Before he can say anything else, the girls return to the living room, dragging my suitcases behind them. We gather our pizza feast leftovers and toss them in the trash chute out in the hallway. While MacKenna and Marigold remain behind to tidy up as much as they can, Oliver and I make a couple of trips to my Cherokee with her things. Done loading the SUV, we lock her apartment door behind us. Fat lot of good that will do. The wood's just as flimsy as the one it replaced. But mentioning it will just upset MacKenna, so I don't.
After the girls hug and say goodbye, MacKenna and I climb into the SUV. With all the lifting and carrying, my shoulder's throbbing. I'll have to pop a couple of ibuprofens as soon as I get home.
MacKenna's silence during the ride is deafening. I have to get her out of her head. So I bring up a topic that has nothing to do with her. "So, Marigold and Oliver, huh? Who knew?"
"Yeah." Rather than look at me, she stares out the window.
I should leave her alone. She needs to process what's happened. Except, I can't. "Cat got your tongue?"
She fights to put on a smile. "I'm trying to figure out what to do next."
I squeeze her hand. "Everything will be all right. You'll see. You have a place to stay, and soon a car to drive."
"For now. Eventually, I'll need to find a place of my own and get my car fixed."
"There's a mechanic who works wonders with some of the players' cars. He tricks them out. That kind of thing."
She jerks away her hand, and stares straight ahead. "I don't need someone who tricks cars, but a mechanic who fixes them."
"He does that too. I can have your car towed to his place of business. He can call you with an estimate."
She heaves out a sigh and rests back against the headrest. "I just hope it's not too expensive."
"I can—"
She turns toward me. "No. You cannot pay for it, Ty."
"I was going to say, I can float you a loan, and you pay me back when you can."
She shakes her head. "I don't know if I can accept any more from you. You're already putting me up at your house. I can't very well owe you money for the car repair, as well."
"It's a loan, MacKenna. That's what friends do."
"It's that what I am to you? A friend?"
"Yes." I squeeze her hand again, bring it to my lips and kiss it. In truth, she's a hell more than than a friend. But what she is exactly, I don't have a clue.
Once we arrive home, we carry her pitifully few belongings to her bedroom—a couple of boxes filled with books, suitcases stuffed with clothes and things. Knowing last thing she wants is my help, I stand by while she unpacks and sets out her belongings in the closet and around the room.
"If you need more hangers, let me know."
"Thanks, but I brought enough with me."
Strangely enough, she doesn't unpack a picture frame of her family. And other than a Winnie the Pooh, there's not a single memento from her childhood. She has a father and a mother. From what Oliver revealed, they seemed a pretty tight knit family during the time he'd known them. Did they have a falling out?
Done, she zips up the bags and returns them to me. "Thanks."
"Anytime." Wanting to stay with her a little bit longer, I ask, "You want something to eat or drink? I can whip something up."
She sends me a patient smile. "No thanks. Still full from the pizza."
"I'll just go, then." Dragging my feet all the way, I walk toward the door. Once I reach it, I turn back around. "If you need anything, anything at all—"
She steps forward until she's standing right next to me. Dark shadows mar the skin under her eyes. Clearly she needs her rest. "I'm okay, Ty. Thanks."
As soon as I step into the hallway, she shuts the door. Can't blame her. After what she's gone through in the last couple of days, she probably needs to regroup. Sometimes solitude helps you do that.
After I stash the empty suitcases in my bedroom closet, I wander through the house making sure each window and door is closed tight, and the alarm's set. Satisfied the house's as safe as it can be, I head for my room and a quick shower. It'll be lonely tonight without her in my bed. I'll miss her curvy ass snuggled against my groin, her luscious tits pressed against my hand. Heaving out a hard sigh, I slip into a pair of sweat pants and slide into bed.
Sleep does not come easy, but finally I doze off. Some time later, I'm awakened by the rustle of my sheets and MacKenna slipping into bed with me.
I breathe out a soft sigh. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not." I can't take advantage of her, not when she's hurting so much. So I merely put my arm around her and pull her close. "Go to sleep."
