Текст книги "Loving Him Off the Field"

Автор книги: Jeanette Murray

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Sixteen

Killian wasn’t sure how bowling in an empty alley constituted rocking his world, but it was fun as hell.

Aileen, as it turned out, was friendly with the owner. She’d been coming here since she was a kid, the guy told him while Aileen went to the restroom. Family friend. He had no problem leaving her behind and letting her lock up on her way out.

With goofy-looking shoes on his feet, his jeans rolled up to keep from getting caught in the heel, and a polyester polo shirt with bowling pins stitched on the breast—borrowed from the pro shop, as per Aileen’s instructions—he felt like an idiot. He looked like an idiot. But Aileen had simply grinned and said he was perfect. And that had made his heart jump. Stupid, because it was probably her way of kidding around. Just the reminder though of those deep blue eyes assessing him from top to bottom, nodding once sharply and declaring him to be perfect made his insides clench.

She returned, arms by her sides, weighed down by two bowling balls. She waddled just a little when she walked, which he found cute.

“Here are two different sizes and weights. Try the finger holes and see which one works better.”

He tried as she demonstrated, putting his middle two fingers and thumb through the three holes, leaving his index and pinky fingers on either side. “Too small.” He had to wiggle to get his hand free.

“Then this should be perfect.” Taking the other one away, she rolled the second toward him gently. He tried again, and found the fit comfortable but tight. No slipping, but no sticking, either. As far as he knew, it was probably good.

“How are those holes working out?” She bent over and pulled on his hand, judging how easily his fingers came free. “Looks good. You want it to be tight, but not so tight you can’t release. You don’t want the hole to feel like it’s sucking your finger in.”

At that unintentionally erotic phrasing, he chuckled. Aileen’s neck flushed, but she kept her eyes averted and swatted at his leg. “Stop that.”

“You started it, talking about tight holes.”

Her gaze snapped to his, scowling at him. “Knock it off or I’ll lock you in here.” She pressed a few buttons on the computer and entered their names as the players. The machine on the end sprang to life, lighting up and setting down ten pins. As the rest of the alley was dark, including the front desk area and the snack bar, the glow from their screen and lane lit up an eerily tight space of the hall.

“Bowling for ghosts,” he muttered. She laughed, then picked up her ball. It was a custom one, obviously, as it had her name airbrushed with a pen. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

She glanced at it. “Online. You want one?” She grinned wickedly. “We could get a cute little teddy bear throwing a football or something.”

He smacked her ass hard enough to echo in the empty alley. She just laughed and lined up.

“You start here, with your toes on these arrows.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. “You’re right handed like me, so you’ll just do exactly what I do. Start with this foot . . .” Trailing off, she took a few steps, a back swing, then let the ball go effortlessly. It rolled down the lane until it knocked over nine pins with a startling clatter. The tenth wobbled, and he held his breath, but it righted itself.

She watched, not turning around until the arm of the machine lowered to remove the downed pins. “That’s all. Pretty simple.”

He glared. “If you do this all the time, how come you only knocked down nine?”

He worried she might be offended by the question, but laughed instead. “I’m not great. Better than your average ‘show up once in a blue moon’ bowler, but I’m not great. Sadly, this is my best sport. You’ve seen how pathetic I am at cardiovascular feats. I’m more of a spectator and reporter rather than a doer.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being honest, or self-deprecating. Either way, he could tell she wasn’t as fancy as some of the other bowlers he’d watched during league play. They had crazy windups, wicked spins, and some had almost comical footwork. Hers was a straightforward approach. Nothing fancy, just getting the ball down the lane time after time.

“Okay then.” He waited for her to bowl her second time, counting the steps and watching when she released the ball. The timing of the release seemed to be the key. The final pin didn’t stand a chance as the ball hit it head-on. After she was finished, he stood and grabbed his ball.

Aileen took a few steps to the side and back, so she was out of his line of vision. “Okay, off you go.”

He took one step, then froze and turned to look at him. “What, no coaching? No tips or last-minute tricks?”

She scoffed. “It’s bowling, not land mine jumping. Just throw the ball and see if it works.”

“You know, for a semi-professional—”

She snorted.

“—you’re not very exact.” He tried to emulate her simple approach and windup, then ended up throwing the ball straight into the gutter two feet down the lane. “Well, damn.”

