One-Timer (The Baltimore Banners Book 9)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She was too late. Slinky uttered a quick squeak and nipped at his lip. The brick wall let out a curse as Slinky scrambled from his hand and scurried down his leg. Maggie dove to the floor and grabbed her leash, catching her before she could run away.

  She rolled to her back and looked up, then thought that maybe Slinky had the right idea.

  Maybe they should both run away.

  Because the brick wall was no longer smiling. In fact, he looked like he was ready to go into full-tank mode and plow over everyone in his way. Maggie swallowed a gulp and lowered her eyes.

  That was when she saw it. Right there, in big bold blue letters printed across the front of his gray sweatshirt: Property of The Baltimore Banners.

  And now she knew exactly who the brick wall was: Dillon Frayser, her prospective student.

  Yeah, it was probably a good thing she had convinced herself she didn’t need the money, because there was no way he’d hire her now.

  Chapter Two

  Dillon stared at the woman sprawled on the floor in front of him and wondered if this was what it was like to have women falling at your feet. If it was, he wanted no parts of it.

  At least, not with this particular woman. Or maybe she was a girl because she certainly looked young. In her teens maybe? It was hard to tell, with her brown hair falling into her face and her eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. Not completely hidden: he had no problem seeing the flash of fire in those brown eyes. Then she blinked and the fire was gone, replaced by—he wasn’t sure. Impatience? Irritation? Resignation?

  He should probably help her up, instead of staring at her like she had lost her mind. Dillon leaned down, extending his hand, then snatched it back when the small animal turned toward him. “That thing doesn’t have rabies, does it?”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  Dillon was fairly sure she didn’t mean to say that quite as loud as she did. A bright flush exploded on her cheeks and she mumbled something else, too low to hear. He frowned and held his hand out again, still keeping an eye on the ferret in case the thing wanted to come back for seconds. No, make that thirds.

  The girl frowned, eyeing his outstretched hand like it was a snake. He frowned right back, silently daring her to refuse his help. She exhaled with enough force to blow the hair out of her face then put her free hand in his. Her skin was surprisingly warm, her fingers surprisingly fragile. A jolt shot up his arm at the contact. His eyes shot to hers and he wondered if she felt it, too. Probably not, since she was more focused on getting to her feet while cradling the pesky ferret against her chest.

  And she didn’t even bother to say ‘thank you’, either. She just brushed off her bottom and the backs of her legs then moved past him to retrieve the backpack she had dropped. She picked it up and tossed it on the chair with a heavy thud, only it immediately fell back to the floor with an even heavier thud.

  “Really? Really?” She blew the hair from her face again and planted one hand on her hip, eyeing the backpack with distaste. Dillon wondered if she was expecting it to answer back because she just stood there, watching it.

  And kept on watching it.

  Dillon moved past her, leaning down to pick it up.

  “Be careful. All that higher learning might be a little too heavy for you.”

  “Excuse me?” He flashed her a disbelieving look, one eyebrow cocked in her direction. Why the hell would she say something like that? She didn’t answer him, just stared at him, like she was waiting for…something.

  He grabbed the pack and tossed it back on the chair with a little more force than necessary. At least the damn thing stayed put, because wouldn’t that have been completely embarrassing if it hadn’t? He pinned her with another glare when she didn’t say anything else. “You’re welcome.”

  The girl looked away, another blush staining her cheeks. She pulled something from one of the pockets of her jacket and held it out to the animal cradled against her chest. The thing’s teeth closed around the treat then disappeared into another large pocket of her leather coat. Too bad. He’d been kind of hoping it would have bit her like it bit him.

  She finally faced him, her gaze darting to his for a brief second before focusing on something behind him. “Thank you.”

  “What?” Dillon held one hand up to his ear and leaned forward. “What was that? I don’t think I heard you.”

  “I said ‘thank you’. Cripes.”

  “Hm.” Yeah, he heard her the first time. But he also got a small sliver of satisfaction at making her repeat it, which was completely out of character for him. Good thing his family wasn’t there to see him because he’d never live it down.

  “You, uh—” The girl cleared her throat and held something out to him. “Your lip is bleeding.”

  Dillon wiped the back of his hand across his mouth then looked down at it. Sure enough, a small streak of blood smeared his knuckles. He wiped his hand on his jeans then ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Nothing felt swollen and nothing stung so he’d survive.

  Unless the thing really did have rabies. Could that be why the girl was staring at him? No, not at him: at his mouth. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip one more time. Sure enough, her gaze was fixed on his mouth and her cheeks flushed again.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  “What?” Her head snapped up. “I wasn’t staring.”

  “Yeah you were.”

  “No. I wasn’t.”

  “Are you sure I’m not going to get rabies from that rat?”

  “Slinky is not a rat. And she’s had all her shots, which is probably more than I can say for you.”

  “Really? Then why are you staring at me?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Yeah you were. Aren’t you a little young to be staring? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Definitely not an apology, not with the heavy sarcasm lacing the two words. And she wasn’t asking a question, either, despite how the words came out. Brown eyes flashed with impatience as her chin tilted up a notch in a classic move of stubbornness.

