by Beth Bolden
“You have, have you?” she asked, a real, true smile creeping across her features. “I thought you might have, considering the two of you are at war over a damn mower and some loud music.”
He shrugged. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He didn’t feel shame in exercising his rights to mow his own lawn, thank you very much, only that it had gone on so far and so long. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel bad about his mischievous behavior, but a single reproachful look from those gray eyes and he was almost sorry that he’d done everything he could to punch Corey Rood’s buttons.
“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he said, even though that was probably a huge lie. “It started innocently enough. The mower was actually a gift from my agent when I bought this place. He came out here the first time and said I’d need something better than some little push piece of crap. And I liked riding it, it relaxed me. As for the odd hours, well…you know what it’s like being on the road so much. Your body doesn’t know what time zone it’s in, and sometimes I couldn’t sleep.”
“And the music?”
She had him there, and he finally laughed. “You got me. First time he came over to tell me it had woken him up one Saturday morning, he was so patronizing. So unbelievably obnoxious and full of himself that I told myself that I’d make him regret waltzing over here in all his stately glory to inform me that I’d bothered him. So I mounted a portable stereo and stuck in an old Kenny Chesney CD. It made him wild, and God help me, that was so damn satisfying that I just kept going.”
She smiled again; this time Jack could see it dawn over her face like the way the sunlight touched the trees on a frosty morning, warming everything in its path. “So he emailed you?” he asked.
Izzy nodded. “He wanted me to use my influence to pressure you to stop, since he’d run into a roadblock on pretty much every other avenue.”
“And let me guess, Toby sent you out here to get the story.”
“Toby won’t run it,” Izzy said quickly, as if she knew what he was afraid of. She was wrong; what he was really afraid of was that during this whole mess she’d come to realize what an idiot he was and he was worth none of her time.
He wanted to open his mouth and tell her this; tell her that she’d almost never left his thoughts from the first moment they’d ever spoken; tell her that he would do anything in his not-inconsiderable influence around the Pioneers organization to make sure her association with him didn’t ruin her career. And, that little sly voice in his head echoed, only part of that has to do with her being your lucky charm.
“Honestly, I don’t care,” he admitted. “I don’t care what they say about me. You know that.”
She seemed to be seriously considering this for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “You say that now,” she finally spoke, “but it could look pretty ugly for you.”
“Is that why you’re here? To warn me?” he asked the question almost instinctively, without thinking.
She opened her mouth in surprise then closed it again abruptly. “You’re not,” he continued, aware he could be stepping in piles of his own crap if he kept going, but he could feel the momentum on his side. Three weeks ago, he’d had to practically chase her down to get close enough to even touch her. Tonight, he felt like he would walk up and kiss her and she might melt right into him, but that could also be the feeling of invincibility he had whenever he took on Corey Rood and won.
He took another step forward, then another, until, if he reached out, he could brush her arm with his fingertips. “You’re not here to warn me. You’re here because Corey Rood was a good excuse to come see me.”
The hesitation was written all over her face. All she had to do was say no, but instead, she said nothing, and hope billowed inside of him.
“It’s okay, I can’t stay away from you either,” he continued, moving even nearer. His eyes never left her face. “But then you already knew that.”
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction the sudden flush on her cheekbones was, but Jack could tell he’d flustered her. “That’s rather presumptuous,” she finally murmured, her voice lower and huskier than he could ever remember it being. His entire life he’d been able to reach out and take what he wanted, but now he couldn’t risk it until she was sure. It was a risk for both of them; he’d decided it was a risk he was willing to take, but he knew it was different for her, and the last thing he wanted was to be a regret.
“But it is you, after all,” she added, a small smile playing over her lips. Never in his twenty-nine years had he ever wanted to kiss a woman so badly—not even Kimmy Johnson, in his sophomore year of high school when he’d snuck her under the bleachers. “I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised.”
“You shouldn’t. I’ve made it perfectly clear that I like you.”
“You said you wanted to be friends,” she said in mock protest, but that playful smile was back, hopefully for good this time, and it was falling over him like a thousand rays of sunshine. “Maybe I came here to say, okay, let’s be friends.”
“Just friends?” he asked, spreading his arms out as if to show her that he was hiding nothing, holding nothing back. “Izzy, is it really fair to ask you to give me up when Toby treats you like a second-class citizen?”
“Imagine what he’d treat me like if he heard this conversation,” she said lightly. Too lightly. “I know you think Toby’s feelings shouldn’t matter to me,” she continued, and even the slight regret in her face didn’t extinguish his frustration, “but this is my job, my career. I’ve worked so hard just for a chance like this one. I can’t take the risk that someone finds out, and decides I’m compromising my journalistic integrity by dating you.”
“I see,” he said, and he couldn’t help the pang of disappointment.
“You don’t, actually,” she retorted. “I do want to be your friend. I want to hang out. I want you to teach me about baseball.”