“You twisted your wrist at the last second.” She held an imaginary ball in front of her, fingers extended as if they were in the correct positions. “At the last second, you did this when you released.” She demonstrated with a flair, some weird wrist-flip thing.

“I did not.”

She raised a brow. “You’re right. Us semi-pro folk know nothing.”

He was the one who snorted this time. “Fine. I have another shot, right?”

“You do.”

He was determined this time to get it right. Or at least, as right as he could with zero practice. He waited for his ball to pop out of the chute-thingie and gripped it like she’d shown him.

He lined up, positioned his feet, took three steps, then froze again.

“You’re thinking too much.” Aileen walked up behind him and gripped his arms, pulling him back to the starting position. “That little hitch that made you stop was you thinking too hard. It’s just a ball, and you’re just telling it where to go.”

This was ridiculous. He forced himself to take a quick approach and flung the ball as hard as he could. It bounced with a nasty thud, then skittered straight into the gutter. There was no way to mask the groan he let out at seeing a second ball fail so spectacularly.

“Yeah. Just toss it like a Neanderthal. Brilliant.” With a tone so dry it might have been burnt toast, she gave him a few claps. “If you don’t want to do this—”

“I do,” he snapped, waiting for the ball to return and then grabbing it.

“Uh, it’s actually my turn,” she said.

“Do you need the practice?” When she kept her lips pursed together, he nodded. “So I’m just gonna go.”

Hustling to the starting point, he got ready, then jolted when he felt her small hand between his shoulder blades. She rubbed a few times, like she might have been soothing a child.

“Let me help.”

The words were full of more than bowling advice. He ignored the heaviness of their implication. “Fine. Show me again.”

“Together,” she countered. Stepping up behind him, she flattened her front to his back. The pose was ridiculous, with her face pressed to his back and her hips cradling his ass. But he couldn’t make his cock find the hilarity of it. No, his cock found the entire thing far more sexy than it had any right to. Despite the ugly shoes and the stupid shirts, despite knowing there was no way a relationship between them would work, his groin couldn’t be persuaded to find her unattractive.

Seeming to understand the position did nothing helpful, she laughed. “Okay, if you weren’t so darn tall, this would work.”

“I’m not tall,” he insisted, but she ignored that and scooted around in front of him. Nestling her back against his front, she took the ball from him and slid her fingers in. With a little wiggle, her ass rested against his thighs, and his erection pressed into the small of her back.

She slid a saucy smile over her shoulder. “Is that a bowling pin in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

He laughed. “Cheesy.”

“But effective. Now shadow me. Follow my steps and my arm swing. Ready?” She started to move and he awkwardly followed. It was difficult, as her steps were so much shorter than his own, but he tried to keep up with her without stepping on her heels. She didn’t release the ball at the end, just froze in her final position. “Feel that? This is what your arm and wrist should look like after you let the ball go. You have to tell it where to go.”

He stepped back, fighting the urge to toss the ball aside and go a few rounds with her on the lanes themselves. “Just tell the ball where to go.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cradling the ball by her breasts with both hands. “You’re the kicker. Do you just walk onto the field, take a few steps back, let your leg swing around wildly, and pray you connect with the ball and it goes in the general direction you want it to?” She barely paused for a breath, and certainly not long enough for him to answer. “Of course not. You have a plan. Certain amount of steps, certain way you want your placeholder to position the ball, certain part of your foot you want to hit the specific spot on the football. That sort of thing. That’s you telling the ball where to go. Same thing. You’ve just gotta be the boss.”

She’d taken the time to analyze bowling into football terms he could understand. Without overthinking—that evil thing she’d told him not to do—he stepped up, took the ball from her, and gave her a smacking kiss. “I’ll do my best, coach.”

“I hope you don’t give your special teams coaches the same sort of treatment after practices,” she said in an amused voice.

“Only my favorite ones.”

“I’m reporting on the wrong story,” she murmured with a wicked gleam. She stepped to the side, a little behind his starting position, and waved a hand. “Give it a run. Do what you felt me doing, and don’t worry.”

Much as it pained him to admit, he wanted to get this right. He wanted to impress her. Be the guy who was good at everything, earn her respect and admiration, her worship, her . . .

