Baller’s Baby(8)

“WHAT?”

“A stalker, ya know, an asshole who follows someone around trying to get them alone so you can do God knows what.”

“No. No, I’m not a stalker. I was just trying to check on you. You seemed upset or something. Forget it.” He turns to angrily walk away. His hands are balled into fists at his side, clenching and unclenching. I watch him walk a few steps, satisfied with myself for pushing him away, and then I remember the reason for my being here. My job. Shit.

“Wait. Kiptyn,” I call out to him, rushing after him. He turns back to me, raising his eyebrows and waiting to see what amazing nonsense comes out of my mouth next. I can’t believe the mess I’ve made of this. The one chance I've got at keeping my job, and I let my temper get in the way. Typical.

“The interview?” I ask biting at my lip nervously. He laughs, but it contains no humor, and he rubs his hand over his brow. I imagine he thinks I’m bipolar, running hot and then cold, but he doesn’t leave. No, he stands there watching me, thinking.

“One condition,” he says after what seems like forever. I don’t want to agree, but after my display of crazy a moment ago, I don’t really have a choice.

“Anything,” I say, and I mean it. I need this job, not just so I can find my own place, but so I can prove to everyone back home that I made it. No one had faith in me. I’m pretty sure they're taking bets on how long I last before I come running back with my tail between my legs. It isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it, and besides, it’s not like he has some crazy condition, does he?

“I want one date, my choice. Tomorrow night.”

What? No, no, no, no, no. There is no way. I can’t do it. He can’t make me, but my job . . . I've got no choice. Swallowing my pride, I hold out my hand. It isn’t a deal until you shake on it, and I’m not about to let him back out on a loophole, no matter how childish. The smile that lights up his face steals my breath. I force air into my lungs. His hand wraps around mine, engulfing it completely. Chills run up my arm and travel down the length of my spine. My nipples harden instantly, jutting out from beneath my thin lace bra. I hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it in his strong grasp, waiting, forcing me to meet his gaze. The palest blue eyes I've ever seen meet mine, piercing my soul. Holding my gaze, he raises my now limp hand to his lips and places one kiss on the back side of my palm before turning it over and nipping gently on the fatty part of my thumb. I suck in a breath, startled by the way my body reacts to his blatant display of attraction, and pull my hand free. His smile widens. He knows what he’s doing and the effect it’s having on me.

I turn, and for the second time this evening, I walk away from Kiptyn Price.

I only wanted to ask him one question—just one. That would have been enough to hopefully save my job, but now, instead of asking Kiptyn one question, I seem to be asking myself one. What have I gotten myself into?





Chapter Nine

Kiptyn



When I wake this morning, I lie there for a minute, wondering what or who I had done last night, and feeling the emptiness on the other side of the bed, I struggle to figure out where ‘she’ had gone. Then I remember that I didn’t go out last night. I have a date tonight, a real fucking date.

I can’t remember the last time I went out on a date. Maybe when I was fourteen? Yeah, I think I remember taking someone to the movies, hoping to get a kiss afterward. I can’t remember if I did, in fact, get the kiss. It wasn’t long after that when I discovered what an easy girl was. Now, I usually just pick up a willing girl at whatever bar I'm at, in whatever city we’re playing.

I jump in the shower, excited to get a start on the day. Hopefully, it will fly by and tonight will be here before I know it. Shoving my hands through a tee, I stop with one arm in and one halfway. I didn’t get her fucking number.

“Shit.” Pulling the shirt on the rest of the way, I leap on my bed and grab my phone.

Please let there be something. I type in my name and hit search and then wait for Google to pull up the most recent articles. A picture of Skila graces the front page, along with a small article detailing my willingness to interview with her. It lists the paper she works for at the end, and I almost jump for joy.

Clearing the search, I type in Los Angeles Daily Home and press the highlighted call button. A scratchy-voiced receptionist answers on the second ring, and I ask her to patch me through to Skila Parker.

“She isn’t taking calls today.” I could hear her popping gum across the line.

“Well, can you take a message or patch me through to her boss? Is he taking calls?” I ask, getting angrier by the second. This one person is not going to stand in the way of me and my date.