  “You heard me. Aren’t you a little young—”

  “Not as young as you think.”

  Dillon rolled his eyes. Sure she wasn’t. But he wasn’t going to argue with her, not here. Not anywhere. He was supposed to meet the tutor Professor Haslup had arranged for him—except practice ran late, which meant Dillon was late for the appointment.

  He pushed all thoughts of the girl from his mind and glanced around the small coffee shop. It wasn’t crowded, not like he had been afraid of. That was probably why Professor Haslup had suggested it, knowing that Dillon wanted this whole mess to be low-key.

  Actually, Dillon wanted the whole mess to just go away. Too bad it was too late for that to happen.

  He scanned the coffee shop one more time, his gaze resting on each of the patrons. None of them looked old enough to be a chemistry tutor. And none of them even resembled what he imagined a tutor to look like.

  He glanced at his watch then sighed. Whoever he was supposed to meet was long gone, which meant he’d have to call and reschedule. Not what he needed, not with their upcoming road schedule.

  “Damn.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about, kiddo.”

  “Kiddo?” The girl snorted then reached behind her, doing something with her hair. He had no idea what because it looked just as sloppy when she finished as it had before she started: long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail that did nothing to contain the loose strands falling in her eyes and around her face.

  She blew the loose strands away then jammed her hands into the pockets of her oversized jacket. “So who are you looking for?”

  “Nobody. They must have left.”

  “Who?”

  “I told you: nobody.”

  “Well who was it? Maybe I know them.”

  Somehow he doubted that. He watched her for a few seconds then shrugged. What
was the harm in letting the girl know? It wasn’t like she would know who he was talking about. And it wasn’t like he’d ever see her again anyway.

  “I was supposed to meet a Chem tutor here but I guess he left.”

  Her eyebrows lifted behind her glasses, making him think of an owl. “He?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hm.” She watched him, a thoughtful expression on her face that he didn’t understand. “Wonder why he would leave if you were supposed to meet him here.”

  “Probably because I was late.”

  “You always late for meetings?”

  “No.” Was she always this annoying? “And why do you even care?”

  “Because I hate wasting time on people who can’t bother to show up when they’re supposed to.”

  “Yeah? Then I guess it’s a good thing this doesn’t even concern you, huh?”

  “Actually, it does.”

  “What? Yeah, sure it does.”

  “Yeah, it really does.” She took a step toward him, a certain smugness in her eyes as she extended one hand. “I’m the guy you’re looking for. You know? The tutor?”

  Dillon glanced at her small hand, the words not quite making sense. His gaze drifted up, past her bulky sweatshirt and old oversized jacket, past her stubborn chin and pursed lips, to the brown eyes staring at him from behind wire-rimmed glasses. The smugness was still there—and so was amusement.

  Dillon narrowed his own eyes and glanced back at her outstretched hand. “No. Freaking. Way.”

  Chapter Three

  No freaking way.

  Dillon stared at the paper in front of him, the questions and formulas spinning and blurring. None of it made sense. It was like every single brain cell he possessed was on permanent vacation. They just up and left, abandoning him when he needed it the most.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Maybe, if he just cleared his mind, everything would fall into place.

  One more deep breath then he slowly opened his eyes, looking back down.

  Nothing had changed.

  There was no freaking way he’d be able to do this. None. And he felt like an idiot because of it.

  Correction. He felt like an even bigger idiot. Yeah, because making an ass out of himself yesterday wasn’t bad enough. Now he wasn’t just going to look like an ass, he was going to look like a stupid ass. How the hell could he have known that the girl was actually his tutor? She didn’t look old enough to vote, let alone old enough to be tutoring anyone. In any subject.

  And he had been shocked enough to make the mistake of saying that out loud. Definitely not the smartest thing he had ever done. Which made him wonder why he hired her, especially when she told him he didn’t have to.

  Almost like part of her was hoping he wouldn’t.

  So why did he?

  The answer to that was easy enough: he had waited too long. He couldn’t waste any more time looking for someone else, not when he had dragged his feet until the very last minute before making his final decision to actually follow-through with what he wanted to do.

  “Hey, Frayser. What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

  Dillon looked up in time to see two of his teammates heading his way: Brad Goodrich and Harland Day. He swallowed his groan and quickly shoved the papers into his gear bag. Brad wasn’t too bad, kind of quiet and serious. But Harland was too loud and obnoxious, especially recently. The last thing he needed was for Harland to see what he was working on. He’d never live it down.

  “Just looking at something.”

  “What?”

  “Uh, some play notes, that’s all.” Dillon pulled the zipper closed on the bag and shoved it under the bench. Harland would have to physically move Dillon out of the way if he wanted to get to it.

  But Harland didn’t seem interested. He mumbled something under his breath and dropped to the bench next to Dillon. “You’re too serious. You need to lighten up.”

  “Okay.” Dillon grabbed his stick and a roll of tape, hoping Harland would take the hint and go somewhere else. He didn’t, which made Dillon briefly consider following Brad to wherever he was going. But that wouldn’t work, not this close to game time. Brad was probably heading off to do his freaky goalie-prep rituals. Nobody bothered the goalies when they were prepping for games.

