Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(16)

She’s got a mouth on her.

“I was worried this ugly thing would get eaten by my Irish wolfhound.”

“Huh.” Moving with grace and a good deal of I don’t care, she steps out to the porch with long legs, sets her coffee on an outdoor end table, and then takes the bin from my hands. She puts her face up to the clear plastic and talks in a baby voice: “Poor wittle Sparky, got caught by the big bad football coach.”

He puts his paw up and makes a “Help me” meow.

“He isn’t ugly; he’s an adorable Donskoy of Russian heritage,” she says, the accent gone, her tone flat. “They’re affectionate, clever, and protective. They’re the dogs of the cat world.”

“He scratched me.” I show her the dried blood on my forearm.

“Should we call the boosters for medical help?”

So. It’s going to be like that, huh? All right. Fine. I was dickish last night. I had good reason. I thought I’d be spending my birthday with Skeeter and some of the coaches watching football at Randy’s Roadhouse. We did that for about an hour; then they cut it short, and we drove back to a houseful of people. Then Jenny showed up—surprise—saw girls in the pool with me, and had a meltdown. A twenty-two-year-old model, she pushed back the loneliness in New York like a few women have. When I moved here, I told her long distance wasn’t feasible for me, but then she claimed she was in love and started showing up in Blue Belle.

After I got out of the pool, I took Jenny to my office, where she announced she was dumping me to date a Wall Street guy. I told her good luck; then she marched upstairs, found a dress she’d left, and stormed out.

I’d just recovered from that episode when Nova appeared in my kitchen. I assumed she was another candidate for the future Mrs. Smith.

“Thanks for the concern. I’ll live.” I stick my hands in the pockets of my Nike shorts, then change my mind and pull at the collar of my shirt. Still twitchy, I tug my hat down lower on my head and glance away from her, giving her my scarless profile. It’s become a habit—not that I’m vain, but I know they’re ugly.

“Your dog-cat was in my backyard,” I say curtly. “You should watch Sparky better.”

“There’s an old dog door at the back of the house. He must have slipped out before I got up.” She places the bin down, and Sparky jumps out, walks through the open door, and then jumps up on the back of a chair in one of the front windows. He stares at us with a smug look.

“Without hair, he’s very expressive,” she murmurs. “I love that little jerk. I wonder if he went back to your house to take a poo. It would serve you right.”

I frown. “I think we got off on the wrong foot last night.”

“Hmm, it was before that.”

I huff. “You’re not a Pythons fan, huh?”

A hesitant expression flashes on her face.

Right. Lois mentioned she’d dated Zane Williams, the current quarterback for the Pythons’ rival team. I’ve played him and beat him. He’s not up to my caliber. Or what my caliber used to be.

“You’re famous,” she muses. “I can’t figure out how you got here. I know the booster club has a private plane and tons of money, and we’ve had some great coaches, but . . . you?”

“A friend went to college with the current principal. He offered, and I like Texas football.” The fans are devoted, I dig the kids, and I didn’t have any other offers.

And . . . I needed a fresh slate. A new focus. Away from everything I’d messed up.

I shift on my feet, my eyes flitting over her again, sticking on those pink lips, the bottom one fuller, the top with a deep V. It’s the kind of mouth a man wants to crush—

My frown deepens. Something—

My peripheral vision catches sight of Melinda’s Mustang pulling onto the main street that leads to our cove. Cursing under my breath, I duck down behind the stone that surrounds Nova’s porch.

She shakes her head. “You’re supposed to face your problems, not run from them. Is this another one of your communication issues with women?”

“I don’t have issues,” I growl. I just don’t want to see Melinda. Last night, she hung on me like glue, even insisting on staying and cleaning up the party mess, not leaving until midnight. There was an uncomfortable moment at my door when she wrapped her arms around me, then tilted her face up for a kiss. I’m so sorry about Jenny, Ronan. I’m here if you need me.

Nova takes a slow sip of her coffee. “I predict an engagement by Christmas, then a spring wedding. Your china will be classic white, your pots and pans stainless steel.”

“No one’s getting married. Where’s she now?” I say as my leg sends a pang from my crouched position.

“She’s taking the turn onto our street. She’s got the top down, a scarf tied around her hair, and big sunglasses on. Did you see her pantsuit last night? Divine.”

An exasperated noise comes from me. “I didn’t notice.” Yet . . . I noticed Nova in her Johnny Cash shirt. I saw the curves under her joggers, the finely drawn features of her face, the languid way she moved. The moment she turned around in the kitchen . . . I tensed.

“I hear Britney Spears coming from her car. Yep.” She flips her boa, then sings a few bars of “Oops! . . . I Did It Again.” She stops and gives me a curious look. “Are you sleeping with her?”