Текст книги "Loving Him Off the Field"

Автор книги: Jeanette Murray

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

After he got in and started the car, Killian asked, “When is Sybil going to be fixed?”

“Already is. She’s being held hostage. I have to wait until next week to get her.”

“Hostage for what, a king’s ransom?” He took off down the street, glancing over. She was staring out her window, so all he could see was the curve of one ear and her neck. Both were flushed a vibrant red.

“Might as well be,” she muttered. “Whatever, ignore my car. The fact is, we are running out of time. Play-offs are soon, and I know you don’t want me bugging you through those.”

“You won’t be,” he pointed out. As he took a turn, he reached out and steadied her. She hadn’t been anticipating the move and was shifting too fast in her seat. “Our thirty days is up the last week of regular season.”

“Oh.” She grew quiet, as if the reminder of the finality of their arrangement disappointed her.

Disappoints me, too, Freckles.

A call came in on his phone, which rang through the speakers of his car due to the Bluetooth. The display showed Emma’s name. His little reporter glanced at the display, then back again at the window.

“Seriously, one of us has to change our ringtones. I keep wanting to reach for my phone every time yours goes off.”

He hit the button to ignore the call, which would send Emma to voicemail. Which would send her into a fit, he knew, as she’d know he was out of practice by now. Fan-freaking-tastic.

He waited for the questions she would ask. Who’s Emma? Is she your sister? Lover? Wife? Are you and Emma plotting world domination?

But she stayed silent. So silent, he had to check once at a stoplight to make sure she was still breathing. But she just stared ahead, a neutral look over her face, as if no thoughts at all passed through her mind.

“What?” he finally snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“What, what?” she asked, confused.

“Not gonna ask who that was?”

“I assumed it was private.” She shifted in her seat but kept her eyes facing forward. “Besides, it’s your day to interview me. Maybe I’m saving it for tomorrow. Fair play and all that.”

Yeah, right. He drove in silence until they reached her apartment. His jaw clenched at the reminder of the shitty neighborhood and unsecured complex she probably paid too much to live in. In his opinion, five dollars was too much for this place. Hands tight around the wheel, he pulled into a parking space outside her building.

“Thanks for the lift. Sorry I showed up on your day and forced you to drive me home. Habit, I guess.” She gathered her bag from the floorboard and reached for the door. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“You didn’t force me. Just stop taking taxis places, okay? It’s pissing me off.”

She arched a brow. “Right. I’ll just start using magic again to get around. Why didn’t I think of that this morning?”

Before she could leave the car, he hauled her forward and kissed her. There was no stopping him. He had to taste that sarcastic, smart-ass mouth of hers. When she relented immediately, fingers diving through his hair and pulling him tighter against her, he was sunk. Her mouth moved under his, lips parting easily for his tongue. She sighed, and he felt it down to his toes. He couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to.

And he didn’t want to.

His phone rang again, the sound surrounding them in the car. Though the ring was like a bomb to his mind, immediately explosive, he pulled away slowly. He wasn’t some horny teen caught necking in the car and feeling guilty about it. Damn it, he was an adult. And if he wanted to make out in his own car, he’d do it.

Aileen pulled away as slowly as he did, her fingers brushing down his jaw before landing in her lap. She was breathing as heavily as he was, and he worried for half a second she might pass out. Breathing heavily hadn’t worked out for her too well the last few times she’d struggled with it. But she stayed steady and tilted her head toward his dash. “Better answer it. Emma’s not taking ignore for an answer.”

He swore, then hit the ignore button again anyway. He’d call her back when he was damn good and ready. If it were actually an emergency, she’d have blown up his phone with text messages anyway, so now she was just being a pain in the ass on purpose, with no good reason.

Woman’s prerogative, right?

“Can you get up there yourself?” It was rude and against everything he believed in, but Killian had no doubt if he followed her up to her apartment, he’d go in, and they’d have sex, and he’d feel guilty about that later. He was already suffering from an erection that would be all too obvious in his sweatpants walking up the stairs.

“I usually do. I’ll show up tomorrow, and have my day of bugging you.” She slid from the car, and he gripped the steering wheel with a choke hold to resist following her up. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Wait.” She paused in closing the door to look at him. “Don’t you have bowling tonight?”

Surprise lit her face, then a tentative smile. “I do . . . why?”

“I’m supposed to be following you. So, I’ll see you there.”

