Loving Him Off the Field(13)
“You said you weren’t giving me an interview.”
“So you just abandoned it?”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No.”
She squinted. “Then why’d you come sit with me?”
He looked off for a moment, then grabbed her elbow. “I’m walking you to your car.”
“Mkay.” She let him guide her toward the parking lot, to her embarrassment of a car. She wasn’t into cars. It was a simple mode of transportation, in her mind. But the moment she had a decent paycheck . . . one word.
Upgrade.
“Is this thing even safe for the highway?” He watched the car skeptically, like it might reach out and bite him, while she unlocked the car and tossed her tote bag in the back seat.
“Don’t talk about Sybil like that.” She rubbed one hand over the rear door, where the silver paint was still pretty much in tact. “I stay in the right lane, mostly. I’m not going to win any drag races, but it’s paid for and it gets surprisingly decent gas mileage.” She grinned. “Josiah said he’d lend me a bike. But I live too far away from the stadium to make it here.”
Killian’s jaw clenched at the mention of his teammate. “So are we through? Have you decided to drop the story?”
She shook her head, somewhat sadly. “I’m on a mission, I’m afraid. You know, you might be the least Google-able person in the NFL? No social media sites, no major blog hits, no interviews. Your college teammates all say there’s nothing to talk about, since you were a lone wolf. And unfortunately, your college coach hasn’t returned my calls.”
His brows lowered. “Digging into my past?”
“What little of it there is.” She held up her hands. “Killian, I’m a reporter. I might not have a portfolio that indicates I’m any good at actual journalism, but it’s what I want. It’s what I was meant for. I’m pushing hard to get real stories, real assignments. I’m not giving up. So you can cooperate, or you can just wait until I finally dig up something worth talking about.”
He growled and crowded her against the car. With another man, she might have felt intimidated. With Killian, she saw it for what it was . . . a distraction. An act. Nothing more.
She lowered her voice, and her eyes. “I’m doing you the courtesy of telling you in advance. You can head me off at the pass, if you want. Just cooperate.”
He leaned down, one arm reaching around her back. His breath was on her cheek, his eyes so intensely focused on hers, she almost lost her balance and tipped over from the force.
Oh, God. Was he going to kiss her?
Please, no.
Please . . . yes.
She heard a click, and then he opened her car door and gestured with a sweep of the arm. “Good-bye, Freckles.”
Well, that was embarrassing. Thank God he wasn’t a mind reader. She stiffened her spine and climbed into the car. He shut the door with restraint—for which she and Sybil’s rusty frame thanked him—and crossed his arms. Apparently, he was going to stand there and make sure she actually left the premise. She rolled her window down instead and thrust out an arm.
He scowled at the piece of paper she held out. “What’s that?”
“A map to Treasure Island. Just take it.”
He did. “A phone number. Yours?”
She just grinned and started her car. As it coughed to life, she watched Killian’s face take on a look of horror. Yup. Sybil wasn’t pretty, but she ran. Most days. “In case you decide to be cooperative, for a change of pace.”
He stood there until she was out of the parking lot and on the main road.
But she didn’t take a full breath until he was fully out of sight.
* * *
Killian walked in the door of his apartment and tossed his bag down by the door. His keys dropped in a bowl on the kitchen counter. In his pocket, his fingers brushed against the slip of paper Aileen had written her phone number on.
Just toss it into the trash. Hell, burn it. No reason to keep it.
He placed it in the bowl he threw his spare change in instead. Just in case.
His phone buzzed with a text. He glanced down to see Emma’s number. As he opened the text, he smiled.
Charlie had texted him his list of spelling words for the week.
Typing back a quick word of encouragement, he shut the phone’s screen off. Thank God Emma was so free with the communication. The ball was truly in her court, as far as how much he got access to Charlie. They’d kept as much of the custody case out of court as possible, avoiding public records for privacy. With no divorce to worry about, it had been a simple shell game to keep things quiet. But she had every legal right to block him from things like a text message about spelling words, or a quick Skype call about math homework or his soccer game.