by Kathy Lyons
Well, here was a man with an ax to grind. I felt sleazy just encouraging him to continue. “Did he take something from you?”
“Yes!” The word was spit into his beer right before he drained the mug. “But nobody wants to hear my sad tale.”
“I do,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to touch the man, but I did lean forward and try to look earnest. “What happened?”
“It was my sister he destroyed. Fucking destroyed.” He slammed down his beer. “Me, I just taught him everything. Taught him how to swing, how to stand. Everything.”
Maybe, but he hadn’t been the one to practice all hours of the day and night. Teaching is one thing. Putting in the hours to do it is something else entirely. But I didn’t focus on that. “So you two were friends?”
“Grew up together. Lived in each other’s backyards. Until he fucked my sister.”
The beer went sour in my stomach. Was “fucked” figurative or literal? “Wow, that sucks,” I said noncommittedly. “What happened?”
“Got her pregnant, that’s what. Then dumped her like a used douche.”
Ew. I really didn’t want to hear this. Of all the bad things I could think about Rob—mostly that he was a womanizer of the first order—this was something I didn’t believe. We’d talked a lot in between bouts of sexual ecstasy. I just didn’t think he had it in him to abandon his child. But then, a lot of people did stupid things when they were kids. Hadn’t I come here for just this kind of dirt?
Maybe. And so I stayed. I bought another beer for Rob’s former best friend, who I learned was Tom Sullivan. I ordered nachos for myself so I had something else to blame for the sick feeling in my gut. And then I pumped the guy for whatever concrete details I could get, including the name of his sister, because I was going to have to verify whatever facts I could find.
We kept talking long after the baseball game ended. Bobcats over the White Sox 5–2. Rob had played spectacularly and there were lots of annoying commentator jokes about how a beautiful woman could inspire a man to greatness. The crowd loved it. Tom and I choked into our beers.
It was late by the time I headed back to my cheap motel room. I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on a bed that was more uncomfortable than my car, but at least I’d be able to shower off some of the ick I felt from this day’s work. It was a short walk from the bar and the evening air was nice. I was busy counting the number of pickup trucks I passed—easily ten times what I’d see in Indianapolis—when a sleek black Corvette drove up beside me.
I’d taken self-defense classes and even knew how to fire a gun safely, but I wasn’t carrying and I sure as hell couldn’t take on a car with my bare hands. I jumped sideways into the grass, but the car just paced me, its engine making a dull rumble that somehow soothed my headache instead of irritating it. I’d already threaded my keys between my fingers, so I wasn’t completely bare-knuckle when the car window dropped down.
“Heidi! Thank God. You shouldn’t walk alone at night.”
“Rob?” I gaped at the man. He couldn’t seriously be here. He was in Chicago. I’d seen him on TV. But that was hours ago, and… I did some rapid calculation in my head. Yeah, he could have made it here by now if he’d driven straight from the stadium.
“Get in before someone recognizes this car.”
Someone? Hell, everyone. It was a black Corvette in Broken Bow. He had to own the only one. “Come to get a dose of adoration from your homeys?” Okay, I admit it. Maybe I was angry at the way he and Brittany had been making kissy-faces at each other on national TV. Or maybe I was just out of sorts because I’d never imagined myself spending days looking for smut on one of my exes. Either way, the words were harsh, and I knew it.
He grimaced and pushed open the car door. “I came to see you. Damn it, don’t you ever check your messages?”
Yes, I’d checked them. And yes, I’d heard his anonymous plea for me to talk to him. “Sorry, Rob from Ft. Lauderdale,” I drawled. “I must have forgotten to hit reply.” Or more likely, I hadn’t known what I wanted to say, so I’d hadn’t said anything.
His gaze grew angry, but his tone remained steady. “I can get fired for talking to you. And if anyone local uploads a picture of this car right next to you, then I sure as hell will get fined. So please, will you get in so I can talk to you in private without risking ten thousand dollars?”
