Beauty and the Baller(26)

I say his name, dragging out the syllables. “It sounds kinda strong. Invincible.”

He gives me a glance, then takes the damp application and napkins I have clutched in my hand, tosses them in the trash, and puts his hands on his hips and levels me with that steely gaze. “So. Why are you avoiding me?”

“You saw me duck behind the tree? Dang. I thought I was being stealthy. Guess I’m not quite the ninja I thought.”

“Hmm.”

I chew on my lip. “Looking back, perhaps it was impulsive.” I point to the scratch on my arm. “The branch of the tree got me. Satisfied?”

“No.” He flicks at a piece of croissant on my shoulder, then focuses back on me. “You don’t like me. Maybe we should discuss—”

Allie comes around the bakery case, vibrating as she gives him a wide smile. She hands him a coffee and a chocolate croissant. “Coach, here’s your usual,” she says.

I gaze at it longingly. Where’s mine?

“Congrats on the wins against Wayne Prep and Payton High. We really kicked their asses—um, butts.” She bats her lashes. “I didn’t think you’d be coming in today.”

“There’s someone I wanted to see.” He looks at me.

“Me?” I squeak.

“Hmm. I drove through town and saw your car.”

Allie cuts in. “I’ve got the cookies laid out for tomorrow, and the new mango tea has come in. I can’t wait to put it on the menu. Oops, another customer. Catch you later, Coach.” She stops as she turns. “Oh, this older lady is looking for work.”

She leaves, and I grimace as realization dawns. Dammit, why are the stars aligned against me? “You’re the person who owns this place? Wow. Football coach and a business entrepreneur.” I shake my head. Of course Sabine wouldn’t think to tell me. She’d assume I knew. “Why open a store if you’re leaving?”

He gives me his profile, ignoring my question. “Lois mentioned you were looking for a job.”

“There’s always the strip club at the end of town.”

His lips twitch. “I see you got your roses fixed.”

I nod. “Mama had tools in the shed. I did some pruning and said a little prayer. I was tempted to steal some holy water but chickened out. Mrs. Meadows sent a crew over this week, and they replaced the rest with new plants and mulch. It looks better than it did before.”

“I called them. I sent them. I paid for it. I didn’t let the booster club bow and scrape to take care of my problems while I’m winning football games.” He finally looks at me, a smile curling his lips as he repeats my words from the party.

My heart does that flip-flop thing, and I blink rapidly at the effect of Ronan Smith being nice. “Over and done, then. We have no need to talk about it anymore.”

“We still have unfinished business, Nova,” he says, his voice lowering. “I’ve been thinking . . .”

Behind him, the entrance to the barn opens, and two women sweep inside. Melinda Tyler and Paisley Lennox Carlisle. My hands curl. Paisley is one of two people in Blue Belle I don’t want to ever see. Still as willowy as ever, she looks like a million bucks in dark skinny jeans and a red silky blouse with strappy heels. A designer purse is slung over her shoulders. Her makeup is perfection, her brown hair up in a chignon, golden highlights framing her oval face. I want to spit.

Following my eyes, Ronan stiffens and groans. “Jesus! I can’t get away from Melinda. She’s at work. She’s at the games. She’s here.” He mutters under his breath, then says, “She showed up at my house last night.”

He motions for me to follow him as he walks to the end of the bakery case. They haven’t seen us, but we’re still partially visible, and they’ll be coming up to order. Sweat pops out on my forehead. I do not want to see Paisley. Not when I’m in frayed shorts and an old Aerosmith shirt from high school with coffee stains! It’s too much!

He gives me a pained look. “You won’t believe what she did . . .”

“Who?” I say distractedly, eyeing the women.

“Melinda . . . aren’t you listening? I wish someone would. No one understands that she’s driving me crazy. This town is driving me crazy.”

I ease closer to him. He’s big. I can hide behind him. “Of course I’m listening. You’re rambling about your stalker while I’m trying to avoid being seen . . .”

Ronan is still muttering, and I’ve missed part of it. “She came to my door and was wearing this shiny black trench coat—”

“In this heat? Why?”

“With lacy lingerie underneath. She dropped her coat right in my foyer and threw herself at me.”

My eyes flare, and I give him my full attention. “Ballsy. Was it pretty? The lingerie?”

He lifts his shoulders. “Who cares?”

I frown. “Wait, let me get this straight. She came to your house to have sex, and you said no. Just clarifying.” Melinda is beautiful, and he is a man . . .

There are several beats of silence as his gaze lowers, skating over me. “I don’t want to have sex with Melinda. She’s not my type.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Blonde.”

“Just blonde? Pathetic.”