Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(37)

The ball didn’t come close to her until several minutes into the game when it shot right at her chest. She couldn’t get under it, and she pushed it into the net. As it came out, Bodie dove for it, sending up a spray of sand and somehow managing to get it up and over. He was an amazing athlete, intensely physical, quick, and intimidating. He was also a team player, setting up shots for the others instead of hogging the ball. Portia played hard, but other than scoring a point on a serve, she was a liability. Still, with Bodie taking up the slack next to her, their team won both games, and as she celebrated with them, she felt an odd exhilaration. She wanted Juanita Brooks—everybody at the Community Small Business Initiative—to see her now.

She cleaned up as well as she could in the restroom, but only a shower would remove the grit that had made its way into her hair and between her toes. She returned to the table just as Bodie reappeared in his street clothes. The bar didn’t have showers, so he shouldn’t have smelled so good, of agreeable male exertion, piney soap, and clean clothes. As he took his seat, the sleeve of his knit shirt rode up on his biceps, revealing more of the intricate tribal tattoo that encircled it. He grinned. “You sucked.”

No one else was getting the best of her tonight. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” she cooed.

“God, I can’t wait to get you into bed.”

Another of those unnerving shocks skittered through her. She snatched up the beer he’d ordered for her and took a sip, but it was too warm to cool her off. “You’re assuming a lot.”

“Not so much.” He leaned in. “How else can you make sure I’ll keep my mouth shut around Heath? It’s the damnedest thing, but I can’t seem to forget that little spying episode.”

“You’re blackmailing me with sex?”

“Why not?” He settled back in his chair with a crooked grin. “It’ll give you a good excuse to do what you want to anyway.”

If another man had delivered a line like that, she would have laughed in his face, but the pit of her stomach dipped. She had the oddest feeling Bodie knew something about her that other people didn’t understand, maybe something she’d missed herself. “You’re delusional.”

He rubbed his knuckles. “There’s nothing I love more than sexually dominating a strong woman.”

Her fingers tightened around the bottle, not because she felt threatened—he was enjoying himself too much—but because his words aroused her. “Maybe you should talk to a shrink.”

“And spoil all our fun? I don’t think so.”

No one ever played sexual games with her. She crossed her legs and gave him a withering smile. “You deluded little man.”

He leaned forward and whispered against her earlobe. “One of these nights I’m going to make you pay for that.” And then he bit.

She nearly groaned, not with pain—he wasn’t hurting her—but with an unsettling excitement. Fortunately, one of the men from the volleyball game came up to the table, so Bodie backed off, giving her a chance to regain her balance.

Their food arrived shortly afterward. Bodie had ordered without consulting her, then had the nerve to chastise her for not eating. “You don’t really bite into anything. You just lick. No wonder you’re scrawny.”

“You silver-tongued devil.”

“As long as your mouth’s open…” He slipped in a french fry. She savored the shock of the grease and the salt but turned away when he offered another. More volleyball players stopped by the table. As Bodie chatted with them, she automatically surveyed the women in the bar. Several were quite beautiful, and she itched to give them her card, but she couldn’t motivate herself to get up. Bodie’s presence had sucked the oxygen out of the room, leaving the air too thin for her to breathe.

By the time they left the sports bar and entered the lobby of her building, she’d grown almost giddy with desire. She mentally rehearsed how she’d handle him. He knew exactly the effect he was having on her, so of course he expected her to invite him up. She wouldn’t, but he’d get in the elevator anyway, and she’d respond with cool amusement. Perfect.

But Bodie Gray had one more surprise up his sleeve. “Good night, slugger.” With nothing more than a kiss on the forehead, he walked away.



Saturday morning Annabelle got up early and headed for Roscoe Village, a former haven for drug dealers that had been gentrified in the 1990s. Now it was a pretty urban neighborhood with refurbished houses and charming shops that projected a small-town feel. She was meeting the daughter of one of Nana’s former neighbors in her storefront architectural office on Roscoe Street. She’d heard the woman was exceptionally pretty, and she wanted to meet her in person to see if she’d be a match for Heath.

As it turned out, the woman was lovely but nearly as hyperactive as he was, a surefire recipe for disaster. Annabelle considered her a good prospect for a match though, and she decided to keep her eyes open.

A hunger pang reminded her that she hadn’t taken time for breakfast. Since Heath wasn’t picking her up until noon, she made her way across the street to Victory’s Banner, a cheery, pocket-size vegetarian café operated by the followers of one of the Indian spiritual masters. Instead of a musty, incense-scented interior, Victory’s Banner had powder blue walls, sunny yellow banquettes, and chalk white tables that matched the tieback curtains at the windows. She took an empty table and began to order one of her favorites, homemade French toast with peach butter and real maple syrup, only to be distracted by a platter of golden-brown Belgian waffles passing by. She finally settled on apple pecan pancakes.