I stared at him, the numbers not lining up in my head. Could he seriously get fined just for talking to me? I’d known that the Bobcats were obsessive about controlling media interaction, but ten grand? That was enough to make me scramble into his car and slam the door.
“I hope you weren’t lying,” I said, wondering if I’d just jumped into the car of a crazy person. “I’m a journalist. I can find out the truth.”
“Believe me, I know you’re a journalist.” He hit the gas and we roared away. “The question is whether you’re a fair one or not.”
Normally I’d be insulted to my very bones by the suggestion. But right then, I was sick on nachos, beer, and too many hours spent trying to dig up dirt. I couldn’t feel dirtier if I were wearing stilettos and a hooker miniskirt. So instead of arguing, I tried something else.
“Where are you taking me?”
“My parents’ farm.”
I straightened, panic tightening my throat. “What? You can’t!” I wasn’t ready to talk to his parents. I wasn’t dressed right. They’d read the guilt on my face.
He arched a brow. “I thought a journalist needed to be evenhanded. Get both sides of the story.”
“I’ve heard plenty about your glorious childhood as the hometown choirboy.”
“I was never in the choir.”
“Not according to Pastor Beck.”
He snorted. “Pastor Beck drank a lot. I doubt he remembers who was president, much less who was in his choir.”
Well, that was interesting information, if completely irrelevant. “Take me someplace else. Someplace we can talk in private. I don’t want to meet your parents.” It would be too humiliating. I’d be the ex-lover meeting his parents. Awful.
He exhaled. “Fine. But I have to hide this car. And change.”
I looked at his clothes. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt. Nice attire that made him look GQ hot. James Bond on his day off. My girly parts were already drooling. “Take me back to my hotel. We can meet in the morning.”
He shot me a heavy look. “One hour, Heidi. I’ll show you the real me.”
I folded my arms across my chest, mostly because my hands were practically itching to touch him. This close, his charisma was off the charts. My fingers wanted to brush the hair out of his eyes and stroke the muscled length of his forearm. My heart wanted nothing more than to give him whatever he wanted, and lower down was already aching from the memory of what we’d done and the desire to do it again.
But my brain was in charge. My brain that was slightly beer addled and a lot peeved at the way he’d looked at Brittany. The camera had gotten a close-up of the softening in his eyes and a quiet longing. I couldn’t forget that look and I was still pissed about it. How could he look at another woman that way days after what we’d done in the press box?
I sighed. “Fine. An hour. But fair warning, I’m going to ask you about Jill Sullivan.”
I was watching him closely, so I saw it clearly when he jerked in reaction. “Jill’s not a topic for conversation.”
“Then drop me off here. I’ll walk back.”
“You can’t walk back from here,” he practically snapped. “You’re miles away from town.” Then he lifted his chin. “You’re just going to have to wait for me to take you back. In Dad’s truck.”
“So basically, you’re kidnapping me. How is that going to work if I tell my editor about it?”
“Badly,” he answered, his voice grim. He turned left at the junction of four cornfields, then right onto a gravel driveway that I hadn’t even seen in the dark. Two minutes later, he parked beneath a towering maple that—no kidding—spor
ted a tire swing. To the right was a large family home that looked like it belonged in the Farmhouse Edition of Architectural Digest.
I was still staring at it when he pulled open my door for me.
“Come on, Heidi. Give me a chance to explain.”
What could I say? I wanted to hear him tell me that he felt nothing for Brittany. That I was the woman for him. That we’d work things out. Sure, there was zero chance of him saying anything like that, but when he looked at me with those earnest blue eyes, I just wanted to say yes to everything. Including what we’d done when we both knew it was stupid.
“Please?” he asked.
I nodded and unbuckled my seat belt. Farmville, here I come.