  “What are you doing after the game?”

  “I don’t know. Heading home, I guess.”

  “You should come out with us.”

  Dillon ripped the tape from the roll and smoothed it over the blade of the stick. He didn’t want to look at Harland, worried that he wouldn’t be able to hide his surprise. Since when did Harland invite him anywhere?

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “No maybes. You should. You’re too fucking serious all the time. And too intense. You need to lighten up.”

  “Okay.” He risked a sideways glance and noticed Harland’s gaze was fixed on something across the locker room. Dillon shifted on the bench, following the man’s gaze and trying not to be obvious about it. Kenny Haskell and Mat Herron were in the corner, joking about something.

  “So you’re going, right?”

  “I don’t—” Dillon caught the flash of irritation in Harland’s gaze. “Yeah, sure. Maybe. Who all’s going?”

  “Just us cool kids. You know, all the single guys.”

  Which was more than half the team, unless Harland was counting the guys with girlfriends instead of wives. He glanced across the room then looked back down, wondering what he had missed in the whole team dynamics thing. Obviously something. He just didn’t know what.

  “So, like who?”

  “Me. You. Brad. Maybe Jens and Murdoch. I haven’t talked to Ethan yet.”

  “Kenny going?”

  Harland snorted and looked away, but not before Dillon noticed the muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. “Hell no, he’s not going. Too busy with his girlfriend to worry about anyone else.”

  “Oh.” Dillon tapped the blade of his stick against the rubber floor then twirled it in his hand. “Uh, didn’t she get sick or have an accident or something?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Her freak sister tried to kill her. Makes me glad I didn’t take her up on her offer.”

  “Who’s offer? Kenny’s girlfriend?”

  “No. The sister. A wild one, no doubt about that. Like I said, good thing I didn’t do her since she turned out to be such a freak.”

  “Nice talk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dillon shook his head, not surprised he had to explain it. “What would you do if someone said that about your sister?”

  “I don’t have a sister.”

  “That’s not the point. You don’t go talking about women that way. Didn’t your father teach you anything?”

  A shadow crossed his eyes, there and gone in a flash. “My father. Yeah, there’s a joke for you. My father didn’t teach me shit. Now are you going to stop being so damned uptight and go out with us? Loosen up a little?”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you lately? You and Kenny have a squabble?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Dillon snapped his mouth closed, deciding not to say anything else. He had no idea what was going on and he didn’t want to know. Not really. It didn’t help that everything he said only seemed to irritate the other man more.

  “So are you going or what?”

  Dillon should say no. He wasn’t much into the social scene—at least, not with the guys like Harland, who thought partying and getting lucky was just another sport. He didn’t mind being by himself, didn’t mind quiet and solitude. Harland wasn’t the only one who called him intense, a lot of the guys did. But Dillon wasn’t intense, he was just quiet. And focused.

  Except, apparently, when it came to the one course he needed to finish to get his degree. And wouldn’t the guys just crack up over the fact that Dillon was still going for his degree? He couldn’t let that slip, not unless he wanted to be harassed un
til the season ended in four months.

  And suddenly going out seemed like just the thing to do. Maybe getting out would be the break he needed and help him focus. So what if the logic didn’t make sense?

  And so what if he saw it for exactly what it was: a chance to put off completing his ‘homework’ so his tutor could gauge where he was and come up with a study plan. Yeah, because feeling stupid wasn’t bad enough. Now he had to add being embarrassed by a girl to it.

  “Yeah. Sure. Count me in.”

  “Excellent! It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Break you out of that damn shell you live in.”

  “I don’t live in a shell.” But his words were lost in the loud conversation around them as Harland pushed off the bench and walked away. Dillon followed his progress through the locker room, wondering if maybe he hadn’t made a mistake by agreeing to go.

  Well, he could always change his mind before they left. He probably would change his mind.

  He sighed and reached for the gear bag, pulling it out and unzipping it to retrieve his homework.

  Homework. He still couldn’t believe it. Everyone else around him was relaxing and getting ready for the game and he was sitting there doing homework.

  Dillon stared down at the paper without seeing it, frustration building deep in his chest. His hand fisted around the paper, crumpling it into a ball. Screw it. He didn’t need homework. What he needed was to loosen up. Harland was right, he was too uptight all the time.

  He pushed off the bench and made his way across the room, tossing the crumpled paper into the trash can.

  “Hey Harland, wait up.”

  Chapter Four

  Maggie looked down at the paper. She blinked then looked up. Blinked and looked back down. She was blinking so much she was giving herself a headache.

  “It’s blank.”

  “No shit.” The words were nothing more than a gravelly rumble, spoken so low she could barely hear them. She smoothed the paper out then studied the man sitting across from her.

  He had a serious case of bedhead. Strands of his thick reddish brown hair stuck up here and there, mussed and tousled like he had gone to bed with wet hair then hadn’t bothered to brush it when he woke up this morning. It didn’t help that he kept dragging his hands through it. His eyes—when he had bothered to look at her, which was for all of maybe two seconds—were bloodshot and bleary.