Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(48)
Killian shook his head, exasperated. Then a thought came over him. “You know, this is probably a much juicier story than anything you could get from me. Why don’t you make the switch? You probably don’t have jack crap to make a decent story on me anyway. The Stephen thing is much more interesting.” Sorry, Stephen.
She hesitated only for a second, but that hesitation almost offended him. That she would even consider giving up his story for something else. Which was stupid because it was his idea in the first place, to get her off his back.
Then she shook her head. “Nope. I’ve made my choice.” She poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Good try, though.”
His relieved breath must have sounded more like a belabored sigh, because she scowled. “It’s your day, anyway, so technically I shouldn’t have even come here. You’re supposed to be interviewing me, for who knows what reason.”
He still hadn’t quite figured that out himself. He’d realized there was no way of annoying her. She let things that normal people found irritating roll off her like water on a duck’s back. If he wanted to survive the invasion of privacy without her finding Charlie, he’d have to find another way.
Maybe the other way was just to persevere through the next two weeks. After that, she should be done with the stupid thing. The regular season would be over, and he could concentrate on getting through play-offs in tact.
“I’m not chasing a sensational story. I mean, I know viewers like the drama, and I might, too. But that’s why I watch Real Housewives and The Bachelor. Get my drama fix. I want a real story. Not some mocked-up, overhyped, sensational tale that goes nowhere.” She shrugged. “That’s probably what Stephen is. And I’m about ninety-seven percent sure that’s what that whole ‘love triangle’ crap was, too.” She used quote fingers and a grimace to make her point clear on what she thought of the media coverage surrounding Coach Jordan’s daughter and her supposed two lovers. “You could tell me otherwise, and I’d consider it. But I’m not about to just go chasing after what will likely be a dead end. He’s reported to have personal issues, which was why he’s been out. Clearly, nobody else thought it was all that interesting or they’d have chased it down already.”
More like, they couldn’t find him. Not yet, anyway. “And you don’t care about his personal issues? When you care about mine?” Stupid question. He shouldn’t want her to care about his personal issues.
“I care about telling a story that hasn’t seen the light of day yet. Whether he’s got a sick parent, or an injury the team is trying to cover up, that’s not a new thing.” She grinned up at him. “You are.”
They reached the players’ parking lot before he thought better. He’d been walking on autopilot. When he talked to her, it was like the rest of the world just bled away in a wash of gray. And all he could see, all he could focus on, were auburn strands and cute freckles. “Sorry, let me walk you to your car.”
“Not here. I taxi’d again.”
Damn it. He hated she was spending money she obviously didn’t have chasing him around. “Stop doing that.”
She raised a brow and lifted a hand. “I have to get around somehow. And since my apartment is too far for me to bike . . .” She lifted a hand to wave at Josiah, who was peddling past them on his way home. He popped a wheelie in salute. Immature a-hole. “And the bus doesn’t drop me off close enough to here, I have to rely on the taxi.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “You could take this as a sign of flattery and give me an interview right here and now, all juicy personal details included, so I can stop doing it.”
“Fat chance. Get in.” He walked around and opened his door for her. She didn’t wait, just hopped in, as if she knew he’d be taking her home from the start.
Chapter Fifteen
After he got in and started the car, Killian asked, “When is Sybil going to be fixed?”
“Already is. She’s being held hostage. I have to wait until next week to get her.”
“Hostage for what, a king’s ransom?” He took off down the street, glancing over. She was staring out her window, so all he could see was the curve of one ear and her neck. Both were flushed a vibrant red.
“Might as well be,” she muttered. “Whatever, ignore my car. The fact is, we are running out of time. Play-offs are soon, and I know you don’t want me bugging you through those.”
“You won’t be,” he pointed out. As he took a turn, he reached out and steadied her. She hadn’t been anticipating the move and was shifting too fast in her seat. “Our thirty days is up the last week of regular season.”
“Oh.” She grew quiet, as if the reminder of the finality of their arrangement disappointed her.
Disappoints me, too, Freckles.
A call came in on his phone, which rang through the speakers of his car due to the Bluetooth. The display showed Emma’s name. His little reporter glanced at the display, then back again at the window.
“Seriously, one of us has to change our ringtones. I keep wanting to reach for my phone every time yours goes off.”
He hit the button to ignore the call, which would send Emma to voicemail. Which would send her into a fit, he knew, as she’d know he was out of practice by now. Fan-freaking-tastic.