, not relationship. Professional working partnership.

She grimaced at the label. So stuffy, so . . . ug. But what other term properly explained exactly what they should be?

When a weight sat beside her, Aileen glanced up and into the eyes of one Cassandra Wainwright. The head coach’s daughter, the center of a bizarre, alleged sex triangle that never added up to Aileen. And, also allegedly, Trey Owens’ girlfriend.

“Hi,” Aileen said cautiously.

The other woman smiled easily, her long chestnut-brown hair braided and draped over one shoulder. She wore a trim olive-green jacket and simple jeans, the outfit ending in simple brown boots with a short heel. She looked professional without looking prim. Something Aileen had never managed to pull off. “Hey, I’m Cassie.”

“Aileen.” She shook the hand Cassie extended. Bobby’s request for a Cassie Wainwright story shot through her brain like a fire bolt. She released the other woman’s hand, irrationally worrying she could read her thoughts via the contact. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same. They’re taking forever today.” She tipped her head back to the sky, serenely soaking in the waning winter sun. “I needed some vitamin D. I love my job, but if I’m not careful I’ll turn into a pasty, squinting stereotype.”

Observing the slender woman with a healthy complexion in front of her, Aileen found that reality hard to believe. “What’s your job?”

“I work in the tech department for the main office. Part of the Nerd Herd.” She said the term so fondly, with a slight smile that Aileen knew it wasn’t an insult to be considered a nerd in Cassie’s eyes. “But being inside for so long, hunched over a screen, wears on you. Thought I’d get out for an hour.” She glanced around, then leaned in. “My dad texted me and asked me to come over for lunch. So I think we’re going out.”

“Did he?” She looked around, but most of the other media were hanging close to the locker room exit. They were surrounded by a hundred yard bubble of solitude.

“My dad’s Coach Jordan,” she added, giving Aileen the idea she had no clue who she was talking to. A journalist. “Still feels weird to say that.”

“I, uh, saw your interview a few weeks ago.” Aileen picked up her bag, then set it back down again. This was so wrong. “Just so you know, I didn’t believe any of that sex triangle crap. I’m sure there’s another reason for what happened, and we’re just not privy to it.”

Cassie beamed at her. “Finally, some intelligent life. Thank you. I’m so tired of saying ‘no comment’ every time I go grocery shopping. You know, the last time I was at Target picking up deodorant, someone asked me if I was picking up some for my two lovers?” She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “It’s funny now, but at the time it freaked me out a little.”

“Sorry,” Aileen said sincerely. No matter how much time she spent with players and their families, she would never quite understand how difficult it was to live life in that spotlight. “That sucks.”

“It does.” She glanced around once more. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Killian Reeves.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay. I wasn’t aware he was dating anyone.”

“He’s not.” Or was he? No, no, they were not dating. And she’d have noticed a girlfriend by now, given how they’d practically lived in each other’s back pockets the last few weeks.

Cassie blinked, confused. “Okay then.”

If you use the sneak-attack approach, real sly-like, she won’t even see it coming.

Screw you, Bobby.

“I have to tell you something,” Aileen said quickly. “I’m actually a reporter. Journalist. Whatever. I do the Bobcat beat for a small website called Off Season.” She grimaced. “You’ve never heard of it, I’m sure. But I just had to tell you, in case, you know . . .” She waved her hand toward Cassie, then between them. “I just didn’t want you thinking I was trying to gain something by hiding my identity.”

Cassie sat for a moment, her eyes a little wide, then narrowed them. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

Aileen shrugged.

“I mean,” Cassie went on, “you could have just let me keep talking. I’m in a chatty mood today. Happens when I’ve been coding for too long. The computer screen is poor company, and suddenly I need to bust out and talk, so I talk to anyone.” She grinned. “I once accidentally held a barista hostage with my ramblings for half an hour. Poor thing, she had no clue how to get rid of me.”

Aileen laughed before she could help it.

Cassie nodded. “I like you,” she declared. “I’ve made it my mission to start making more friends out here, now that I’m officially in Santa Fe on a permanent basis.”

The reporter in her heard a story in the making. Moved out permanently, putting down roots, working in the Bobcat main offices . . . Sounds like a good one. Then the woman slapped the reporter back two steps. “Friends are good.” She wouldn’t be able to speak from experiences, of course, but she knew logically they were a good thing to have around.

Cassie’s phone beeped and she checked it, smiling a little. “It’s my dad,” she explained. “He apologized for taking so long, but apparently he had to, in his own words,” Cassie held up quote fingers, “‘rip a few new ones.’ They’re done now.” She made a face. “Guys say the nastiest things.”

“They do,” Aileen agreed. “But God love ’em.”

Cassie bumped her shoulder and chuckled.

Too bad they couldn’t be friends in real life. Cassie would always be guarded around her, and Aileen would never be able to fully put away the reporter instinct.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye and saw Killian approaching.

He would always be guarded, too. She had to keep remembering that. Even in the soft afterglow, he wasn’t going to fully let her see in. It would never work out.

Man, that sucked.

* * *

For approximately five seconds after seeing Aileen with Cassie Wainwright, Killian had the panicked thought she was grilling Cassie for a story. Just what he needed, the coach’s daughter being pissed at him for bringing around a reporter to pick at her.

Then he shook that idea off. He wasn’t bringing her around. She was following him, just like any other member of the media. Trying to get a story, then backing off when it didn’t work. Then Cassie laughed, and Aileen smiled, and he let out a breath. Not grilling, but gabbing. Doing that mysterious girl-bonding thing that men never seemed to quite understand.

