Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(97)

Tremaine snatched up his glass and wiped the end table with the sleeve of his designer sweater. “Sorry, Annabelle.”

Annabelle caught Heath’s grin and marched forward, pinning her wrath on him. “This is all your fault. You have at least four clients here, none of whom I knew personally a year ago. If it weren’t for you, I’d be just another fan watching them destroy each other from a safe distance.”

Her hissy fit was getting everybody’s attention, and someone turned the music down so they could all listen in. She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “They’ve drunk everything in the house, including a pitcher of African violet plant food I’d just mixed up and was stupid enough to leave on the counter.”

Tremaine punched Eddie in the shoulder. “I told you it tasted weird.”

Eddie shrugged. “Tasted okay to me.”

“They’ve also ordered hundreds of dollars’ worth of Chinese food, which I do not intend to see all over this rug, so everybody is going to…eat in the kitchen.”

“And pizza.” Jason Kent, a Stars second stringer, called out from someplace near the refrigerator. “Don’t forget we ordered pizzas, too.”

“When did my house turn into a hangout for every grossly overpaid, terminally pampered professional football player in northern Illinois?”

“We like it here,” Jason said. “It reminds us of home.”

“Plus, no women around.” Leandro Collins, the Bears’ first-string tight end emerged from the office munching on a bag of chips. “There’s times when you need a rest from the ladies.”

Annabelle shot out her arm and smacked him in the side of the head. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Leandro had a short fuse, and he’d been known to take out a ref here and there when he didn’t like a call, but the tight end merely rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. “Just like my mama.”

“Mine, too,” Tremaine said with happy nod.

Annabelle spun on Heath. “Their mother! I’m thirty-one years old, and I remind them of their mothers.”

“You act like my mother,” Sean pointed out, unwisely as it transpired, because he got a swat in the head next.

Heath exchanged sympathetic looks with the boys, then gave Annabelle his full attention, speaking softly and patiently. “Tell me how this happened, sweetheart.”

Annabelle threw up her hands. “I have no idea. In the summer it was just Dean dropping in. Then he brought Jason and Dewitt with him. Then Arté asked me to keep my eye on Sean, so I invited him over—just once, mind you—and he showed up with Leandro and Matt. A Star here, a Bear there …One thing led to another. And now I have a potentially deadly riot on my hands, right in the middle of my living room.”

“I told you not to worry about that,” Jason said. “This is neutral territory.”

“Yeah, right.” Her nostrils flared. “Neutral territory until somebody gets mad, and then you guys’ll be all, ‘We’re sorry, Annabelle, but you seem to be missing your front windows and half the second floor.’”

“Only person’s been mad since we got here is you,” Sean muttered.

Annabelle’s expression turned so hilariously murderous that Eddie snorted beer—or maybe African violet fertilizer—right out through his nose, which cracked everybody up.

Annabelle lunged for Heath, grabbing his shirtfront in her fists, pulling herself up on her toes, and hissing at him through clenched teeth. “They’re going to get drunk, and then one of these idiots is going to plow his Mercedes into a car full of nuns. And I’ll be liable. This is Illinois. We have host laws in this state.”

For the first time Heath was disappointed in her. “Didn’t you get their keys?”

“Of course I got their keys. Do you think I’m nuts? But—”

The front door blew open, and Mr. Hot Shit Robillard waltzed in all decked out in Oakleys, diamonds, and cowboy boots. He gave a two-finger wave like the f*cking king of England.

“Oh, shit. Kill me now.” Annabelle’s grip on his shirt tightened. “Somebody’s going to take him out tonight. I can feel it. He’ll end up with a broken arm or crippled, and then I’ll have to deal with Phoebe.”

Heath gently pried her fingers loose. “Relax. Lover Boy can take care of himself.”

“All I wanted was to be a matchmaker. Is that so hard to understand? A simple matchmaker.” She slumped back on her heels. “My life is crap.”

Leandro frowned. “Annabelle, you’re starting to get on my nerves.”

Three long strides brought Robillard to her side. He gave Heath a long look, then looped his arm around Annabelle and kissed her hard on the lips. Fury exploded behind Heath’s eyelids. His right hand curled into a fist, but this was Annabelle’s house, and she’d never forgive him if he did what he wanted to.

“Annabelle’s my woman,” Dean announced as he broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “Anybody gives her trouble has to deal with me…and my offensive line.”

Annabelle looked annoyed, which made Heath feel a hell of a lot better. “I can take care of myself. What I can’t deal with is a house full of drunken morons.”

“That is so harsh,” Eddie said, looking injured.