She blinked. “See me . . . at the bowling alley? For league? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” He’d done it once before. Why did she think it was so odd this time?

She thought about it, then lifted one shoulder. “Okay. If you want to. But don’t feel like you have to. I know it’s boring as all hell for people who aren’t playing to just watch.”

He started to argue, then thought, Why make her job any easier? “Whatever. See you later, Freckles.”

She closed the door without saying a good-bye, and he grinned at that. With her bag slung across her body, she walked toward the outer stairs of her apartment building. With each step up, the canvas of her sack bounced against her delicious little ass.

He waited until he saw the top of her door open and close—though he couldn’t see her from the angle he was parked in—and pulled away. With a deep breath, he called Emma back using the hands– free system.

“Fuck you,” she answered on the first ring.

“Good thing I’m not a prospective buyer,” he responded.

“You sent me to voicemail. Twice.” Her tone was low, and he knew she’d stepped into another room to avoid Charlie hearing. Whatever their problems or disagreements, she was good about keeping them from their son. “He misses you, and he lost a chance to see you. Now you’re sending his—our—calls to voicemail? What the hell, Killian?”

“Practice ran late, then we had a team meeting. I wasn’t even home when you called. Still driving there now, actually. I have my own life, Emma. Jesus, you know I’m not about to just ignore Charlie on purpose. I have things going on.” One freckled reporter drifted through his mind. He could still smell her clean, fresh scent. If he placed his hand over the passenger seat, it’d still be warm. “Stuff’s piling up. You know my life gets more hectic toward the end of the season. I called back as soon as I could.”

She sighed. “If you’re losing interest—”

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Stop right now before you say something we’re both going to regret. Charlie deserves better than either of us throwing around stupid accusations and fighting over nothing.” He reached up and pulled at his hair while paused at a red light. Co-parenting was truly the evil of all evils.

He heard the lecture coming by the tone of her voice. That I’m older than you so I know better way she spoke was like driving spikes through his head. Yes, she was nearly ten years older, but they were both first-time parents. It didn’t make her an expert any more than him. “He’s missing you so badly, and you did blow him off last weekend. Now you’re ignoring his calls.”

“I didn’t blow him off,” Killian said through his teeth. “Is he in another room?”

“Of course he is.” He’d assumed, but had to know. “You know I wouldn’t speak about important things in front of him. He’s watching a movie in the living room.”

Killian thought of Emma’s simple three-bedroom ranch home, and the warmth and life she’d infused through the walls. Stark contrast to his bland two-bedroom apartment. The apartment he lived in so his son could have that three-bedroom home and a mother without any money worries.

“Is something else going on, Emma?”

There was a slight pause, then a cautious, “No.”

“Because you’ve never had a problem with my schedule before. In fact, you’ve usually bent over backward during the last few weeks and play-offs, giving me a lot of leeway and not crawling up my ass because I didn’t answer on the first ring.”

“Language,” she said primly, which was a joke given the way she’d answered the phone.

“What’s changed, Emma?”

“Nothing,” she said sharply.

“I’ll come out there as soon as the season’s over. I always do.”

“You also always let him come to away games if we can manage it.” Emma was starting to get hotter, he could hear it. He imagined her porcelain skin flushing with anger and frustration, her blonde hair slowly escaping whatever prissy updo she’d pulled it into that morning. “You come out here more often. You let him visit you over long weekends. Where have those visits been?”

“I’m not doing this right now. Hand the phone to Charlie, and I’ll talk now.”

“He’s watching a—”

“Now, Emma.”

He heard her huff, then her muffled voice as she called for their son to come to the phone. While he had a moment, he let out a groan of frustration and hit his hand once against the steering wheel.

Five minutes later, his heart rate back down to a normal speed, he felt refreshed from his chat with Charlie. Hearing about his son’s day always made him smile, even at the worst of times. And he wished again, just for a minute, he and Emma could have made a more conventional parenting pair for their awesome kid.

But some things just didn’t work out the way they were meant to. He breathed deeply, caught a lingering whiff of clean linen from Aileen, and thought about the feisty freckled reporter once more.

Yeah, some things just didn’t work out.

* * *

Aileen felt like an idiot. She’d put on makeup. Makeup, for God’s sake, to go to bowling league. Fortunately, two of her three teammates seemed indifferent to the change. Cindy had said she’d looked nice, in an offhand manner, before going back to looking up new team shirts on her phone. Al hadn’t noticed at all. But Ernie was watching her with an eagle eye, as if waiting for any sign of weakness or desire to spill her guts, so he could pounce on it.

