“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.
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.
Tha
t 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.
Loving Him Off the Field Page 15