“Does that mean we can have dinner together?” he asked, pasting on a wide smile.
“Together?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Not a date,” he added. “Just as friends.”
“You’re a fairly persistent guy,” she observed.
“You shouldn’t be surprised. When I see something I want, I just gotta have it.” He smiled at her then, and she laughed.
He wanted to tell her she was crazy. He wanted to tell her if she ever gave him the opportunity, he’d show her just how platonic he didn’t feel, but right now, she’d given in a little bit and being her friend was better than standing out in the dark, feeling nothing.
“I know this great place for dinner,” he began, and she tilted her head, considering him.
“You’re serious,” she said, as if this was all some sort of surprise. “You seem strangely determined to feed me.”
“Just…trust me,” he said, and after the words left his mouth, he realized he wasn’t just talking about restaurants, and he wanted her to understand.
“I do. If I didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t even be talking like this.”
“Good, because there’s this place I want to show you.” He glanced down at her stilettos and the skirt she was wearing. “But I’m not sure about what you’re wearing…”
“Jeans in the car. I’m all yours.” She paused a moment, then blushed. “Metaphorically, of course.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Should I feel bad that I’m depriving Corey Rood of his daily dose of your DJ prowess?” Izzy asked with a laugh as she approached his porch, carrying a large tote bag.
“Uh,” Jack hesitated. “No. And I like that Guetta guy. He’s cool.”
“I doubt very much that Corey Rood would agree with you,” Izzy said as she followed him into his house.
The screen door led almost direc
tly into a lived-in-looking family room, complete with comfortable, over-stuffed couches and chairs upholstered in a textured navy fabric. The walls were a cream mixed with a hint of yellow, and though there were pictures of him in various baseball poses on the walls, they were interspersed with other shots of what was probably his family. Izzy paused and looked around. “I’m actually impressed, Bennett. I half expected to find stripper poles and walls covered in giant TV screens.”
He shrugged. “The stripper poles are more Foxy’s domain, and well, I’ll confess to the giant TV, but it’s actually in the media room.”
“Seriously, I like your house,” she said, with a hell of a lot more honesty than she’d felt while complimenting Corey Rood. Yes, his house might be technically more impressive, but it wasn’t the sort of place she wanted to spend any kind of time.
“Thanks, but I’m not sure I had much to do with this. I just told the decorator simple and basic. Nothing fancy.” She thought she might have seen the beginnings of a blush on his cheekbones, and she really liked the idea that he cared so much about what she thought, but she cut herself off short. She’d just told him they could only be friends. “Oh, and the bathroom’s down that hallway. I’m going to put in an order for pizza. Pepperoni?”
“Extra cheese?” she asked hopefully.
“You’ve got it, Dalton.”
The bathroom was a tiny powder room off the main living room, and when Izzy glanced in the plain mirror above the pedestal sink, she almost groaned when she saw how flushed she was. She could lie all day long, but deep down, she knew the reason why. He made her nervous and excited and a lot of other things she refused to label.
Turning away from her betraying expression, she shucked the skirt and heels off and pulled the spare jeans out of her bag. Unbuttoning the blouse, she traded it for a simple gray T-shirt. Slipping her feet into a pair of slip-on sneakers, she gave a half-hearted brush to her hair and called it done. Normally, she might have actually primped, but this wasn’t a date. Besides, Jack knew what she looked like, and he’d still…well, she had the distinct impression that if she hadn’t shut him down, he would have kissed her earlier. He’d looked like he wanted to, and she definitely wouldn’t have pushed him away—at least she had until she’d come to her senses and realized that if Toby ever found out, her career would be something beyond dead.
Her feelings weren’t going to change, but she’d just have to funnel them into more professional avenues. No more thinking about how blue Jack’s eyes were, or how his muscles were so clearly outlined in the worn T-shirt he was wearing. Or his crinkled crow’s feet when he smiled. All off limits. She shoved the clothes she’d been wearing back into her travel bag, and looked herself in the eye.
Isabel Dalton, behave yourself.
Taking a deep breath, Izzy opened the bathroom door and wandered through the living room into the adjoining dining room. A simple table in a beautifully finished wood with matching chairs were its only contents. Another doorway led into a big kitchen, warm with touches of cherry red in the tile backsplashes and a ceramic basket on the island.
Jack was standing with his back to her, his cell phone held to ear, ordering the pizza.
“And I’ll give you an extra fifty if you can have it out here in twenty minutes,” he barked into the phone. “No, I’m not kidding. And no, I’m not trying to throw my weight around. I’m just hungry.” He paused. “Okay, hungrier than normal. Fine. See you in twenty.”
She should feel bad that he was trying so hard, even after she’d shut him down, but his persistence was more than a little adorable.
“Throwing your weight around again?” she smirked as he ended the call.
He shrugged nonchalantly, as if what he’d done was no big deal. “They owe me a few favors down at the pizza place.”