Chapter Twelve
Rob
I love the scent of my mom’s cooking. The minute I stepped inside, I smelled meatloaf buried in ketchup and macaroni and cheese. Sounds gross, but it was my favorite. I think Mom kept a pan on hand just so it would be there when I visited. I took a deep breath and grinned, but even that glorious scent couldn’t stop the knot of anxiety in my gut from bringing the first woman home to meet my parents.
I wasn’t introducing her to them as my girlfriend or anything. That would have been easier. Heidi was a contract violation, a kidnapping mistake of epic proportions, and the woman I’d been longing for since spring break. So how, exactly, was I going to introduce her to my parents?
It was Saturday evening, but I’d called ahead so they were awake. Dad clicked off the news while Mom headed straight for me and enveloped me in a big hug. Flour. Mom always smelled like flour, though I never fully understood that. She rarely baked, but it didn’t matter. She was my mother and I inhaled deeply. And then she pulled back, arched her eyebrows at Heidi, and looked back at me.
“Glad you made it safely,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Heidi, Mom—” I said, as my dad made his way to the front hallway.
“Good game, son. How’s the ankle?”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. It was still a worry, but with tape and ankle supports, there was every expectation that it would heal back to normal.
“Doesn’t matter,” my dad continued as he bumped me on the shoulder. “Just hit a homer every time, then you don’t have to run the bases.”
“That’s my plan,” I answered with a grin. But then they were looking at Heidi and it was time to explain. “Mom, Dad, this is Heidi Wong. She’s an old friend from college.”
Heidi extended her hand to greet them but kept her expression wary. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.
“And old friend?” Mom said. “Oh! I thought you were that reporter girl who’s been asking questions—”
“I am a reporter, Mrs. Lee. And I’m doing a story on your son.”
Trust Heidi to say the hard truth immediately. The woman did not know how to be sneaky, and it was one of the things I adored about her.
“Really?” my dad said, his voice rumbling low. “I’m surprised the Bobcats didn’t send someone more veteran to—”
“It’s not approved,” I interrupted. “And she’s not writing a story. She’s just an old friend.”
The silence all but roared through the hallway. All three of them looked at me like my hair was on fire. They all knew the details of my contract. Or at least the relevant ones. But I folded my arms and glared at each one in turn.
“She’s not here to write a story,” I repeated. “And we’re just here to talk.”
My mom’s fingers twisted together. “Oh. Well. Are you sure that’s wise?”
My dad cleared his throat. “Son, that’s not a good idea.”
I held up my hands to stop them, but the moment they quieted, Heidi spoke up. “You should listen to them, Rob. I’m going to write an article. I have to.” Her gaze canted away. “My rent depends on it.”
That wasn’t the real truth, and we both knew it. Yeah, maybe she did need rent money, but I wasn’t surprised that she was pursuing an article. The moment Nico threatened her, I knew she’d still find a way to publish something. She was a journalist. She asked hard questions and pushed for good answers. It’s who she was, and I liked it. Unfortunately, it put me in an awkward position. How could I talk to her without screwing up both our lives?
I looked hard at Heidi and this time I didn’t focus on the way her sleek black hair framed her golden skin. I didn’t look at her mouth or the way she moved in a way that immediately drew my eyes to the sway of her hips. I looked into her brown eyes and saw the worry there. And the apology.
She’d been trying to apologize to me when I’d pulled down her panties in the press box and fucked her until my head had exploded. This was all my fault, and she was the one trying to apologize to me.
“Well,” I said, “let’s make sure you give them something that’s true, okay?”
She nodded, her expression determined. “I always write the truth.”
I could see the determination in her. She was so gloriously fierce that I wanted her again just like in the press box—with a fever that burned through my blood and whited out my brain. But I wasn’t going to give into that with my parents standing beside us. That was half the reason we were here, because if anything was going to make me keep my dick in my pants, it was them. Nobody wanted to have sex when their parents were around. Well…almost nobody because apparently, my penis didn’t care. It had gotten hard the second I’d seen her walking down the street toward the motel.
