Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(6)

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.”

Josiah shrugged and headed out with a wave.

The moment was probably nothing to Josiah. He was a friendly guy. But to Killian, who had barely had contact with anyone besides his coaches and his son in the last few years, it felt like a hell of a lot more.

He slung his bag over one shoulder and weaved his way through the lockers and players in various states of undress to the tunnel that would lead him to the parking lot. There, leaning against one wall, was Freckles.

She smiled slowly as the door to the locker room closed behind him. “That was fast.”

“Why wait?” He started walking, keeping a pace he knew she struggled to keep up with.

But she did anyway. Practically jogging in her Converse, she shuffled sideways to look at him. “Don’t you hang out with anyone after practices?”

“No.”

“After games?”

“No.”

“At all?”

“No. Look, what do you want?” He stopped so suddenly, she nearly fell as she fought to halt her side shuffle. He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. Even to him, considered scrawny in the NFL at five foot ten, she was shockingly small. He could toss her over his shoulder with ease. Carry her around with him for an hour and not notice the weight.

Weird thought.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” She straightened, then looked pointedly at his hand. He was still holding her arm, despite having her balance. He let go quickly. “Maybe I have a thing for stubborn guys with sulky attitudes.”

He scowled. “I don’t sulk.” What a stupid thing to say.

One corner of her full mouth tilted up. “You kinda do sulk.”

“No, I—” He shook his head. This was the kind of argument his five year old would love. “Look, just ask for the interview you clearly want, so I can say no, then you can go away.”

She seemed to think about that for a moment. “No.”

“No . . . what? No, you’re not asking for an interview?”

“No.”

He resisted the urge to rip out his hair. “No. What.”

“No, I’m not going away.” She smiled angelically at him. Who knew angels could be so evil? “I have plans. Big plans. And you are a very small—but important—part of those very big plans. My lynchpin, if you will. So you see, Killian Reeves, I can’t just go away.”

“I’m not giving you an interview.”

“Probably not today,” she agreed easily.

“Probably not ever,” he corrected.

Her smile brightened. “You said probably, which isn’t the same thing as never. So see? Already we’re making progress.”

He gaped at her, then kept walking. Not shockingly, she caught up quickly. “You’re an infuriating woman.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Your husband must be a saint.”

“No husband.” She took a few running steps, then planted herself in front of him so he had to stop, or run her over. He seriously debated the latter. “No boyfriend. No real commitments other than work. Which means I can be as tenacious as I want to be. I know what I want, and it’s you.”

The words sparked a heat deep in his gut, but he battled it back. She was a reporter. She wanted to pry straight into his private life. Taking two steps to the left, he walked around her. She did a little hop-step to catch up.

“Go away.”

Suddenly, she stopped and smiled calmly. “Okay.”

Okay? Her sudden, suspicious face into amenable territory had him freezing. “That’s it? Just, okay?”