She turns over and kisses my cheek. "You're very sweet, Ty."
My lips curve up in a grin. "Don't tell anybody, will you? I have a reputation to protect."
"Your secret is safe with me." She swivels back around, shimmies her ass close to my private bits, and breathes out a soft sigh. And in no time at all, she's fast asleep.
That makes one of us, because with her luscious ass pressed against my prick, fat chance I'll do the same.
Chapter 18
MacKenna
MONDAY MORNING, I'm snuggled against Ty when my cell rings. Darn it. I'd left it behind in my room. I crawl out of the warm and cozy cocoon, and mad dash it back to my room.
All groggy voice, I answer. "Hello."
"Good morning." It's Oliver. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. I was up doing . . . stuff."
"Oookay."
I can hear the smile on his face. Oh, God. Now he's probably thinking I was doing it with Ty.
"Just wanted you to know your car will be delivered in the next hour or so. Sorry for the delay, but there was a problem last night."
"No worries. Thanks. Hopefully, I won't need it that long."
"What do you mean?"
"Ty's having my car towed to a repair shop. With any luck, I'll get it back by the end of the week."
"Sounds good. But you can keep the leased one as long as you want."
"Thanks, but I'd rather not impose on you."
"It's not an imposition."
After hanging up, I dress quickly. By the time I'm done, the scent of bacon and coffee tells me Ty's busy in the kitchen whipping up some breakfast.
Determined to adopt a sunnier frame of mind today, I breeze into the kitchen with a smile on my face. "Good morning."
"Morning." He throws over his shoulder, all his attention on the bacon on the stove. Which gives me the chance to ogle him. He's looking particularly delicious this morning. His massive muscular back narrows down to a V. The sweat pants ripple across his mighty fine ass. God, even his feet are gorgeous.
Without turning around, he says, "Like what you see?"
"What?" My cheeks flame. How does he know I'm salivating over him.
"You're ogling my ass."
Busted. "I am not."
He drops the bacon on a couple of paper towels to drain, and turns off the stove. And then he swivels toward me. "Admit it. You lust after my body."
"You're so . . ."
"Hot? Ripped? Built?" With every word, he takes a step toward me.
"Arrogant!"
He smirks. "Yeah, that too." He continues walking until my back's flushed against the refrigerator. He's hard all over, including his cock that he grinds against my stomach.
My skin flushes from the contact, and my breath shorts. Still, I find the breath to ask, "Shouldn't your shoulder be in that brace?"
"I'll put it on after I dress." He leans over and kisses, suckles my neck.
I get goosebumps all over. "Wh-what's wrong with your shoulder?"
"A small tear in my rotator cuff."
"So you can't play?"
He stops nibbling on my neck and returns to the stove. "That's right."
Ooh. Sore subject. Not a surprise. Football's everything to him. But who's taking his place? The curious reporter in me demands I find out more.
"So who's playing quarterback?"
"Pedro Santiago. It's temporary. I'll be back in three weeks." He bites out.
There's a hint of worry in his voice. But not alarm. Still. "Of course you will. You're the best quarterback in the league."
"Oh, and how do you know that?" He rests the tongs on the silicone pad on the counter and turns back to me.
"Research, of course. You have a 94.5 quarterback rating, thrown twelve touchdowns and run one in, and passed for over 2,500 yards. And it's only the eighth game of the season."
His lopsided grin makes an appearance. "Look at you."
"What?"
"Spitting out stats like a regular sports reporter." He curls an arm around my waist, pulls me against him and kisses me. Predictably, I melt.
Once we come up for air, I nudge him out of the way. "I'll finish breakfast."
"I'll set the table." He busies himself setting two plates on the kitchen island and pouring glasses of orange juice while I finish with the bacon. When I scramble a couple of eggs with cheese, he drops some bread in the toaster.
"We make a great team."
I have to agree. You'd think we'd been making breakfast forever. Once the bacon and eggs are done and plated, we sit on stools next to the kitchen island and wolf down the food, washing down everything with coffee and the OJ.
