Below the Belt(14)

He raised a brow.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll never get a word in edgewise,” she said with mock seriousness.

He turned to look at the wall for a moment before she caught the smile.

She grinned, totally onto him. “You can’t resist forever. Eventually you’ll crack under the pressure. I have ways of making you talk. Do you need a ride back to the BOQ?”

He nodded before he caught himself, then shook his head. It was like being slowly but methodically beaten by a teddy bear. Not painful, but difficult to keep track of all the whacks. “I have a ride back.”

“Ah. Okay, well that’s good.”

Higgs took that moment to stick his head in. “Hey, Grandpa, ready to roll?”

“Yeah, sorry, I—”

“Oh. Did I interrupt?” Higgs walked fully into the room and looked back and forth between them. He didn’t even bother hiding his curiosity—or the fact that he wanted to watch whatever he’d interrupted.

“No, I think we were done. I was just offering Costa here a ride back if he needed one, but looks like he’s all squared away.” Marianne hopped off the table, and Brad resisted the strong urge to wrap his hands around her waist and catch her fall. She was short enough to make the jump dangerous.

She landed softly with no effort.

Or not so dangerous, and he was just overreacting.

Higgs backed out slowly. “You know, I actually need to run a few errands, so if you could still give him a ride . . .”

“Higgs,” Brad warned in a low voice.

Marianne shot him a smile as sunny as the hair tucked behind her ears. “Absolutely. No problem.”

And just like that Higgs was running for his car. Damn traitor. This. This was why it never paid to make friends out of the competition. Guy probably thought he was doing him a favor or some crap, having incorrectly read the tension in the room.

Marianne motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. It’ll just be a minute before I can lock up and go.”

He settled on the squeaky vinyl chair and stretched out his right leg, resting the ice bag over the top of his kneecap. No point in pretending it was his hand and waste the ice. Her eyes missed nothing, although she was busy shuffling papers around on her desk.

So, he gave it back to her and watched her in return. She wore less makeup than she had at the bar, though that wasn’t a shocker. The polo was too big by at least a size, and she tucked it in and did that poof-out thing from the waistband of her cuffed khaki walking shorts. He’d bet money she intentionally made herself less sexually appealing at work. Habit? Or something she did only because of the current clientele? If she’d worked for a women’s team, would she have stayed so toned down?

“Okay, ready to roll.” She beamed over her shoulder, then nodded to his leg. “We can stay until your twenty is up.”

“I’m good. It’s not a big deal.” He clenched his jaw to keep a grimace from his face while he stood. He couldn’t limp this time. No wiggle room for the pain. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I like getting to know the athletes. Makes it easier when you guys are in here and I’m keeping tabs on everyone.” She waited for him to walk out the door, then shut off the lights and locked up. “I’m parked near the front, so it’s not too far.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Her tone was cheerful, not a single hint of sarcasm. But maybe that was the beauty of it. It was so non-sarcastic, it made a full reversal and became the ultimate in comebacks.

Or the pain was eating holes in his brain like Swiss cheese and he was reading too much into it. She was a trainer. Not the KGB. She was there to tape ankles and hand out ibuprofen. Not to investigate his entire life.

She walked to a clean little Honda and opened her own door before he could do it for her. Fine. Fewer steps for him. He eased into the seat, and this time the grimace was as much from how scrunched he felt in the tiny car as from the pain of folding his right leg in.

“I know, I know,” she said easily as he fought to slide the seat back a few inches. “It’s small. But I’m small, so it’s not wasteful.”

“You’ve got a point.” As he settled the ice back on his knee, he watched as she navigated the base roads easily and headed in the right direction without waiting for his guidance. “You know your way around.”

“I’m not a military brat or anything. But you know, you live in Jacksonville long enough, you’ll make friends with kids who live on base. Plus, I worked at the Dunkin’ Donuts by the commissary for two very long months the summer after I graduated high school.”

He smiled at that. “Nothing makes you work harder in school than a taste of minimum wage.”

“Exactly why my dad pushed me into the job.” She followed the speed limits exactly, made all turns at a snail’s pace, and stopped for at least five full seconds at a four-way stop with nobody there. When he raised a brow, she wrinkled her nose. “The MPs scare me.”

He couldn’t hold back the laugh then. She amused the hell out of him, being intimidated by the military police.

“No, seriously, they do. Once, when my friend and I were driving home from work, they pulled us over. She just had a broken taillight, so they were reading her the riot act over that. But it made a big impression on my very sheltered seventeen-year-old self.” She shuddered at the memory.