And to top it all off, she was bowling like crap. She finished her round, disgusted with the two pins she’d left behind, and walked back to the seating area to flop down by Ernie.

“Kid, you couldn’t bowl worse if you were blindfolded.”

“Thanks, Ernie. Your pep talks are always treasured.” She reached down and fiddled with the lace of her bowling shoe. Yeah. As if that were her problem tonight.

“Want me to get you some kiddie bumpers?”

“Har, har.”

He sniffed. “I could probably find one of those stands the toddlers use to perch the ball on and then roll it down the lane.”

“Okay, Ernie. What’s going on?” She straightened, pushed the hair out of her face, and found herself looking at Killian instead. He stood, hands in his jacket pockets, behind Ernie, grinning. “Oh. Hi.”

“Oh, hi,” Ernie mocked under his breath, standing to take his turn at the lane.

Killian took his seat. “Having a bad night?”

“Not my best,” she agreed, embarrassed. Then suddenly felt the most ridiculous urge to amp up her game to eleven and kick some serious ass. What the hell was that all about? Bowling had always been a fun activity, social more than competitive. A way to get out of the house and see the world besides reporting on it. And now she wanted to show off? She was worse than a high school quarterback, hot dogging for his girlfriend in the stands.

That was the real embarrassment. The way Killian affected her so intensely.

They watched as Ernie bowled a spare and stopped to speak with Al a moment. “Should I get up?”

“It’s okay. He’ll sit somewhere else. No assigned seating.” She shifted, letting her slick-soled shoes slide over the cracked linoleum floor. “So, what’d you do after practice?”

His jaw tightened a little, but he shrugged. “Went home, ate, took a nap. Nothing out of the ordinary. Why me?”

Aileen blinked. “Why you . . . what?”

“I’m supposed to be interviewing you, aren’t I?” He leaned back and draped his arms over the chairs next to him. Which meant his left arm brushed against her neck and shoulders as he positioned it. She fought against the urge to tilt her head up and rub against him. Because that would be creepy.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted to interview-interview me. Just, you know, annoy me and stuff.”

His lips twitched at that. “Caught, huh. Well, I suck at annoying you, so I figure I might as well try another tact.”

“Hmm.” She watched as Cindy hit the gutter instead of the ten pin she was aiming for and groaned. “And now we’ll get to hear about that for another ten minutes,” she muttered under her breath. Though Cindy and Al were a very nice couple, they were intense about bowling in a way that made her wonder why they’d agreed to be teammates with her and Ernie. Ernie was good—great, actually—and she could hold her own when her head wasn’t stuck up her ass. But neither were overly competitive. Cindy and Al . . . were.

Cindy held up a hand when Aileen stood to take her turn, indicating she wanted more time. Aileen sank back down, grateful for a moment longer.

Killian watched as Cindy and Al replayed where she’d went wrong, going so far as to take a practice run at the lane without a ball. He tilted his head to one side. “What are they doing?”

“Beating a dead horse. It’s as much fun for them to do play-by-plays as it is to actually bowl.” She gave him a look that said, without words, she didn’t understand. He smiled his understanding.

“I know you sometimes get assignments from work, and sometimes you choose them. So did you get assigned to me? Or did you pick me? And why do you stick with it, even when I’ve been giving you such a hard time?”

She shrugged and stood, shaking out her right hand. Both palms had suddenly become damp. “Because annoying you is the highlight of my day, of course.” She held her hand over the fan and prayed he wouldn’t push.

But of course, he did. “Was I assigned?

“Why does it matter?”

“Or did you pick me?” he asked, ignoring her sharp return.

She indicated with a finger she needed a minute for her turn, then grabbed her ball and headed to the lane. She watched as her left hand, positioned over the side of the ball, trembled. Aileen took a few deep breaths, took two steps, then realized if she took her backswing, she’d drop the ball. She set the ball down between her feet and shook her hands out, as if they were still damp. They weren’t. They were shaking instead.

Ernie stepped up behind her. “You okay, kid?”

“Sure.” She clenched her right hand to keep it from jerking and then heard the stiff canvas of her brace creak. “Just a little sore.”

He stared at her, faded blue eyes assessing, taking in every word. And clearly, found her answer to be the bullshit it was. “He bothering you? Want me to make him leave?”