I grin at him. "You'd think we were hungry or something."
"Yeah," he says, mopping up the rest of his egg with a piece of toast. "Who was on the phone?"
"Oliver. He was calling about the car. It should be here soon."
No sooner do I finish saying that than Ty's kitchen phone rings. He picks it up. "Hello?"
"Uh huh." He covers the mouthpiece. "It's the guard from the front gate. Your car's here."
"That's great."
"Yes. I have a guest staying here. Let him through." A strange look rolls over his face.
"What's wrong?"
"The car's for a Ms. Peters?"
Oliver didn't know I'd changed my name. "That's my real name. Perkins is my newspaper name."
"Oh. Okay."
After I sign for the car, I stroll back to the kitchen where Ty's loading the dishwasher. "Here. Let me do that."
"I'm almost done." Drying his hands on a kitchen towel, he turns back to me. "Why do you write under a different name?"
"My father insisted. He wasn't too keen on me using our family name."
He folds and rehangs the towel on the stove door. "I noticed you don't have any pictures of them. Did you have a falling out?"
I shrug. "Not a falling out exactly. More of a distancing. They're pretty conservative people. Very religious as well. They wanted me to stay in Iowa and marry a farmer, not run off to the big bad city to become a journalist. So, as a compromise, I chose a different professional name." This is the story I've handed out to anyone who needed to know, like Mr. Bartlett. The truth is quite different, of course. I'd changed my name so Tommy Hawkins could not find me. That hadn't worked out. He found me anyway. "They thought I was pretty wild."
He snorts. "You wild? Do they even know you?"
I smile. "You have to see it from their point of view. They thought me coming to Chicago to study journalism and work for a newspaper in a big city was wicked and immoral."
He folds those massive arms of his against his chest and leans against the kitchen counter behind him. "Whatever would they think of you living with me?"
That gets my hackles up. "I'm not living with you. I'm staying here temporarily."
"MacKenna, you have nowhere to live. Apartments in Chicago are pretty pricey. Stay with me." He waves his good arm around the house. "You have to admit, these are pretty sweet digs. And you can save your money so you can afford a nice apartment in six months or so."
"Sorry, but that's not going to happen. I plan to be out of your hair as soon as I can."
He glances at the kitchen clock "We can talk more later. Right now, I gotta go to work." Before he leaves, he rummages in one of the kitchen drawers, pulls out a remote and hands it to me. "Here."
"What is it?"
"The garage opener. You'll need it to open the door." He slides his key ring from the hook on the wall and removes a key. "And here's the front door key."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." Turning on his heel, he heads toward his room before I have a chance to say anything else.
Not that I want to. I can't argue about this any more. I'll do what I need to do, and, once I've found a new place to live, I'll tell him. I return to my room only long enough to grab my purse and my coat and head out in my new car. I hadn't noticed the make or model when I signed the papers. I was in too much of a hurry to do so. The darn thing's a Mercedes Benz C300 Sedan. Given my farm upbringing, I can drive anything from a tractor to a caterpillar, but I must admit I've never ridden, much less driven, a ride as luxurious as this. With its heated leather seats, GPS and satellite radio, it's a pretty sweet ride. A girl could get used to this.
I back out of the driveway and head toward the gate. But before I can exit, the guard stops me. A different one than the night before. Same gray uniform though.
As I roll down my window, he doffs his cap. "Ms. Peters, I presume."
"Yes. Anything wrong?"
"No. Just wanted to let you know if you're going to be staying in Mr. Mathews' house, you will need to register the car. We require it of all our residents." He hands me a sheet of paper and a booklet entitled "Windhaven Gated Community Regulations."
"Oh, okay. I'll let Mr. Mathews know. Thank you."
Glad to know they're so thorough with their security. I laugh at my change of heart. Barely a few days ago, I resented all the security. But now, that my apartment has been broken into, I'm sure glad they have such tight measures even if I won't be staying here this long.
