Loving Him Off the Field(6)

“Killian Reeves.”

Aileen disconnected the Skype chat without a word and let her head fall to the rickety desk. Of course. Sure, here’s your ticket into the big game, Aileen. And you only have to land on the moon to get it.

Feeling defeated, she stood and closed her laptop carefully. The desk, she could live without. The laptop, no way. And she couldn’t afford to replace it. Luckily, Bobby was the kind of boss who didn’t take offense when you hung up on him. He assumed all his reporters came with odd temperaments and adjusted his expectations accordingly.

She shuffled over to stand at the mirror of her bureau. One look at her reflection made her snort at the entire situation. From the waist up, she was the polished professional in a camisole and her one suit jacket. Her hair was twisted up into a simple bun, though she’d skipped makeup this morning. Nobody would have noticed that detail from the grainy quality the built-in camera in her laptop produced.

From the waist down, she was a joke. Just like her career. The flannel pajama bottoms and cat slippers almost mocked her.

Crazy cat lady persona.

Just because a woman wore cat slippers didn’t make her crazy. Or a cat lady. You had to have actual cats to classify for that.

Didn’t you?

She hung up the jacket and camisole, keeping them as neat as possible. She couldn’t afford dry cleaning, so taking care of what she had was her main defense. Luckily, she dressed casually for interviews. Casual was the tone Off Season aimed for. With each video they shot, they wanted to reach as many audiences as possible. Too stiff, and you lose the young crowd. Too loose, and you lose the older generations.

Grabbing the nearest notebook and pen—they were scattered all over her shoebox apartment—she started jotting down ideas to turn the tattoo story into something less skanky and more legitimate. Or, rather, as legitimate as a story about body ink could get.

But before she could stop herself, she’d written down talking points for, Killian Reeves. She groaned and ripped out the paper, tossing it at the wastebasket and missing by six inches.

Waste of time.

But wasn’t that what she was doing anyway? Wasting her time with Off Season? With each fluff piece she took on, each big moment she was passed by for a man, or a hotter woman, she wasted her time.

Crawling off the bed, she grabbed the paper she’d tossed away. She smoothed it out on her bed, reading over the few notes she’d made.

Was she doing this? Was she really going to badger a reluctant interview subject? And there was no doubt about it, Killian was reluctant. He personified the word.

She’d never made a nuisance of herself before in the name of a story. Which might explain why she was still at ground zero with her career.

Aileen walked over to the photo of her parents and let one fingertip glide over the edge of the frame. For courage, she told herself.

Time to take action. Time to at least try.

* * *

Killian toweled off and walked to his locker to change into street clothes. Around him, guys joked and messed around. Some talked about making plans for later, or made comments about what had happened the night before.

Nobody approached him, asking to hang out. Nobody ever did. He’d used to get invitations to barbeques, get-togethers, dinners out.

After he’d said no enough times, the offers stopped coming in.

He told himself that was fine. He didn’t need friendships. Didn’t need the hassle of connections, while trying to keep his life private.

The ache in his chest knew better.

“Hey, Killian.” Josiah Walker, Bobcat running back, self-professed eco-loving country boy, walked over. He was already dressed in a windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. “There’s a cutie standing out there, waiting for you.”

He glanced up from pulling on his boxers. “Come again?”

Josiah laughed. “Yeah, I was pretty damn shocked, too. Tried to convince her she wanted me instead, but she insisted she wanted you, and only you.”

“Groupie?” he asked hesitantly.

“Nah.” Josiah sank down to the bench, settling in. His back leaned against the locker next to Killian’s open one. “Small thing, tiny really. Auburn hair, pulled back into some bun thing on the top of her head. And she’s got these . . .” He ran one finger over his nose.

A sense of foreboding hit him in the chest. “Let me guess. Freckles.”

Josiah nodded and smiled. “You know her?”

“We’ve met.” He finished dressing and shut his locker.

Josiah stood, then looked at him for a minute. “Want me to get rid of her?”

The offer, so simply given, when they’d barely spoken two words to each other during the season, was like a balm to his lonely soul. “No. Thanks, though. I’ll see what she wants.”