Her.

Yeah, right. And bowling is the way to do that. Head out of your ass, ball down the lane, knock down pins.

Here went nothing.

* * *

An hour later, Aileen checked her watch. She hadn’t planned on staying so late when she’d started this silliness. A single game or two of bowling and laughing and . . . okay, some flirting and maybe stealing a kiss or dozen. But they were now on game four, and Killian was determined to keep going. And going, and going . . .

It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he was so bad. For all the precise accuracy he showed on the football field, he was all thumbs with a bowling ball. Even an average Joe should have had more luck than what he’d had, just playing around with it and having fun. But Killian’s fun-blocking personality wasn’t letting it flow naturally, and he kept catching himself on the details instead of just letting loose.

She lounged on the row of hard plastic chairs, taking up three at once. Stifling a yawn, she called out, “You have to start a few inches to the left. You’re too far over.”

He scowled at her as he approached the ball chute. “When I started there the last time, the ball shot straight to the gutter.”

“Because you were twisting your arm like I told you not to in order to compensate when you didn’t have to.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubborn face. “Let’s give it a break for tonight. If you want, we can bowl another day.”

“I still suck,” he insisted.

“And you didn’t learn to kick a field goal in a day, either.”

“No, but I sure as hell caught on a lot faster than this.” He shot her a smug look, then turned and lined up his feet exactly where she wanted him to. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, then he approached and let the ball fly.

She knew, even before it reached the halfway point, it was golden. When all ten pins scattered in a clatter that echoed through the empty hall, she pumped her fist and shouted with excitement.

And when he turned, there was no way to prepare her heart for the little thud it gave when she saw his face light up at his first strike. Pride, overlaid with pure fun and a little bit of smugness mixed in all tumbled around in her chest like a supernova ball of joy.

He looked stunned, as if it hadn’t occurred to him he’d be able to do it.

“Holy shit.”

She laughed and, without thinking, jumped up and threw herself at him. He caught her easily, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist and gave him a kiss, he leaned in for a deeper one.

“Welcome to bowling, Killian. Next thing you know, you’ll have a shirt with your name stitched over the pocket and your very own pair of bowling shoes.”

He grinned at her. “Don’t get carried away. But that was . . . cool. That was cool.”

She kissed him again, then started to unwind her arms from around his neck. Before she could, Killian’s eyes changed from delight and disbelief to molten heat. His dark eyes roamed her face for a moment, then he kissed her again. And this time, it wasn’t a congratulatory kiss, or a playful one. This was a kiss that made her panties feel like they were on fire. She squeezed her legs tighter around his waist, then gasped into his mouth when she felt like she was falling.

He knelt down on the hard floor of the alley, between the chairs and the lane, and laid her on her back. Even through her shirt, the wood was cool. She shivered, and he kissed her again, as if that would heat her back up. When his hand cupped her breast, she laughed nervously.

“Killian . . . seriously? Here? Now?”

“Apparently,” was his mumbled answer while his lips worked down to her throat. “You’d make me hard anywhere. Doesn’t seem to matter where I am or what we’re doing, just thinking about you has my libido ready to play.”

“I think that’s supposed to be a compliment,” she said, her voice trailing off as he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her bra and the league shirt were no protection against the friction he created. She arched into him, her head hitting the wood planks harder than she’d thought it would. She grimaced as he lifted his head to look at her.

“Are you okay?” His second hand cupped the back of her head, fingers sifting through her hair looking for bumps.

But his first hand, miraculously enough, continued its work on her breast, fanning the flames of her desire past the point where a small bump would pull her back. She pulled him back down to kiss him. He lifted his head once more to check her, but she brought him down again and silenced him with her lips. And when her tongue entered his mouth to tangle with his, the last of his resistance faded. His body relaxed against hers, the perfect weight on top of her.

One knee came up to part her thighs, then rubbed against her center until she was ready to moan at the heat of it. Killian’s hands were busy, pushing up her shirt and the bra she’d worn beneath to reveal both of her flushed, swollen breasts. Then his mouth was on one, and she moaned. The sound was indecent as it echoed. The thought of someone else hearing them—though it was most definitely deserted save for them—had her laughing.

Killian raised his head, staring at her through stray hair that had fallen over his brow. “This is funny?”

