Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(99)

Annabelle smiled at Heath. “They’re just goofing around. They know I won’t do it.”

“You might,” Gary Sweeney said. “There’s a good fifteen carats in that hat.”

“Damn. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a natural redhead.” Reggie O’Shea whipped the jewel-encrusted crucifix from around his neck and dropped it in the hat.

The men gazed down at it.

“That’s just wrong,” Leandro said.

There were enough mutters of agreement that Reggie retrieved his necklace.

Annabelle sighed, and Heath heard honest-to-God regret in her voice. “This has been fun, but the food’s getting cold. Sean, that is a gorgeous set of studs, but your mother would kill me.”

Not to mention what Heath would do.



Sometime around two in the morning, the beer supply a couple of the guys had been secretly replenishing finally ran out, and the crowd began to thin. Annabelle put Heath in charge of conducting field sobriety tests. He called cabs and shoved drunks into the few cars with sober drives. Just one fight had erupted all evening, and it wasn’t over car keys. Dean took exception to his teammate Dewitt’s statement that the only reason a guy would buy a Porsche instead of a kick-ass car like an Escalade was to match the color of his lace panties. Two Bears players had to pull them apart.

“So tell me the truth,” Annabelle had said to Heath at the time. “Did they really go to college?”

“Yeah, but not necessarily to their classes.”

By two-thirty, Annabelle had fallen asleep at one end of the couch with Leandro on the other, while Heath and Dean cleaned up the worst of the mess in the kitchen. Heath tossed Dean a plastic trash bag. “Hide those empty whiskey bottles.”

“Since nobody got killed, she probably won’t care.”

“No sense in taking chances. She was pretty riled up tonight.”

They shoved the worst of the food mess into trash bags and carried them out to the alley. Dean gazed at Sherman in disgust. “She actually tried to talk me into trading cars with her. She said driving that heap for a couple of days would help me stay in touch with the real world.”

“Not to mention giving her a shot at your Porsche.”

“I do believe I pointed that out.” They headed toward the house. “So how’s come you haven’t tried to shove a contract under my nose tonight?”

“Losing interest.” Heath held the back door open for him. “I’m used to guys who are more decisive.”

“I’m decisive as hell. I’ll have you know the only reason I haven’t signed with anybody yet is because I’m having too much fun being courted. You wouldn’t believe the shit agents’ll send you, and I’m not just talking about front-row concert tickets. The Zagorskis bought me a Segway.”

“Yeah, well, while you’re enjoying yourself, remember that Nike’s forgetting all the reasons they need your candy-ass face smiling down on the homeless from their billboards.”

“Speaking of presents…” Dean leaned against the counter, his expression cagey. “I’ve been admiring that new Rolex Submariner watch I’ve seen in the stores. Those folks sure do know how to make a great timepiece.”

“How about I send you a flower arrangement that matches your pretty blue eyes instead?”

“That’s cold, man.” He dredged his keys from Annabelle’s Hello Kitty cookie jar along with an Oreo. “It’s hard to see how you got to be such a hotshot agent with that kind of attitude.”

Heath smiled. “It looks like you’ll never find out. Your loss.”

Robillard snapped the Oreo in two with his teeth, gave him a cocky grin, and sauntered from the kitchen. “Later, Heathcliff.”

Heath sent Leandro off in a cab. He couldn’t stop grinning. There wasn’t one thing between Dean and Annabelle except mischief. Annabelle didn’t love him. She treated him exactly the same way she treated the other players, like they were overgrown kids. All that crap she’d fed Heath was totally bogus. And if Dean had been in love with her, he sure as hell wouldn’t have left her alone with another man tonight.

She lay on her side, little puffs of air stirring the lock of hair that had fallen over her mouth. He fetched a blanket, and she didn’t stir as he covered her with it. He found himself wondering how bad it would be to reach under that blanket and slip off her jeans so she could sleep more comfortably?

Bad.

Try as he might, he could only come up with one reason Annabelle had set up her charade with Dean. Because she was in love with Heath, and she wanted to save her pride. Funny, feisty, glorious Annabelle Granger loved him. His grin grew broader, and he felt lighthearted for the first time in months. Amazing what clarity could do for a man’s peace of mind.



The phone awakened him. He reached across the nightstand for it and muttered into the mouthpiece. “Champion.”

There was a long silence. He turned his face deeper into the pillow and drifted.

“Heath?”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Heath?”

“Phoebe?”

He heard an angry, in-drawn breath and then the crack of a broken connection. His eyes shot open. Another few seconds passed before he confirmed what he feared. This wasn’t his bedroom, the phone he’d answered didn’t belong to him, and it was—he gazed at the clock—not quite eight in the morning.