Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(59)

A knock on her window had her shrieking and throwing up her hands. The pen and pad scattered to the floorboards and her elbow crashed into the horn, making it honk once. People turned to stare as she did her best to right herself.

So much for going unnoticed.

She looked out the window and found Cassandra Wainwright smiling and waving for her to roll down the window. Since the window didn’t actually do that, she opened the door instead. “Hey.”

“Hi.” With a bubbly smile, Cassie waved in the car. “Sorry about that, I didn’t realize you were concentrating so hard. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I have a highly developed startle reflex,” Aileen joked, picking up the pen and pad. “What’s up?”

“I got ditched for lunch. Wanna grab a bite to eat?”

She blinked. “Um, sure. Yeah, that’d be great. Let me just . . .” She stared at the key in the ignition, then back at Cassie. “Where to?”

“Come with me. I’ll drive, then drop you back off.” Cassie hooked an arm through Aileen’s, then pulled until Aileen stood. “Thank you. You’ve saved me. I’m still desperate for female companionship. My sisters are great, but they’re teenagers. And my dad is . . . well, my dad.” She grinned. “I have my best girlfriend back home, but there’s something to be said for sharing a brownie in the flesh with another female, you know?”

Aileen didn’t, actually. Most of her friends were more acquaintances, or males she worked with. But she nodded as if everything Cassie said were old news.

“Great. There’s a deli not too far from here, and a bakery beyond that with the most awesome pastries.”

Mentally blessing her decision to wear loose cargo pants that morning, she settled into the SUV Cassie pointed at and reveled in the idea of getting into a car without having to do a prayer and virginal sacrifice to get it started.

Cassie chatted the entire way to the deli, barely pausing for breath. It was nice, since that meant Aileen simply got to absorb the idea of female companionship. It was new and took some getting used to. The cadence of Cassie’s conversation was vastly different than that of a man’s. But after awhile, she got into the rhythm and was able to contribute to the conversation more than just I’m listening sounds.

Ten minutes later, they were seated in a corner of the deli with sandwiches, bags of chips and sodas. The person who had taken their orders, whom Cassie had introduced as the owner of the family-owned and -operated business, had given her lunch companion an exaggerated wink and pointed them toward the partially hidden corner table. Cassie took a long pull of her drink and sighed. “There’s really nothing so good as a Diet Coke. I know it’s bad and chemicals and blah blah blah. I could probably recite the spiel by heart now. Trey’s forever giving me crap about soda.”

It was one of the tidbits Aileen the reporter would have loved to hear. She could have created an entire fluff piece on players and their drinks of choice. But she was supposed to be Aileen the friend now. She nodded and held up her own matching soda. “Cheers for better living through caffeine.”

Cassie laughed and tapped her paper cup to Aileen’s.

“I’m glad you asked me out,” Aileen said after a minute of quiet eating. “I don’t get to do this often.”

“It’s because you’re a journalist,” Cassie said bluntly. “Makes people nervous. Made me nervous, to be honest, at first. Not you specifically,” she added hastily when Aileen’s smile dimmed. “You were upfront from the beginning. I liked that. I respected that. But just the media in general. I didn’t grow up with this, like my sisters did.” She screwed up her face, her nose scrunching in a cute way. “We don’t have to do that whole ‘off the record’ junk, do we?”

Aileen laughed at that. “Let’s just assume if I don’t specifically put us on the record, we’re off. I can’t afford to alienate one of the few people I like around here.”

Cassie laughed as well. “It’s hard right now, knowing who to trust. Trey swears it will get better and we just have to push on.” She sighed and picked up a barbeque chip, then dropped it back down to the paper. “My dad’s wife is always harping about image and keeping the family’s name clean and whatever. I get it, don’t want to embarrass the family. But sometimes I just want to breathe and run around town free to do my own thing without worrying I’m going to get someone bothering me.”

It was telling she referred to Tabitha Jordan as her father’s wife, not her stepmother. “I’m not a huge fan of the stalker tactics myself. That’s why I like these stories I do now. I have everyone’s permission, there’s no secrecy, and they’re sort of fun, too. They’re fluff,” she said, dismissing their importance. Being self-deprecating about her job made it easier to handle that she wasn’t doing what she thought she’d always do . . . sideline reporting. “But people seem to like them.”

“They’re not fluff,” Cassie protested, then looked sheepish. “Okay, I mean, maybe they are. But I like them. I’ve been looking through some of your older stuff,” she admitted when Aileen raised a disbelieving brow. “After we met that first time, I checked you out. Saw some interviews, some funny little pieces. It was nice. Humanizing. And you’re right,” she added, picking up her drink and using it to gesture. “It was obvious all parties were okay with it. No taking photos from behind cars or using spy cams. That shit’s creepy.”