Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(47)

“If you’re just going to waste the time while you’re there, serving beers and getting into trouble again, then—”

“I’ve got a new trainer.” She cut him off, seeking anything to make the suggestion of coming home stop. “He’s got a lot of great ideas for me and ways to work around my problem spots so I don’t exacerbate anything I’ve hurt in the past.”

“Which is everything.”

Basically. “And I’ve got a new coach.”

“Who is batshit crazy, from the way Peter talks about him.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Yours. Whose side are you on?” Sawyer ended the call with that little gem.



She hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t even left a sticky note on his door. Nothing.

Michael received confirmation from Aileen she’d been dropped off, and the front desk swore she hadn’t left since coming in. But for some reason he just wasn’t quite ready to see her yet. And so, he’d stopped just short of knocking on her door.

His temper had long since burned off. The Benny Dance Off had ended up being a nonissue for the rest of the game, and though he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the field or his teammates alone, he couldn’t help but let them drift over to the section where she sat with the rest of the families. Though he couldn’t actually pick her out—too far away—he wanted to feel like she saw him, tracked him, knew where he was.

Cheered for him. Acknowledged that he played a damn good game.

Pathetic.

After changing out of the suit he was required to wear each game day, he slipped on some gym shorts and a T-shirt and forced himself to go knock on her door. It was quiet in her place, but he doubted she was asleep.

What he wasn’t expecting was a bleary-eyed Kat, hair mussed, to answer the door looking like she’d clawed her way up from the depths of hell just to greet him.

“What?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“I— Did you just wake up?”

“I fell asleep on the couch.” She glared through already-narrowed eyes, as if the light from the hallway was painful. “I had a phone call that knocked me on my ass. Two, actually.” Kat turned and left the door wide open, walking into her kitchen. Michael shut the door behind him and locked it.

“Who called?”

Instead of answering, Kat began looking through cabinets, shutting each one before it was even fully open.

“What… what are you… Kat.”

She didn’t even pause in her total self-destructive path.

“You’re going to rip a cabinet door off. What are you looking for?”

“I’m hungry. I didn’t eat dinner. Didn’t want to spend twenty-four dollars at the stadium on a lukewarm hot dog and flat soda someone probably— Oh, yeah. Here we go.” She pulled something out of a top cabinet, giving him a good glimpse of the smooth skin of her stomach as she reached for it. And brought down a box of Honey Nut Cheerios.

Michael watched as she hopped up on the counter and opened the box, digging in with a hand and tossing it in her mouth. “Remind me to never eat breakfast over here.”

“Don’t judge. They’re good for you. Look.” She took a second to peruse the box, then thrust it at him. “Good source of fiber,” she said proudly.

“Could be worse,” he admitted, setting the box back down. “Could be Cocoa Puffs.”

She watched him for a moment, then without looking, reached behind her for the same cabinet the cereal came from and pulled down another box of… yup. Cocoa Puffs. “Just for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll skip this time.” He set them beside the Cheerios, then bracketed his hands on either side of her hips on the counter, caging her in. “What’s going on, Kat? Talk to me.”

“Is this you doing the ‘mentoring’ thing?” She put quote fingers around the word, and her tone said exactly what she thought of his mentoring.

Which stung a little because she’d only one day earlier told him he was good at it.

“This is me giving a damn about you and your self-destructive behavior. How about that?”

“I’m a job. Hard to forget.” Her eyes were looking at her hands now, as if she weren’t sure she could meet his gaze. “I let myself forget for a little bit, but that’s why I’m here. I’m here to be fixed.”

Michael forced himself to take a few deep, calming breaths. “Kat, who called you?”

“Hmm?”

“The two phone calls that knocked you flat on your ass. Who called?”

“Oh. Sawyer and my coach from Florida. Peter.” She looked up then, a false smile full of teeth and phoniness plastered on her face. “Apparently, I can’t do anything right. My job is to sit down, shut up, and play tennis until I’m too broken to do it anymore. End of story.”

“Coaches aren’t always right.”

She snorted and looked over his shoulder.

“And agents aren’t always perfect.”

She huffed.

“And sometimes mannies are in it for more than the paycheck.”

“You’re getting paid?” Her eyes widened then.

“No.”

“Oh.” She sighed and leaned back against the cabinet. “They asked me to come back to Florida.”