Loving Him Off the Field Read online

“No wonder, if you give up that easily.”

  She quirked one side of her lip up. “Would you rather I jump on your back and ride you to your car like an ox?”

  I’d rather you jumped on my front and rode me in bed.

  Aw, shit. Not right. Not right at all. He stopped, and she kept walking backward, watching him. “Fine. Good.”

  “Good,” she echoed. Then, with a little hitch, she did an abrupt face and jogged to the public parking lot. The massive tote purse thing she had slung over her body bounced against her ass, which was so snugly, perfectly covered in faded denim he couldn’t not watch it until it—and she—disappeared out of sight.

  Killian sighed and waited for the relief to wash over him. But instead, it was annoyance, with a healthy dash of curiosity, that overtook him. No wonder she worked for some nobody blog, or whatever it was. She gave up too fast.

  Which was a good thing, he reminded himself as he followed around the corner to make sure she actually left, and didn’t just wait for him to stop paying attention and double back. He watched her get into a piece of junk car that looked like its primary color was silver duct tape. He held his breath until the engine caught and she pulled out of the parking lot.

  “That was the most bizarre flirting I’ve ever seen.”

  He jolted, then turned to look at Josiah Walker and Stephen Harrison. They stood off to the side, Josiah wearing a raggedy baseball cap, with a backpack slung over his shoulders, holding his road bike. Stephen, arms crossed, keys dangling from one hand.

  “Spying?”

  “No,” the running back said slowly, then pointed down to his bicycle. “This is where I lock up my bike. Always has been. And you two would have noticed us if you hadn’t been caught in your weirdo sexual dance.”

  Stephen smiled and nodded. “It was pretty damn hot, just saying.”

  Killian raised a brow at that.

  Josiah just chuckled and wheeled his bike toward the main road. The man preferred to bike whenever possible. He was one of those environmental guys who got their jollies off on calculating your carbon footprint and stuff. People around town always got a kick to see him pedal past on his way to practice or something.

  Stephen, a mountain of a man who liked to laugh, just smiled quietly and walked toward the parking lot.

  Killian worked in La La Land.

  He ran a hand over his hair, then forced himself to walk back toward the players’ lot. Freckles was none of his business. If she wanted to fail at her job, so be it. The less time he spent arguing with her, the more time he had for himself.

  Even if the arguing was the closest thing to a social life in years.

  Chapter Three

  Aileen dumped her bag on her bed and grinned. God, Killian Reeves was adorable when he was annoyed. Which, from the perma-scowl on his face, she would estimate to be almost always. The guy didn’t have a natural, easygoing personality, that was for sure. Add to it his dislike of reporters and attention, and she had her work cut out for her.

  But today had been a great start. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she reached for it. “Hello?”

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  She bit back a sigh. “Nothing yet, Bobby. You expect me to go out in the fishing boat once and get the whale to just jump into my net?”

  “Don’t be a smartass. No man wants a smart-ass woman.”

  Fortunately for her, she wasn’t running around trying to snag herself a man. “I’ll write that one down in my book of Bobbyisms. Is this all you called me for? To see if I’ve scored yet?”

  “Maybe I missed hearing your acidic little tongue.”

  She hung up. She always did when he got like that. He wouldn’t fire her. She was too valuable. At least for now. Which one of his too-tough-for-fluff male reporters would do the pieces aimed at women for the site? That’s right . . . none of them. So while she went fishing for her white whale, she still had a moment or two of job security.

  Grabbing her laptop, she kicked off her shoes and plopped onto the bed. While the ancient machine decided whether it was worth starting today, she reached in her nightstand and grabbed a handful of Twizzlers.

  Hey, some people kept condoms in the nightstand. She preferred the more logical choice . . . candy. Not like condoms were gonna get used, anyway.

  Candy? Candy would always be useful.

  As the laptop finally breathed to life, she bit off a piece of red yumminess. “Okay, Killian Reeves, let’s start digging.”

  * * *

  Killian let himself into his apartment and closed the door quietly. He loved the ease of renting. He wasn’t a huge proponent of owning massive properties that took a staff to keep up and running, like some of the guys. Not to mention, he was one of the lowest earners on the team. Either way, he preferred the more anonymous life of rentals. But the one downside . . . neighbors.

  His across-the-breezeway neighbor had taken it into her head to “adopt” him. The woman was eighty, if she was a day, and once she found out he was single, had decided to make him her pet project. Which meant she was constantly bringing by food, or a scarf she made, or inviting herself over to watch American Idol, because her TV was “on the fritz,” whatever that meant.

  Mrs. Reynolds was a pushy lady when she wanted to be.

  When he looked out the peephole and didn’t see his not-by-choice adopted grandmother scurrying over, he felt safe to breathe again. Dropping his bag by the door, he flopped onto the couch and grabbed his phone. Hitting his Favorites, then his top contact, he waited for Charlie to answer.

  “Hey, Dad!”

  Just hearing the boyish enthusiasm cheered him immensely. “Hey, bud. How was school?”

  His son groaned. “Art day. I hate art day. I want P.E. Why can’t we have P.E. every day?”

