She turned back to her laptop and the notes she was making on the trip. Killian had seen her as he’d boarded the plane, that much she knew. His eyes had swept over her, as if she were a part of the scenery, then did a comical double-take and focused more intently. She’d waved, given him a cheeky grin, and he’d rolled his eyes and kept walking.
Par for the course, it seemed.
She also got a room at the same hotel as the team, though it hadn’t mattered if she did or not. She would have slept on the floor outside Killian’s room if she had to. Something about his attitude gave her the feeling he’d dodge and weave to avoid spending much time with her. Which, if he used the team as an excuse, she could hardly argue with. But it wasn’t in keeping with the spirit of their agreement.
She’d let him come to freaking bowling league, hadn’t she? She’d opened up to him about why she’d become a journalist, about why she bowled. Wasn’t that keeping her end of the bargain?
The plane dipped, and she gripped the armrest tightly. Flying was so not her favorite thing to do.
“Freckles.”
She jolted at her name—wait, that wasn’t her name, so why did she respond when he called her that?—and looked up to see Killian standing there. “Hey.”
“Reeves,” the man to her left said. He held out a hand, which Killian seemed to take only out of politeness. “Great game last weekend. I was wondering—”
“Freckles. I need to talk to you.” He turned and walked back down the aisle.
She blinked. When her seat companion turned to look at her, she shrugged. “I’ve been summoned.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and maneuvered her way around the older man—not an easy task . . . which he could have made easier by simply being a gentleman and getting up—and followed Killian back to the players’ area of the plane. He’d taken a row by himself, sitting propped up against the window. She started to turn in to sit next to him as the plane made another dip. She almost fell on her face, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her down against him.
For one ridiculous moment, she wanted to turn her face into his shoulder and breathe.
He coughed and let her go. “You okay?”
Bubble broken. “Yeah, I’m just not a huge fan of flying.” She put on a brave smile and buckled up quickly. “It’s okay.”
“If you’re not a fan of flying, why’d you come on this trip?” He watched her intently. “I told you I’d extend the days to make up for the ones lost during travel.”
She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Traveling on the company dime. Who can resist?”
The truth was, she hated the thought of missing an opportunity to see him. She’d become so used to hearing his disgruntled voice every day, used to seeing him scowl at her persistence, even used to that stupid nickname he insisted on using. She rubbed one finger over her nose. Her freckles weren’t that noticeable . . . were they?
“So what did you need me for, your highness?”
He raised a brow, but ignored the joke. “I wanted to talk about what you can expect when we get to San Francisco. You can’t dog my heels every second of the day. It’s distracting and I can’t afford to be distracted right now.”
As opposed to any other weekend? She let that one go. “I wasn’t planning on following you into the locker room and beyond. I’m not going to be clinging to your back, begging you to slow down so I can keep making notes. I know what I’m doing. I’m here to be an unobtrusive observer. Just think of me as the fly on the wall. Ignore me.”
He mumbled something that she thought sounded vaguely like, “Yeah right,” but she wasn’t sure if that was just the cabin pressure playing tricks on her.
“I’ve got another story I’m going to squeeze in while I’m here, anyway.” He looked out the window. “Wanna hear what it’s about?”
He glanced at her, then back out the window. She took that as a yes.
“I’m going to interview some of the tailgaters and try out all their different foods pre-game. I’ll probably be sick as a dog,” she added with a grin. “But it’ll be worth it. Tailgating food is the best. Don’t you think?”
“I’ve never tailgated,” he said to the window. “I’m always inside the stadium.”
“Good point. What’s your favorite food?”
“Cheese,” he said automatically, then looked up, surprised he’d answered.
“Cheese,” she said slowly. “Just . . . cheese?”
He nodded. “I like cheese. On my pizza, nachos, sandwiches, queso dip, whatever. It’s hard to find a food you can’t add cheese to and make it more delicious.” He glanced behind him. “I’m probably supposed to give you some sort of health food for that answer. Or like, protein power. Just raw protein powder.”