“What, that we’re rolling around on the floor of a bowling alley in polyester shirts? Yes.” She couldn’t help another giggle. “I was just wondering what my fellow leaguers would think if they knew . . .”

“Let’s be finished before they show up tomorrow and find out,” he said with a growl, then went back to suckling at her breast. One hand cupped the other breast, while the free hand went down to unbutton her pants. He pushed and pawed until the button and fly were down, then slithered in to touch her clit.

The contact electrified her nervous system, making her jolt. She breathed and tried to recite all the reasons their being together like this was a bad idea.

“Stop thinking.” Killian brushed a featherlight kiss over her lips. “Isn’t that what you told me? Stop thinking and just let go.”

“That was bowling. This is . . .” This isn’t a game.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her again.

Was he saying he knew it wasn’t bowling? Or had he been reading her mind, knew what she was going to say . . . knew what was happening to her heart?

Chapter Seventeen

She kissed him back without question, fully giving herself to him. Every time he moved, she moved with him, opened for him, gave herself more to him.

That had been close. Killian had been afraid to see if she’d read the truth in his eyes, heard it in his voice. That whatever they’d become, they’d left behind any hope of remaining professional acquaintances in the dust and had stepped over into some unknown territory. A terrifying one where neither of them seemed to know the rules or where the scrimmage lines were drawn.

So instead, they both put the whole thing on mute and dealt with what they did best . . . make each other crazy with lust.

Working his way down her stomach with kisses, he said, “Take off your shirt.”

“It buttons, you know,” she said primly, and pushed it down far enough to undo a few buttons.

Nope, hadn’t noticed. Still wasn’t noticing as he slipped his hand once more between the waistband of her pants and found her wet center. Easing two fingers in, he circled her clit with his thumb. She wrapped one small hand around his wrist and squeezed hard.

“No . . . no foreplay. No time,” she gasped out as she let her shirt fall open and away from her. “I don’t know if the cleaning staff comes in tonight.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” He reached for his back pocket and found his wallet. Conveniently stuffed in there was the condom he’d started carrying around since the first time they’d kissed in his apartment. He pushed his own jeans down far enough to get the condom on, and then was in her with one quick thrust.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered in awe. He nearly smiled, because he knew just how she felt. The two of them, connected together so intimately . . .

“The floor is so cold on my ass,” she finished with a giggle.

Hmm. Not quite where he’d been going with that. “Let’s heat it up, then,” he said, and concentrated on angling his body so he’d hit just the right spot inside her that would—

“Ah!” Eyes closed, she gripped him like a fist. “Yes! Right . . . right there.”

Yup, there it was. He did it again and again, nudging the head of his penis up and along that one spot inside that was nearly impossible to track down, but so gratifying when he did. He rolled his hips so the length of his cock rubbed against it, and she came with a low moan. Her nails raked down his back, and he took that as his sign to let go and release his own climax.

As he finished, his head dropping between his shoulders, he pressed a lazy kiss to her lips. “Bowling is definitely fun.”

She laughed.

* * *

She finished buttoning her shirt, then raked her fingers through her hair for a makeshift comb job before twisting it back in a messy bun. Killian folded the borrowed shirt and laid it on the counter next to the shoes, and slipped his shirt and shoes on.

“I need to know something,” she said slowly. When he turned, she sensed a wariness in him that echoed her own. Neither were sure what was going on, or how to push forward. “When you’ve had enough of this, what happens then?”

He slowed from rising after putting his second shoe on, staring at her for a moment. Then he leaned his elbow on the front counter and waved between them. “Enough of this? You and me?”

“Yeah.” Already regretting starting the conversation, Aileen went behind the counter and put his shoes in the cubby she’d borrowed them from. “I mean, once the interview is over and I’m not in your back pocket for a story. I’ll be doing something else and you won’t have me hovering around, taking up all your time, so . . .”

He reached out and grabbed her forearm in a grip tight enough she didn’t risk trying to pull free. “Is that what you think? I’m just banging you because you’re a convenience piece of ass?”

She winced at the phrasing, but also appreciated his frankness. “Maybe in nicer terms, but the thought crossed my mind.”

He pulled, and the pull surprised her enough to have her stumbling up against the counter. Their noses touched. “I don’t do convenient pieces of ass.”