  Killian mentally shuddered. He’d felt the same way about art. All that cutting and pasting and blending colors and making weird-looking pandas out of flour and water . . . no thanks. “Otherwise fun?”

  “I guess.” He could hear a little hitch in his son’s breathing. “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you coming out here soon?”

  He closed his eyes against the wash of pain. “Probably not this month.”

  There was a long stretch of quiet. “Okay,” was his son’s small reply. “Mom wants to say hi.”

  “Hey, Charlie?”

  “Killian,” was the cool, feminine reply.

  Emma, Charlie’s mother. Killian scowled. “He didn’t say good-bye.”

  “He’s tired,” she said simply. “And heartbroken.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  Emma was silent for a moment. He could picture her biting her bottom lip in indecision.

  “Emma.”

  “It’s Donuts with Dads week at school.”

  “Donuts . . . what?” What the hell kind of holiday was this?

  “Donuts with Dads,” she repeated again slowly. “Where the fathers come in early in the morning with their kids and eat donuts and drink orange juice and the kids get to show off their dads to the other kids and feel special.”

  Gut punch. “Emma, I—”

  “I already explained,” she said. There was no heat in her voice, no venom. They’d made the choice together to keep apart as much as possible. So that people wouldn’t put together Charlie’s parents and realize who had made the awesome little kid. For his own good. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less. But I’m going in your place.”

  “What, there’s no Munchies with Moms day?”

  “There’s a mother’s tea,” she said primly. “But a bunch of single moms were talking and decided to support our kids the only way we know how. So we’re wearing suits and fake mustaches and coming for donuts on Friday.”

  His lips twitched as he pictured the gorgeous blonde bombshell wearing a fake mustache. “That’s . . . original.”

  “It’s what single moms do.” When he sucked in a br
eath, she sighed. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

  He cleared his throat. “So, how’s the real estate business running?”

  She huffed. “Picking back up. The market’s making a steady climb, so things are getting better. You can stop the extra payments . . . not that I needed them to begin with.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever I can,” he said, meaning it. He couldn’t be there for every day of Charlie’s life, so he was going to make damn sure he and his mother never suffered in any other way. He paid the agreed upon child support without hesitation. It was enough for any normal single mom to survive on without needing a job. But when her real estate business plummeted with the down market right after Charlie was born, he’d added additional payments to get them over the hump. That, on his kicker’s salary, hadn’t been as easy. But he’d never begrudged her the money.

  Emma was a good mom, and she made his life easier by always keeping communication open with Charlie, not playing stupid custody games, and agreeing to their necessary arrangement. She might be flakey from time to time, but not when it came to their son.

  If it weren’t for their unfortunate start, things might have been different between them. Not that they would have been together now. There’d been no true spark. They’d been convenient for each other, in different ways, which had been enough. Liking each other had been a bonus.

  And then it had all gone to hell.

  “So how’s football treating you?”

  “A game’s a game.”

  She snorted. “You could try taking it seriously.”

  “They pay me money to walk out, kick a ball, and walk back. It’s not brain surgery. I’m not vaccinating orphans in Africa, Em.”

  “You’re providing for Charlie’s future. So keep kicking that ball as long as you can.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” They spoke a few more minutes, then he hung up. So life was complicated. He didn’t get to see his son as often as he wanted thanks to his job, the pressure was piling on, and he had a freckled reporter who gave up too easily looking for a story.

  At least he didn’t have to make weird-looking pandas in art class anymore.

  * * *

  “Let me get this straight. You can put how many marshmallows in your mouth at once?”

  Michael Lambert grinned and leaned against the concrete wall outside the locker room. “Twenty-two.”

  “There’s no way.” Aileen shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it, baby.” He turned to Stephen, who walked out the door behind them. “Am I lying, or what?”

  “Twenty-two.” Stephen stopped and graced Aileen with a wide smile. “Must be talking about marshmallows. It’s true, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  She started to ask another completely stupid question when the real object of her thoughts walked out of the locker room. He caught sight of her from the corner of his eye, halted, and glared at her.

  She ignored him. “Can you say ‘Fluffy bunny’ with all those in there?”

  Michael snorted and shook his head. “Never tried.”

  “That’s the whole point!”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She skimmed her gaze to Killian for a moment, then back to Michael and Stephen. “Just talking to my new friends, Michael and Stephen. Maybe you three have met before?”

  “Yup.” Michael grinned at Killian—more like grinned down at Killian—and waved a finger between himself and Aileen. “New friends.”

  He scowled and slowly walked away. Aileen bit down on the grin threatening to spread across her face.

  Leaning in a little, she asked in a lower voice, “Okay, Michael, but really. Here’s the important question. I’ve just got to know . . .”

  He bent over her to hear better. Michael was so close, she could smell the soap from his after-practice shower. From the corner of her eye, she saw Killian completely stop, back turned, waiting to hear what she would ask.

  “Twenty-two marshmallows? That’s a lie, right?”

  Michael chuckled. “No lie.”

  “I’m gonna make you prove it.”

  Killian’s disgusted snort as he walked away was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She couldn’t hold back the laughter.