He approached slowly, giving them plenty of time to hush up before he reached eavesdropping range. Aileen saw him first, and shot him a beautiful smile. His chest tightened all over again, but for a completely different reason. Cassie smiled as well. She was a pretty woman, with a sunny personality, who had been handed a shitty situation to deal with recently. But she was handling it with as much grace as possible, and he could respect her for it. But her smile didn’t make his insides jitter around like Freckles’ did.

Damn. He just had to have the hots for a reporter. More than the hots, unfortunately.

Trey Owens walked up behind him and nudged his shoulder. “What are they talking about?”

“She’s not grilling Cassie,” Killian said defensively. “They’re just talking. Cassie could get up and walk away any time she wanted.”

Trey held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I wasn’t accusing her of anything. Just curious.” He eyed Killian warily. “Are you gonna bite my head off if I go get my girl?”

Killian rolled his eyes and swept his hand out, indicating he was free and clear. Trey winked and ran up to grab Cassie. She stood and her smile brightened several degrees for her lover. She reached out to hug him, then repelled back. “Trey! Shower before you hug me!”

He ignored her admonishments and hooked an arm around her shoulder. They walked down the bleachers together, and he could hear Trey mention dropping her off at her father’s office before taking off to get lunch with the guys.

Killian told himself he wasn’t upset he hadn’t been asked to go out.

Aileen approached warily, like she might walk up to a bear with its paw caught in a trap. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He let her get close, then asked, “What were you two laughing about?”

She shrugged, a small smile curving her lips. “Nothing much.”

“Does she know what your job is?”

Her smile faltered, but she held onto it as best she could. He wanted to kick himself in the nuts for dimming that light. “I told her, she still sat with me. I wasn’t hiding my identity for a story, if that’s what you’re implying. I could have, but I didn’t. That’s not how I operate. And I’m not all that happy you think so low of me.” She kept walking right past him, and he reached to grab her elbow before he remembered they were in a public place. Causing a scene was not high on his list of priorities.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. It was small, but enough to stop her from leaving the bleachers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . I wanted to make sure she couldn’t come back and accuse you later. She’s a nice lady, and I doubt she would have. But I’m used to playing by the Cover Your Ass playbook.” It was the most important playbook, in his opinion.

She looked out onto the empty practice field for a few moments before nodding. “Fine. I understand. We were just talking, that’s all. I’m not doing a story on her.”

He soaked that in for a moment. “Isn’t everyone trying to? I thought that was the big push. Everyone harass the coach’s daughter, see if she’s really the reason Stephen left the team, or whatever.”

“Stephen left the team?” She blinked up at him, and he saw sharp interest. She’d put her journalist hat back on. “Permanently? Or just for a while? Is he injured? Personal reasons? Where’s his family from?”

Killian shook his head, exasperated. Then a thought came over him. “You know, this is probably a much juicier story than anything you could get from me. Why don’t you make the switch? You probably don’t have jack crap to make a decent story on me anyway. The Stephen thing is much more interesting.” Sorry, Stephen.

She hesitated only for a second, but that hesitation almost offended him. That she would even consider giving up his story for something else. Which was stupid because it was his idea in the first place, to get her off his back.

Then she shook her head. “Nope. I’ve made my choice.” She poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Good try, though.”

His relieved breath must have sounded more like a belabored sigh, because she scowled. “It’s your day, anyway, so technically I shouldn’t have even come here. You’re supposed to be interviewing me, for who knows what reason.”

He still hadn’t quite figured that out himself. He’d realized there was no way of annoying her. She let things that normal people found irritating roll off her like water on a duck’s back. If he wanted to survive the invasion of privacy without her finding Charlie, he’d have to find another way.

Maybe the other way was just to persevere through the next two weeks. After that, she should be done with the stupid thing. The regular season would be over, and he could concentrate on getting through play-offs in tact.

“I’m not chasing a sensational story. I mean, I know viewers like the drama, and I might, too. But that’s why I watch Real Housewives and The Bachelor. Get my drama fix. I want a real story. Not some mocked-up, overhyped, sensational tale that goes nowhere.” She shrugged. “That’s probably what Stephen is. And I’m about ninety-seven percent sure that’s what that whole ‘love triangle’ crap was, too.” She used quote fingers and a grimace to make her point clear on what she thought of the media coverage surrounding Coach Jordan’s daughter and her supposed two lovers. “You could tell me otherwise, and I’d consider it. But I’m not about to just go chasing after what will likely be a dead end. He’s reported to have personal issues, which was why he’s been out. Clearly, nobody else thought it was all that interesting or they’d have chased it down already.”

More like, they couldn’t find him. Not yet, anyway. “And you don’t care about his personal issues? When you care about mine?” Stupid question. He shouldn’t want her to care about his personal issues.

“I care about telling a story that hasn’t seen the light of day yet. Whether he’s got a sick parent, or an injury the team is trying to cover up, that’s not a new thing.” She grinned up at him. “You are.”

They reached the players’ parking lot before he thought better. He’d been walking on autopilot. When he talked to her, it was like the rest of the world just bled away in a wash of gray. And all he could see, all he could focus on, were auburn strands and cute freckles. “Sorry, let me walk you to your car.”

“Not here. I taxi’d again.”

Damn it. He hated she was spending money she obviously didn’t have chasing him around. “Stop doing that.”

She raised a brow and lifted a hand. “I have to get around somehow. And since my apartment is too far for me to bike . . .” She lifted a hand to wave at Josiah, who was peddling past them on his way home. He popped a wheelie in salute. Immature a-hole. “And the bus doesn’t drop me off close enough to here, I have to rely on the taxi.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “You could take this as a sign of flattery and give me an interview right here and now, all juicy personal details included, so I can stop doing it.”

“Fat chance. Get in.” He walked around and opened his door for her. She didn’t wait, just hopped in, as if she knew he’d be taking her home from the start.