“Sure they do.” Izzy rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter.
“You know, a lot of people take me serious. Dead serious.”
She laughed at his almost-earnest expression. “A lot of people? Who exactly?”
Izzy was sure she’d stumped him because for half a moment, he looked nearly frantic, but before she could tell him so, he suddenly gave her a smooth, charming smile, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Toby. He practically has a heart attack whenever I get near one of his reporters.”
“Good point,” she had to concede. “He did freak out that one time.”
“About that…” Jack almost winced. “I feel like I should apologize.”
“For the interview?” She didn’t understand; she’d thought it went pretty well, regardless of the bomb she’d dropped on him about moving the team to Vegas. Actually, now that Izzy considered it, maybe she should be the one apologizing to him.
“No,” he said, suddenly looking very interested in the beat-up sneakers on his feet. “Not the interview. The whole damsel-in-distress thing.”
“You’re apologizing for catching me? You’re the only reason I didn’t fall on my butt, what is it, three times now?”
“Yeah, but that first time, I was kind of a jerk afterwards,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that’s not me. I’m not that guy. Not usually, anyway.”
No, she was beginning to understand how he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t a douchebag, but he wasn’t a saint either. In fact, he was just the right balance of cocky and crazy, sweet and sarcastic, and if she was being unpleasantly honest with herself, the combination was really attractive.
“You’re forgiven,” she said, hoping her words would dissipate the awkwardness growing between them, but they didn’t seem to make a dent.
“You want a tour?” he finally asked, and she could hear the tremble in his voice. It was even cuter that he was nervous. You’re in big trouble here, Iz.
“A tour would be great. Like I said, it’s a gorgeous house.”
“Turn-of-the-century farmhouse.” He was all eagerness now. “I wanted to make sure we kept and restored the wood. Especially the floors.” She glanced down and was surprised at the beautiful patina of the wood.
“It’s the history,” he continued. “I just couldn’t destroy the history. Had to find a way to continue it. Add to it, I guess.”
She cocked her head to the side and contemplated him as they walked out of the family room and through the kitchen. “That’s a pretty old-fashioned idea,” she said.
“I’m a ballplayer. We’re pretty old-fashioned as a breed.” Defensiveness edged his voice.
“I like it,” Izzy admitted. I like you.
Jack led her up the stairs and to her surprise, the upstairs had been broken down into basically two rooms—an expansive master suite and a media room. “I promised you a gigantic TV,” he joked. “Wouldn’t want to let you down.”
She gazed at the TV, which stretched over most of one wall. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to make up for something.”
“Well, we could always tour the bedroom next.” He grinned at her unrepentantly. “If you wanted.”
I do, she nearly said, take me there now. And then take me now.
His eyes grew impossibly bluer at her silence, and he took a hesitant step toward her, but a knock on the door interrupted them. “That was quick,” she said awkwardly, the moment broken.
“Grab the beer from the fridge, and I’ll get the pizza,” he called out as he descended the stairs.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she reached the empty kitchen. Jerking open the refrigerator door, she found a six pack of beer with a bottle missing on the middle shelf. She grabbed it and glanced out toward the front where she could hear Jack talking with whoever had just delivered the pizza.
Izzy paused, wondering if she should meet him in the entryway, but there was the basic fact that they’d avoided discussing—nobody could know they were friends. Jack might act lik
e it was no big deal for them to hang out, but she knew better. Of course, when it came down to it, she’d be the one who paid the price for their friendship.
She heard the door close and Jack’s footsteps in the hall. His head popped around the corner. “What are you waiting for? We’ve only got a few more minutes.”
“For what?” she asked, a little exasperated with the secret he wouldn’t share.
“Patience, Dalton,” he teased. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Jack didn’t like that she was scared of anyone seeing them together. If he was being brutally honest, he also didn’t like that she refused to admit to anything other than platonic feelings. Yes, the risk might be on her side, he was more than ready to admit that, but what she didn’t know was the lengths he’d go to protect her. He’d never thought of himself as particularly protective, but there was something about her that made him want to be better.
“This is the strangest non date I’ve ever been on,” Izzy grumbled next to him as they walked down the gravel path. “You won’t even tell me where we’re going.”
“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” Also, he was suddenly afraid that she’d be disappointed. This was one of his favorite spots to hang out, but when it came down to it, he didn’t know her all that well. He wanted to change that, but they had to start somewhere and he’d figured that the best way would be to give her something close to his heart.
What he hadn’t anticipated was how much putting himself out there sucked, especially when she kept pulling the just-friends card.
“I’m glad I changed,” she observed as the incline of the path grew steeper. “This would be a nightmare in heels.”
Jack glanced over at her—she’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt, an outfit almost identical to his, but he couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric clung to her slender curves. He wanted to tell her she looked more like her like this, and also that she looked beautiful, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.