  Michael’s eyebrow winged up. “Something funny about marshmallows?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Sorry. I have a confession. I was mostly using you—both of you—to get under Killian Reeves’ skin.”

  Stephen blinked in disbelief. “Reeves? As in, silent as a monk Reeves?”

  “One in the same.” She stretched her neck. “It was a good opening shot. Sorry I used you.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Honey, the day I’m sorry for a woman using me for a few minutes of conversation is the day I’m six feet under. No problem here.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Well. Maybe you wouldn’t mind doing your marshmallow trick for me on camera? I could do some segment like . . .” She flexed her fingers and thought for a moment. “Hidden talents. Stephen, any tricks? Or maybe someone on the team knows how to juggle, or can speak backward or something.”

  “Nobody wants to see me crush beer cans,” Stephen said easily.

  “Josiah Walker knows some bike tricks,” Michael offered.

  “Perfect!” She held out a hand, hoping for a truce, and felt shocked when Michael pulled her to the side in a half hug. The large, beefy arm wrapped around her shoulders might have felt intimidating to some, but to her, it was a comfort. “Thanks for not being offended.”

  “Please. If someone can get into that thick skull of his, it’ll be totally worth it.”

  Stephen grinned in total agreement.

  * * *

  The next time Aileen saw Killian, he was walking into the weight room. She focused all her efforts on watching Josiah Walker explain the bike he rode to practice daily, and why, and then he explained a few of the tricks he could do. Nothing intense, he promised, as he rather happened to like his job and would hate to be sidelined for a season with a broken elbow from a trick gone wrong. But a life without risk . . .

  Killian walked past, halted, then turned around and approached. She could practically feel him glowering.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up at him innocently, as if she’d just noticed his presence. “I’m speaking to a potential interviewee. Can I help you?”

  He glared at Josiah. “What’s she asking about me?”

  Josiah smirked. “She hasn’t said your name once, man. Quit being paranoid. Aileen’s cool.”

  He looked taken aback at that, though she wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she hadn’t asked about him, or that someone thought she was cool.

  Probably both, in his mind.

  He hitched his gym bag higher over his shoulder. “Yeah, well . . . she’s . . . watch out.” He shook his head and walked toward the entrance for the locker room.

  “Grouchy, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “You’ve gotten under his skin, that’s for sure.” Josiah shook his head. “I can’t believe he even stopped to talk to you. He’s never looked twice at a reporter before.”

  “Must be my stunning good looks,” Aileen said sarcastically, jotting down a few last-minute notes on Josiah’s Hidden Talents segment, as well as a potential one on his thoughts about alternative commuting in the city.

  He didn’t laugh, like she’d meant him to, so she glanced up. He was watching her oddly, like maybe judging how serious she was.

  “Oh, come on, Josiah. That was a joke.” She punched him in the arm lightly—not that she thought she could hurt him, but why risk a million-dollar receiving arm? “Got any leads on other hidden talents?”

  Josiah’s slow grin put her on alert. With his syrupy drawl thicker than usual, he said, “I know a guy who can kick a ball through a field goal at sixty yards.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I said hidden talent. Pretty sure that one gets displayed on a regular basis. And
this isn’t about him.”

  He stared at her pointedly. “Isn’t it?”

  * * *

  Killian didn’t believe for a second Freckles had been oblivious to him. He waited until Josiah entered the weight room before he ambushed him. “What’d she ask about me?”

  The running back shook his head and made his way to the side wall holding cubbies and tossed his backpack in one, sitting on the bench in front of it to change shoes. “Not everything’s about you, Killian.”

  Of course it wasn’t. It hardly ever was about him, for which he was very grateful, thankyouverymuch. But this was different. She was . . . well, he couldn’t say she was stalking him, because it wasn’t like she followed him home or to the grocery store or anything. But she had a tricky way of making it seem like she was ignoring him while at the same time, making him feel completely exposed. Freaking unnerving.

  She should work for the CIA.

  He breathed out heavily. “Okay, fine. Sorry. She’s just . . . she’s . . .”

  “She’s under your skin.”

  He jerked his head toward the other man. “No, that’s not it. She’s annoying.” His hands clenched in front of him. “She’s like this annoying, buzzing, tiny, little freckled beetle that just circles you until you can’t see anything else and can’t focus and—”

  “Under your skin,” Josiah crooned softly as he changed from street shoes to gym shoes.

  “Bite me.”

  Taking pity, he tugged at his laces to tighten them. “Look, she’s doing a legit story on hidden talents. It’s just one of those cute fluff pieces. Harmless. And I like her. The other guys she’s talked to like her. She’s thoughtful, she’s self-deprecating, and she gets the game. You can tell she wants better gigs, but she’s biding her time. I respect that.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t respect her.”

  “You just acted like it,” Josiah added helpfully.

  Killian rolled his eyes and sat.

  “But I think we can safely say that one good thing has come out of her hanging around.” When Killian raised a brow in question, Josiah added, “Since she started coming around, you’ve been opening up more in the locker room. I haven’t heard you say this much to other guys on the team since you got here.”