But first things first. I had to deal with this non-interview. “Mom, could you heat up some meatloaf for us? I’ve been talking up your food for years. I’m going to change out of my press clothes.”
My mom tsked even as she headed for the kitchen. “You look very nice in those clothes. Heidi, I just made some fresh lemonade. It’s not as sweet as the men like, but I say if they’re going to poison their bodies with sugar, then they can add it themselves.”
Mom could make lemonade and meatloaf like nobody’s business, all while distracting Heidi with her knowledge of the latest health crazes. The lecture on the evils of sugar had my dad gnashing his teeth, but it was the perfect way to fill the time while I remembered who I was outside of the Bobcats. So I rushed upstairs to my bedroom. Mom kept it neater than I ever did, and right on the dresser sat a stack of my newest press clippings. I didn’t even look at those. I’d learned early that press was the fastest way to screw with a man’s head. I never played better than when I was completely ignorant of what people were saying about me. So I quickly dumped them into the wastebasket and set it by the door so I’d remember them on the way out.
I was just pulling on my jeans when my father knocked on the door. I could tell it was him by the slow, steady bam. Two knocks followed by a single word.
“Son.”
I leaned forward and spun the knob. He didn’t enter but stood framed in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. I didn’t speak. I knew he’d get to it eventually and besides, I was pulling on my boots.
“Are you sure about this?” he finally asked.
“Yep,” I lied.
“Talking to the press without approval is against your contract.”
“I’m not talking to the press. I’m hanging out with Heidi.”
“Son, her livelihood depends on this article. I don’t think you know the kind of pressure that puts on a person. You’ve always had a home and good food. You’ve got enough for that Corvette and with an investment plan, you’re set for life.”
“I know, Dad.”
“But it’s not so easy for other people.”
I looked at him straight in the eye. I heard the underlying message and I tried to project confidence that I knew what I was doing. Which was a total lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I know how lucky I am, and I’m not going to blow it.”
“Seems to me, her just being here is a violation of your contract—”
“Of my contract,” I said right with him. God, I was so sick of the business of spor
ts. Hard to believe that I’d be nostalgic about playing Little League on a crappy field with parents who hated it when I outshone their kids. “Dad, trust me. I’ve got it handled.”
He frowned and shuffled his feet. His expression was awkward, and that made alarm bells go off in my head. Then he spoke, and it was ten times worse.
“Look, I understand the lure of the exotic. Hell, I had buddies back from the army told me plenty about Asian girls. That’s fine for a bit, but we’re meatloaf and macaroni people. Don’t risk everything just for a taste of the wild.”
I stared at him, my mind stumbling to a halt. Did he seriously think I was with Heidi because she was Chinese? “She’s not exotic, Dad. She’s a girl.” And yeah, I got off on her long black hair and her smooth yellow-gold skin, not to mention that mischievous way she could look at me through her almond eyes. But that was because it was all her, not because of her heritage.
I could tell he didn’t believe me. And I guess for him, Chinese was exotic. There weren’t many Asians in Broken Bow, Nebraska. But I lived in a major city and had friends of all ethnicities. He’d see she was perfect once he got to know her better. Meanwhile, I pulled on my T-shirt and grabbed the wastebasket, then waited while my dad watched me with worried eyes. In the end, he just shook his head.
“You’re playing at a level where I can’t help you, son. I don’t know jack about reporters or multimillion-dollar contracts.”
He knew plenty. Running a farm required big-dollar contracts and navigating a world of unpredictable forces. But I didn’t argue with him. I was too anxious to get back to Heidi.
“But I do know something about women,” he said gently. “You got the liars and the straight shooters.”
“Heidi isn’t a liar.”
“Nope. She’s a straight shooter. And she just told you this was a dumb idea. Seems to me, a smart man would listen.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. My dad had just told me he liked Heidi. Sure it was in a backhanded way, but that was the message I cared about. The rest was just a repeat of an old song.