“No,” she said quickly, then glanced over her shoulder. Killian was sitting forward now, forearms on his knees, watching her. A lock of dark hair fell over one eye, but he didn’t brush it away. He waved one hand at her. She lifted her own in return. “No, he’s fine. I’m just not in a great mind space tonight. Maybe I should go.”

“And handicap us?”

“Those two are better than I am,” she pointed out.

“And leave me with those two?” he corrected. He nodded slightly at Cindy and Al, who were watching a bowling video on Al’s phone about the importance of a good backswing. “Don’t leave me.”

Killian wandered up, hands still in his pockets, looking a little lost. He paused on the linoleum, not stepping up onto the wooden floor. “Problem?”

“No,” Aileen said at the same time Ernie muttered, “Yes.”

Killian looked as confused as Aileen felt. Having him there was a distraction she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t an awesome bowler to begin with. Adding in his presence, forcing her emotions and hormones to go haywire, and she was screwed.

“I’m just off my game today,” she said in lieu of the truth. “Bad night. Was thinking of calling it early and taking off.”

Al and Cindy looked up from Al’s phone and both protested. Ernie stared her down in mulish silence. Killian raised a brow.

“If you leave, aren’t they down a team member?”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll finish. Just don’t blame me when I bring down the average.” She stormed back to her seat and dropped down in a huff. Yes, she was being childish. Yes, she was being absurd. No, she didn’t care. Anything to keep Killian from noticing her mini freak-out earlier was an improvement, even immature behavior.

Because she knew, just knew, if he found a sore spot, he’d poke at it until he got her to back off and leave him alone. Their time spent burning up the sheets was nothing compared to the freedom he craved from her journalistic questions and probing.

And maybe that was the worst part. Knowing the second he had a free way out, he’d take it without a backward glance. She had no logical reason to be hurt by that. There were no agreements between them, no promises of a future or even referring to whatever they had as a relationship. She’d apparently invented the entire fantasy of him tossing his cares aside and sweeping her up and off her feet with the soft words, “I don’t care if you’re a reporter. We’ll make it work,” whispered in her ear. Yeah. Like that was even possible.

Killian sat down beside her, silent for a moment.

“Whatever is bothering you, you might as well say it.”

He stared to talk, but a server dropped off their order from the snack bar and he clammed up again. Pizza, nachos, and cheese fries all piled onto the one small, round table they’d claimed. Aileen reached over and grabbed a nacho, dripping with cheese and chili sauce. Flicking off the jalapeño into the nearby trash can, she ate the cheesy, chili-covered chip dripping with gusto. Then she glanced at Killian, who was watching her teammates devour the food like vultures on fresh roadkill.

“Do you guys always eat like this?”

“While bowling.” She took another chip, peeled off the jalapeño, and ate. “What? It’s bowling food. Were you expecting salads with crisp greens and a hint of balsamic vinegar dressing?”

He snorted and shook his head, but still looked a bit queasy at the sight of all the junk food. “No, just . . . where the hell do you put it? You’re this big.” He put his thumbs and forefingers together to make a small circle. For some ridiculously feminine reason she refused to analyze, that made her smile.

“Clearly, I burn a lot of calories on my daily jogs.” He grinned at her joke, then reached for a nacho. “It’s got jalapeños, just a warning.”

“Some people like the extra burn.” He bit in with an exaggerated crunch, smiling even as his eyes watered. “These are toxic.”

“Toxically delicious,” she added. Retrieving another nacho, she picked off the jalapeño and held it out to him. “Here, then.”

He shocked her by nipping it out of her fingers, grazing the pads of her thumb and finger as he did. He watched her carefully, and she blinked in surprise.

He opened his mouth, but Ernie—damn him—interrupted.

“We gonna bowl or make cow eyes at each other?” he asked, clearly amused.

She sighed and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “I need to finish this game. Then we can go.”

He glanced around the alley. People were starting to pack up. As their team was one of the worst, it usually took them the longest to finish. “Can anyone join in on those lanes, if they’re free?”

“If they’re free, yeah. It’s closed down from seven to nine for the league, but after that they open back up to the public. Earlier, if some of the league teams take off early. But the place closes at ten.” She stood and went to dry her hand on the vent. “Why? Did you want to bowl?”

“I haven’t been bowling since I was probably six,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I’d embarrass myself.”

Aileen paused. “You’ve never been bowling as an adult?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

She grinned. “Just hang around. I’ve got a plan that will rock your world.”