Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(4)

“A few hours.” He whipped back around, groaned—no doubt because of the quick movement—and closed his eyes. “Do you think she poisoned them? She did have a Cajun Rage tattoo.”

Besides her family, nursing, and the trio of women she called her best friends, there was nothing in the world she cared about more than the Ice Knights. She wasn’t just an everyday fan. She was a superfan. She knew every stat and every factoid, right down to the fact that Coach Peppers had a sixth toe. And the Rage? There was no bigger rivalry in sports than the one between the Ice Knights and the Rage. The Rage played dirty, and their fans were obnoxious.

She snapped her notebook shut. “You slept with someone with a Rage tattoo?”

“Well,” Zach said as he curled his lips upward into the signature sexy smirk that had gotten him a huge endorsement deal, since it obviously hadn’t been his playing in Harbor City. “We didn’t exactly sleep.”

What was it with dudes always having to pull out their metaphorical dick to show how big it was? Be it hockey players or the doctors she worked with, she was so done dealing with the male ego.

“Yeah, well, if it gets out that you bang Rage fans, the tri-state metro area will be lining up to poison you.” She stood and carried her chair back over to the card table that was sitting underneath a for-real chandelier. It was a small one, sure, but still a chandelier.

“Like they need another reason,” Zach grumbled. “So what do I have to do to get over this?”

“Unfortunately,” she said with a smile to show exactly how not sad she was about it. Sleeping with a Cajun Rage puck bunny really was a step too far. “You just have to wait for it to clear your system. It’s probably a minor case of food poisoning. You’ll be fine. We just need to keep you hydrated and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

“We?” he asked, pushing himself up from the couch with a groan, crossing over to the island and, like the prima donna he was, leaving the empty mug on the coffee table by the couch.

“Yeah. We. I promised Lucy I’d stay until you were out of the woods, and I’m sticking to it.” Unlike some people, she didn’t have a lot, but she had her word and she didn’t break it.

He kept his distance, but something in his stance changed, making him seem bigger than the team stats that listed him at six feet three inches and two hundred and thirty-eight pounds. “What was your name again?” he asked, his voice dropping to a lower register than before. “Felicia?”

“That’s my sister.”

Fallon couldn’t believe it: he was still trying to get her to leave. She knew the signs. She’d grown up around men who couldn’t express what they were feeling if someone tried to beat it out of them with a baseball bat. The Irish weren’t exactly known for being in touch with and wanting to talk about their emotional needs.

“Faith?” he asked.

“That’s my other sister.”

Sure, there were only a limited number of common girl’s names that started with F, but the fact that he’d nailed two of her sisters’ names while he was supposedly trying to remember hers? Yeah, she wasn’t falling for it.

He shifted. “Fiona?”

It took everything she had not to crack a smile. “That’s sister number three.”

“There are four girls in your family?”

As if he didn’t know. He must have gotten at least some background information about her before he agreed to let Lucy ask her to come over.

“Plus three brothers.” She nodded, not letting herself react outwardly to his little display. “And I’m flattered you obviously remembered my bio from Lucy.”

He glowered at her in silence, his eyes so dark they were practically black, zeroing in as if he could scare her. That wasn’t going to happen. One, she got more attitude from her pediatric patients than this. Two, Lucy trusted the guy, and Fallon trusted Lucy. Three, she was a Hartigan, and they didn’t back down from anything.

Finally, he spoke. “There are pillows and blankets in the box by the hall closet, Fallon Hartigan. Pick a room with a bed in it. I’m going to sleep.”

And without so much as a mumbled thank-you for giving up her weekend to play nursemaid, he turned and walked out of the kitchen and down a dark hallway. Most-hated man in Harbor City? Yeah, she could corroborate that. Food poisoning or not, Zach Blackburn was one prime, grade-A asshole. She glanced down at the basket of muffins and grinned. Fallon wouldn’t have been surprised if the puck bunny had tried to poison the prick on purpose—God knew she was tempted right about now.

Instead, she took out her phone.

Fallon: He’ll live, and you owe me. Big time.

Lucy: Going that well, huh?

Fallon: What did you tell him about me?

Lucy: Just that you’re my bestie, Frankie’s sister, maybe some family stuff, and that you’re an awesome nurse. The basics.

Fallon: That’s a lot.

Lucy: He doesn’t trust a lot of folks. He needed background. He has his reasons. Promise you won’t let him get to you.

Fallon: I can promise not to kill him, but that’s about as much as you’ll get from me. He’s the most obnoxious man I’ve ever met, and I work with doctors who think they’re God—not a god but the actual big guy himself.

Lucy: Just give Zach a chance. You’ll love him.