As it turns out, I beat everyone to work. Well, almost everyone. Following the scent of coffee, I head to the kitchen where I find Dotty pouring a cup of java. Her eyebrows climb as she spots me. "You're here early."
"I thought I'd get an early start and beat the traffic."
"No such thing in Chicago. Rush hour traffic starts before five in the morning."
"Ain't that the truth?"
"I heard about your apartment break in. I'm sorry."
Wow. Word travels fast. "How did you find out?"
"Mr. Bartlett called me last night. He needed the insurance information so he could put in a claim for a new laptop. In the meantime, we have an old one you can use. It doesn't have all the bells and whistles, but it will do until we get yours replaced."
"Oh." Along with being the office receptionist, Dotty functions as our office manager. We'd be totally lost without her.
She pours another cup of the life affirming beverage and hands it to me. "So, how are you doing?"
I pour cream and low cal sweetener into it and take a seat across the small table from her. "Okay, I guess."
"Got a place to stay?"
"I moved in with a friend." Even to my ears, my voice sounds tight.
"Tight quarters?"
"No. Just the opposite."
"Bad neighborhood?"
"It's an exclusive, gated community."
She frowns, and then a light dawns in her eyes. "Oh. Ty Mathews?"
"Uh-huh." My cheeks heat up. "Please don't tell Mr. Bartlett. He'd blow a gasket."
"So why do you have a problem? Mr. Mathews isn't asking for something in return, is he?" Her brows thunder down.
"Something in return?" For a second, I don't get her meaning. And then a light bulb goes off. "Oh, gosh. No. Nothing like that. He's a perfect gentleman." Well, except when we're in bed, and then he's a total animal. But then I love that side of him. "A total sweetheart."
"Is he?" A crooked smile pops up on her lips.
Shoot. "Forget I said that, will you?"
Her brow scrunches. "Why?"
"He doesn't want anyone to know that he's, umm."
"Sweet."
"
Yes."
She turns an imaginary key in her lips. "Don't worry. Mum's the word."
"Thank you."
She takes a sip of coffee. "So, if the place's great and he's a sweetheart, what's the problem?"
"I'm writing an article about him, so I don't want things to get too cozy between us. Better we maintain a professional distance between us. You get that, don't you?"
"Absolutely." She grabs a yogurt from the fridge. "Want one? I brought extras."
"No thanks." I pat my stomach. "Ate a big breakfast."
Sitting back down, she tears the lid off the container. "So what are you doing to do?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I can't afford a good place to live. And I can't go back to my apartment." Just the thought of going back makes me shudder. "I'll never feel safe there again."
She covers my restless hand with her own. "Maybe I can help."
"You can?"
"Yes. A friend of mine owns a unit in my building. Every year, she travels to Florida in the fall and returns in the spring. She usually sublets it, and had someone all lined up. But at the last minute, the arrangement fell through."
"You think she'd sublet it to me?"
"Absolutely. Especially since I'll vouch for you. Nice neighborhood. Not too far from here. Secured building with a doorman and everything."
"Yeah?"
"She doesn't charge much for rent. Six hundred a month."
My eyes widen. "Six hundred? That's less than half what I'm paying now."
"She was married to a plastic surgeon with a very lucrative practice, so money's not an issue for her. She's more concerned about having someone there she can trust."
"But if she's not concerned about money, why is she subletting it at all?"
"She doesn't like to leave it vacant in case something happens to the unit. Frozen pipes, that kind of thing." She pauses for a moment. "And it does come with a dog."
"A dog?"
"Yeah. A Labrador Retriever. Her grandkids suffer from allergies so she can't take him to Florida when she visits her son. Have you ever owned one?"
"Yes. I grew up with one." When I turned seven, I was given my own to raise—a female Collie who followed me everywhere I went. She'd gone missing a week before my sister had been kidnapped. Later on we'd found the Collie's body in a creek. She'd been strangled. Even though it couldn't be proved, I always suspected Tommy Hawkins of the crime. Months after it happened, my parents encouraged me to adopt another dog, but I didn't have the heart.
Dirty Filthy Boy (Chicago Outlaws #1) Page 13