Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(4)

Ringing filled the car, and after two quick seconds, a voice answered. “Are you okay?”

He smiled at the anxiety. “Yeah, I’m good. Can’t keep me down for long.”

“He’s okay!” Charlie yelled. A feminine voice said something Killian couldn’t make out, then Charlie laughed. “She says your head is hard.”

“She’s not wrong.” Killian felt his entire body relax now, his forehead smooth out. Tension evaporated into the hot September New Mexico air like steam. “Don’t let anyone give you crap about it tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” Another moment of feminine murmuring in the background. “I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

A pause, and then, “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, bud.” Killian smiled as his son hung up. He was reaching the age where he was too cool to say it regularly. Which only made the times he said so unprompted that much more special.

God, he missed Charlie with a bone-deep ache. Worse than the physical pain of being hit by a guy the size of a trailer. But they’d agreed—he and Emma—it was best for them to stay in Vegas. Keep some distance between them, for Charlie’s sake.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

As he drove home, his mind rotated through a litany of regrets. The fumble, not seeing Charlie every day, and the missed opportunity with Freckles.





Chapter Two




Aileen fought hard not to yawn as she listened to one of her co-workers drone on about his fantastic interview with some up-and-coming golfer. She shuffled her feet in her cat slippers, wondering when the last time she’d dusted her apartment floors was. Swiffer time, maybe? Glancing down, she saw the bottom of one cat was coated in gray.

Yup. Swiffer time.

“Rogers!”

She jolted, nearly falling out of her seat. Straightening her one business jacket, she sat up straight and nodded to the camera on her laptop. “Yes?”

“Done daydreaming over there?” Her editor, Bobby, looked amused. The other male reporters—all of whom were on the Skype call—looked annoyed.

“No. I mean yes. No! I wasn’t daydreaming.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Bobby looked down at his notes, then back up. “Your groupie video played out pretty well. Women thought it was interesting without being catty, men thought it was hot.”

“Oh, goodie,” she muttered behind her hand, covering a slight cough. One of the male reporters didn’t bother covering his chuckle. Not that she was shocked. To them, she was completely irrelevant.

“Next assignment is . . .” Bobby shuffled. “Tattoos.”

She blinked. “Just tattoos?”

“Tattoos on the wives. What wives have tattoos supporting their husbands. Jersey numbers, quotes, names, team logos, whatever. I have a few leads I’ll be emailing you with, and we’ll go from there.”

She held back a groan, making sure to keep her clenched fists out of sight of the camera. “Sure thing, Bobby.”

“Okay, gang, that about wraps it up today. If you’ve got anything else, now’s the—”

“Bobby,” she broke in, feeling flushed when everyone froze. Man, she hated that bug-under-a-microscope feeling. “If we could stay a moment after to talk?”

He nodded, then dismissed the rest of the crew. After everyone else logged off, and it was only her and Bobby on the screen, she breathed a little easier. “This story . . .”

“Pretty hot.” He nodded. “I have a feeling you’ll have to be careful with camera angles on some of these chicks. I know one of these women has a tattoo of her husband’s hockey jersey right on her—”

“Nope. No way.” She slapped her hands over her ears. “Full stop.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “You’re such a prude. When are you going to give up the crazy cat lady persona and kick it up a notch?”

She didn’t actually own a cat . . . but knew what he meant. Because only the hot Amazon women were considered for major network broadcasting. The ones who weren’t dwarfed standing next to a basketball star. Who commanded the eye. Who made men drool and women green with envy.

Her cat slippers shuffled on the floor. “I don’t have a crazy cat lady persona.”

“Then try showing a little cleavage in this next video. The male viewers love that shit.”

She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. Pays the rent. Pays the rent. Pays the rent. “Bobby, I need something more. Something more important than this. You know nobody’s going to take me seriously if tattoos and groupies are the extent of my portfolio.” She glared at him. “When I got hired, you promised I’d be working on the stories that mattered. That would catch the big networks’ attention. You said you looked forward to giving me my first step up.”

“You’re working up to it.” He shrugged. “Look, the fact is, viewers have a harder time taking you seriously when it comes to the actual sports stuff. They think you’re cute, like their little sister. The women like you because you’re softer, and the guys don’t mind watching because you know the right angles to push even on the bullshit stories.”

“So you admit you’ve been giving me bullshit stories?”