“Sure. What’s the name?” she asks, bored.

“Kiptyn. Kiptyn Price,” I say.

It’s amazing how quickly her entire demeanor changes when she hears my name. “Oh, Mr. Price. I’m sure I can transfer you. Hold, please.” I don’t reply.

Fuck that.

I make a mental note to contact her manager about her shitty people skills. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Like she has any right to be nasty to regular, everyday people? I’m famous, so I get special treatment? That’s not cool. No one has the right to be an asshole just because. Fuck that.

“Skila Parker speaking,” she answers, and her voice alone soothes my temper. She sounds irritated, exasperated, and yet she answered the phone cordially.

“Sky, its Kiptyn. I’m sorry to call you at work, but I forgot to get your number last night,” I say. I don’t know why I’m apologizing, but it seems right.

“Oh, it’s ok.” She rattles off her number and I tell her goodbye. The phone is resting in my lap, discarded and forgotten, while I sit on the edge of my bed and smile off into space. Five seconds. I spoke to her for maybe five seconds, and it wasn’t nearly long enough. I pick my phone back up and dial her cell this time. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” It sounds like she’s whispering. Shit. I didn’t think she might get into trouble for my calling her at work.

“Hey. It’s me again.” She laughs into the phone, and the worry I feel for calling her melts away. I would do it all over again and again if it meant I got to hear that laugh one more time.

“Did you need something, Kiptyn?” she asks when her laughter dies down.

“No, I just wanted to hear your beautiful voice again, and I need your address to pick you up tonight.”

What the fuck? I don’t talk like this.

This.

Is.

Not.

Me.

I don't compliment women. At least not anymore. The old me might have, but the new me suggests, quite provocatively, that they strip or suck me off. I've never had to be the one to pass out compliments to get what I wanted, and so I don’t do it, period, until now. Until Sky. She sighs on the other end of the phone.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”

“What? What am I trying to do?” I ask. I’m truly curious to hear what she thinks I want from her.

“To seduce me, and it’s not going to work. I mean it. I’m . . . I’m not available.”

Not available? What the fuck does that mean? Is she married? I rack my brain, conjuring images of her, and then relax. She wasn’t wearing a ring either time I saw her, so no husband. She might have a boyfriend, but that won’t last long.

No. Not after seeing the way her body reacted to my touch last night. If she does have a man, I would be doing her a favor by stealing her away from him. She needs someone to show her what it means to be treasured.

“You’re wrong. I’m not trying to seduce you . . .” I let my sentence trail off. Let her wonder what I mean by that. It's true, at least. I’m not trying to seduce her. I'm going to tonight.

She may have denied me once, but she won’t get the chance again. I’ll make sure of it. I plan to pull out all stops for this date. Wine and dine.





Chapter Ten

Skila



Kiptyn is due to arrive in fewer than ten minutes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I'm practically shaking in my heels. Lisa passes me a glass of water. “It's going to be fine. You’ve got this.”

I nod my head, agreeing. Yeah, I’ve got this, if he shows up. I can’t help but be reminded of the last person I stood by the door waiting for. I still haven’t heard a word from Amryn in almost two months. My cell rings, and for a second, the blood in my veins freezes.

Surely it’s not him. Thinking about him couldn’t have conjured him up. If that was possible, he would have appeared months ago, not the moment I’m about to walk out the door with another man. I reach my hand into my purse and pull out my cell. The call has already gone to voicemail. I check the missed calls, my hands shaking now but for a totally different reason. I breathe a sigh of relief. It wasn’t him.

It was the doctor’s office. My phone chirps with a new voicemail right as Kiptyn knocks on the door. I drop it back into my bag and smile when I open the door. Each time I see him, he’s more handsome than the time before, and tonight is no different. I could just eat him alive, right this second, with his bright blue eyes and that dimple in his left cheek. Jeans and a button-down, cream shirt are nothing special on your average man, but Kiptyn is no average man. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, teasing me with a peek of his tan chest. I want to lick it. I can’t believe I just had that thought.