Her time with the groupies when they’d first met strolled through her mind. The warning to not bother, that he wasn’t interested, that he didn’t go for the groupies. If ever there was a more convenient ass to be had . . . “I know we are attracted to each other, but—”

She was cut off when he stole her lips in a blistering kiss. She melted into him, his grip still on her arm, showing him with her mouth the best she could that her heart was engaged as much as her body.

Please don’t break it.

When she broke away, he stared at her with hard, unyielding eyes. “Nothing about this is convenient. And this isn’t just a fuck to get it out of my system, or whatever.”

“So what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth.

She could see it pissed him off, not to have the answers. “It’s not really convenient for me, either. I’m supposed to be unbiased, set apart from my subject.” And now, she knew there was no way to be completely objective where Killian was concerned.

“So . . .” He slowed down, then shook his head.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just do the story. Do it now, and put it behind. You’ve got to have enough of my boring ass life to do some crap piece. Then we can move on and figure out what’s going on from there.”

“I . . . no.” She’d agreed to thirty days, and she was using them. “I don’t have anything, because you won’t tell me anything. So no, I’m not cutting this short.” She narrowed her eyes. “You were going to tell me to drop the story completely before, weren’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“But you didn’t say it. Why?”

“Because you’d have been offended,” he said.

The fact that he knew that was a balm to her agitated nerves. “I would have.”

“So get it over with already. When I’m not your focus, it’ll be easier to know what’s going on.” He released her, then stepped out of the way as she walked from behind the counter. “Lock up and let’s go. We both need to get home and think shit over.”

Think shit over. She rolled her eyes at his totally guy way of putting that. After shutting down the last of the lights and locking up behind her, she waited for him to walk her to her car.

“Sprang it from the impound lot, huh?” He waited for her to fight with the lock before taking the key away from her and unlocking the door himself.

“Yup. I’ll probably be making payments on the repair job long after Sybil is . . .” She leaned into him and lowered her voice. “ . . . scrapped for metal. But I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.” She slid in her seat and turned the ignition, sending a fervent prayer to the vehicle gods that it turned over without coughing.

Killian didn’t close her door, but crouched beside her instead. When she looked at him, he cupped her face between his palms. “I don’t want this, but it’s here. It’s not convenient,” he said again, his voice hoarse. “But I can’t seem to give it up.”

“Neither can I,” she whispered, and watched something in his face smooth out. Nerves? Frustration? She wasn’t sure yet, but when she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, they softened for her. The hard, rigid exterior he presented to the world had eased into a velvet coating under a surprisingly squishy center. She just had to know what the center was made out of.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, kissing him one more time before closing the door herself.

* * *

Josiah Walker bumped Killian’s shoulder in the locker room after practice. “Grab some food?”

Killian opened his mouth to give the immediate reply of, “Thanks, but I can’t.” He was going to call Emma and Charlie early to redeem himself after yesterday’s fucked-up call. “I’ve got some things to do before . . .” Before he ended up in bed with Freckles.

Josiah shrugged, having made the offer, and headed back to his locker to pack his bag. But when Killian slung his gym bag over his shoulder, Trey walked up.

“Just grab a quick bite with us.” When Killian opened his mouth to argue, Trey shot him a look that would have a three-hundred-pound linebacker second-guessing a sack. “Whatever your argument is, consider it invalid.”

He tried to think of a way to say I have to call my son, without actually saying he had a son. Yeah, there was none. So he took the path of least resistance and nodded. “I’ll follow you.”

As they walked out together—Trey, Josiah, Michael Lambert and Killian—he caught sight of Aileen waiting against a wall. When she saw him, her face lit up. His own body tightened in response to being close to her. The urge to reach out and grab her, pull her against his side and keep her closer—not to mention, shelter her from the other guys on the team—was as foreign as it was unwelcome. He had no time for this crap.

She started toward him, but he shook his head, tilted it slightly toward the group he walked with, and kept on. Maybe it made him an asshole that he didn’t stop to tell him what he was doing . . . but she wasn’t his mother, or his girlfriend. And he wasn’t about to give the guys ammo to mock him. She halted in mid-stride, her head tilted to one side in a curious, observant sort of way. Then she smiled, nodded and gave him a quiet little wave.

