Loving Him Off the Field(23)

But oh, God, he wished he could just lean over and give him a hug. Wrap his arms around his son and hold him for a few minutes every morning. Did parents who lived with their kids know the gift they had? Did they fully understand what a treasure it was to wake up with their kids under the same roof every day? Probably not, he thought as he headed for his apartment complex. Why should they?

He needed to head back into his apartment and temporarily stash any signs of Charlie’s existence, in case the nosy reporter wanted to come back and look around. There was no way she’d seen any pictures of him in the entryway. But farther in, he had them everywhere. So he’d erase the signs that he had a son for a month, so she wouldn’t ask questions and keep digging in that area.

His heart clenched at the thought of hiding his child’s existence. But he did it every day, for his own good. So a few weeks fooling a cute pixie of a reporter wouldn’t make a difference.





Chapter Seven




Aileen hated waiting for no good reason. And apparently, that’s what she’d done. Waited for Killian to walk out of practice for no good reason, since he wasn’t even coming out.

“Did he forward his mail to the locker room?” she muttered as she leaned against the rough brick and propped one foot up flat against the wall. Her muscles were sore. Every movement had become a chore, thanks to the unplanned—and unwanted—hike from that morning. She was so out of shape, it was embarrassing. But athletics and working out had never really been her thing. She would rather watch other people do the work and then report on it, instead of going out there and doing it herself.

Which, okay, was a total lie. She’d always wished she could be athletic. Naturally gifted in the art of throwing a ball, swinging a racket, running, whatever. Any sport. But no matter what she tried, she was only good at one thing . . .

Bowling.

Just her luck. The one sport she had no interest in reporting on, she was actually decent at. Just decent. But since bowling didn’t require a whole lot of aerobic activity, she was suffering the consequences of her little nature walk with Killian.

She shifted slightly and hissed out a breath as the brick bit into the scrapes down her back.

Suffering in more than one way.

“Problems, Freckles?”

She jumped away from the wall and turned to face Killian. “Is that name supposed to be patronizing?”

“Do you find your freckles patronizing?” He shifted his gym bag on his shoulder and didn’t wait. “I guess today’s day one, huh?”

“It is.” She fell in step with him, noting that he slowed down slightly to accommodate her shorter legs. She hid her smile. “You should feel lucky I gave you half the day off from my annoying questions.”

“I’d feel luckier if you forgot the whole thing and moved on to interview someone else.” When she shook her head, he sighed. “Figured. So what, you’re just going to follow me around? Sit down and shine a bright light in my eyes to disorient me while asking me questions? How does this work?”

She laughed as he reached the parking lot where his car was. “I think we can skip the interrogation techniques for now, as long as you don’t become a flight risk. But be aware, I’ve studied water boarding.” She raised a brow. “It’s not that difficult.”

“So noted.” He popped his trunk and tossed his bag in, then opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

“My car’s just over there. Are you heading home? I’ll meet you at—” Her words were cut off as his hand closed around her arm and half-pushed, half-yanked her into the car. “Oh, well, how gentlemanly of you, but—”

“Just get in, Freckles.” He closed her door and got in his side. “The bucket of rust you call a vehicle scares the shit out of me. We’re going to the same place. I’ll drive you back later when I head to the gym.”

She blinked. “You walked this morning, you had practice for hours, and you’re going to work out tonight?”

“Yeah. Life sucks, doesn’t it?” He grinned, belying the sarcasm, and started the car with nary a cough or hesitation.

Aileen held on for one covetous moment, wishing her car started like that. Poor Sybil. She immediately regretted the traitorous thoughts. Her car was loyal, hard-working . . . and paid off. No way could she start the circle of car payment hell all over again so soon.

He drove in silence, not making any conversation. And she had a feeling he would just as soon push her out the car on the highway than listen to her start the interview now. So she sat back and enjoyed the smooth ride, free from shuddering and rattling upon hitting speeds of fifty-five or higher. And the surprising radio selection.