Twenty minutes later, he’d made his phone call to Charlie—a call in which Emma had been exceedingly polite, with none of the warmth they’d developed between them in the last few years—and pulled up to a sports bar. He followed the group in and sat in a corner, partially shielded from the crowd. Trey and Josiah sat with their backs to the rest of the restaurant. As they were the two most recognizable faces from the team, Killian couldn’t fault them for it.

They ordered food—sticking with water, though they all joked about wanting something stronger. The waitress must have been around for a while, as she didn’t blink an eye at having four Bobcats sitting in her section. When the menus were gone and they had a few minutes to themselves before their food arrived, Michael asked, “So how’s Cassie?”

Trey raised a brow at him. “She’s fine.”

There was an awkward pause, then Michael kicked at Trey under the table. “That’s all? Come on, man. We need more than that. What’s dating the coach’s daughter like? Does he give you weird, fatherly talks when you pick her up? Is it awkward when he’s yelling at your ass on the sidelines?”

“It’s . . .” Trey sighed, then looked around. They were on an island to themselves in the corner where their table sat. “It’s weird, and not. We don’t spend time over at their house. She’s got sisters, and they’re young enough it would be wrong to be hanging out too much over there. Plus, Cassie lives in the pool house out back, so it’s not like she shares a wall with Coach or anything.”

“Small favors,” Josiah said under his breath with a grin. Trey elbowed him hard.

“So she’s mostly over at my place. We’re just keeping it quiet as much as we can. No nights out, no public outings or events together. We want to get through this season and then we’ll evaluate how to handle it from here. But as far as how Coach treats me on the sidelines . . .” Trey smiled and tugged at his earlobe. “Trust me, when he wants to ride me, he knows how to do it. I think my eardrum is still ringing from practice today.”

“Because you were throwing like you had rocks in your wrists,” Josiah added helpfully, dodging another elbow. “Man, watch out. That’s my cradling arm.”

Killian watched the by-play quietly. But he had to know. “Doesn’t the media attention suck?”

“Yes,” was Trey’s immediate reply. “But what the hell else am I going to do about it? I love her.”

“Aww,” Michael sang.

Trey ignored that. “So I put up with it, because it’s just part of the package. I won’t always be doing this. In another ten years, I’ll be ‘that one guy who used to play for the Bobcats.’ I can put up with it, for her.”

Wiping away an imaginary tear, Michael sniffed delicately. “That was beautiful, man.”

“Watch it, or a stray ball will just magically find its way toward your head tomorrow.” Trey looked at Killian. “You’ve been dealing with your fair share of media lately. What’s going on there?”

Three pair of eyes were immediately focused on him like laser beams. Wow. “Fre—Aileen?” he quickly corrected. “She’s just trying to dig up dirt for some piece on me. She’s coming up with bupkus. With season ending so soon, she knows time’s running out.” He glanced at them. “Why, has she asked about me?”

“Yes,” all three answered in unison. Killian groaned.

“Say nothing.”

Silence was his answer.

“Come on, help me out here. I want this to end. I’m not made for attention. Otherwise I would have played a more noticeable position.”

“Like me?” Trey asked, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Hardly. I don’t know if anyone is ‘made’ for having their private life become a public spectacle. It’s just something we end up putting up with because of the job we chose. I hate it, to be honest. If I could play ball in a ski mask and use a pseudonym, I would. But this is the way it is.”

Hearing the most recognizable guy on the team admit he hated the attention eased Killian’s guilt about giving Aileen the runaround. At least, Aileen the reporter. Aileen the woman . . . he still didn’t know what to do with.

Josiah settled back against his side of the booth, wedging his shoulder into the corner against the wall for a little extra room. Restaurant booths were really not designed for four men their size, even with Killian’s more average stature. “She’s cute, I think. The little reporter. She’s got that ‘eternally young pixie’ thing going for her. Like, you could fast forward twenty years and she’d still look the same.”

Michael nodded and took a gulp of water. “I could see that. She’s cute.”

Killian’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“I don’t really do the groupie thing,” Josiah went on. “But she’s not technically a groupie. She’s a smart one, too. When she was interviewing me about my bike and riding around, she knew all sorts of eco-stats for Santa Fe and the region. Maybe she just did her homework, but it was damn impressive anyway.”