He told himself that was fine. He didn’t need friendships. Didn’t need the hassle of connections, while trying to keep his life private.
The ache in his chest knew better.
“Hey, Killian.” Josiah Walker, Bobcat running back, self-professed eco-loving country boy, walked over. He was already dressed in a windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. “There’s a cutie standing out there, waiting for you.”
He glanced up from pulling on his boxers. “Come again?”
Josiah laughed. “Yeah, I was pretty damn shocked, too. Tried to convince her she wanted me instead, but she insisted she wanted you, and only you.”
“Groupie?” he asked hesitantly.
“Nah.” Josiah sank down to the bench, settling in. His back leaned against the locker next to Killian’s open one. “Small thing, tiny really. Auburn hair, pulled back into some bun thing on the top of her head. And she’s got these . . .” He ran one finger over his nose.
A sense of foreboding hit him in the chest. “Let me guess. Freckles.”
Josiah nodded and smiled. “You know her?”
“We’ve met.” He finished dressing and shut his locker.
Josiah stood, then looked at him for a minute. “Want me to get rid of her?”
The offer, so simply given, when they’d barely spoken two words to each other during the season, was like a balm to his lonely soul. “No. Thanks, though. I’ll see what she wants.”
Josiah shrugged and headed out with a wave.
The moment was probably nothing to Josiah. He was a friendly guy. But to Killian, who had barely had contact with anyone besides his coaches and his son in the last few years, it felt like a hell of a lot more.
He slung his bag over one shoulder and weaved his way through the lockers and players in various states of undress to the tunnel that would lead him to the parking lot. There, leaning against one wall, was Freckles.
She smiled slowly as the door to the locker room closed behind him. “That was fast.”
“Why wait?” He started walking, keeping a pace he knew she struggled to keep up with.
But she did anyway. Practically jogging in her Converse, she shuffled sideways to look at him. “Don’t you hang out with anyone after practices?”
“No.”
“After games?”
“No.”
“At all?”
“No. Look, what do you want?” He stopped so suddenly, she nearly fell as she fought to halt her side shuffle. He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. Even to him, considered scrawny in the NFL at five foot ten, she was shockingly small. He could toss her over his shoulder with ease. Carry her around with him for an hour and not notice the weight.
Weird thought.
“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” She straightened, then looked pointedly at his hand. He was still holding her arm, despite having her balance. He let go quickly. “Maybe I have a thing for stubborn guys with sulky attitudes.”
He scowled. “I don’t sulk.” What a stupid thing to say.
One corner of her full mouth tilted up. “You kinda do sulk.”
“No, I—” He shook his head. This was the kind of argument his five year old would love. “Look, just ask for the interview you clearly want, so I can say no, then you can go away.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment. “No.”
“No . . . what? No, you’re not asking for an interview?”
“No.”
He resisted the urge to rip out his hair. “No. What.”
“No, I’m not going away.” She smiled angelically at him. Who knew angels could be so evil? “I have plans. Big plans. And you are a very small—but important—part of those very big plans. My lynchpin, if you will. So you see, Killian Reeves, I can’t just go away.”
“I’m not giving you an interview.”
“Probably not today,” she agreed easily.
“Probably not ever,” he corrected.
Her smile brightened. “You said probably, which isn’t the same thing as never. So see? Already we’re making progress.”
He gaped at her, then kept walking. Not shockingly, she caught up quickly. “You’re an infuriating woman.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Your husband must be a saint.”
“No husband.” She took a few running steps, then planted herself in front of him so he had to stop, or run her over. He seriously debated the latter. “No boyfriend. No real commitments other than work. Which means I can be as tenacious as I want to be. I know what I want, and it’s you.”
The words sparked a heat deep in his gut, but he battled it back. She was a reporter. She wanted to pry straight into his private life. Taking two steps to the left, he walked around her. She did a little hop-step to catch up.
“Go away.”
Suddenly, she stopped and smiled calmly. “Okay.”
Okay? Her sudden, suspicious face into amenable territory had him freezing. “That’s it? Just, okay?”
She shrugged one shoulder, rocking back on her heels. “You said ‘go away.’ So, okay.” She took a few steps to the left, halted, then turned around. “I’m parked that way,” she mumbled with a blush, and ducked her head as she passed him going the opposite direction.
“You can’t just quit like that.”
She waved a hand over her head but didn’t turn around.
He followed. Why the hell was he following her? “What kind of reporter are you?”
She spun to walk backward a few paces. “I’m a nobody, for now.”
“No wonder, if you give up that easily.”
She quirked one side of her lip up. “Would you rather I jump on your back and ride you to your car like an ox?”
I’d rather you jumped on my front and rode me in bed.
Aw, shit. Not right. Not right at all. He stopped, and she kept walking backward, watching him. “Fine. Good.”
“Good,” she echoed. Then, with a little hitch, she did an abrupt face and jogged to the public parking lot. The massive tote purse thing she had slung over her body bounced against her ass, which was so snugly, perfectly covered in faded denim he couldn’t not watch it until it—and she—disappeared out of sight.
Killian sighed and waited for the relief to wash over him. But instead, it was annoyance, with a healthy dash of curiosity, that overtook him. No wonder she worked for some nobody blog, or whatever it was. She gave up too fast.
Which was a good thing, he reminded himself as he followed around the corner to make sure she actually left, and didn’t just wait for him to stop paying attention and double back. He watched her get into a piece of junk car that looked like its primary color was silver duct tape. He held his breath until the engine caught and she pulled out of the parking lot.
“That was the most bizarre flirting I’ve ever seen.”
He jolted, then turned to look at Josiah Walker and Stephen Harrison. They stood off to the side, Josiah wearing a raggedy baseball cap, with a backpack slung over his shoulders, holding his road bike. Stephen, arms crossed, keys dangling from one hand.
“Spying?”
“No,” the running back said slowly, then pointed down to his bicycle. “This is where I lock up my bike. Always has been. And you two would have noticed us if you hadn’t been caught in your weirdo sexual dance.”
Stephen smiled and nodded. “It was pretty damn hot, just saying.”
Killian raised a brow at that.
Josiah just chuckled and wheeled his bike toward the main road. The man preferred to bike whenever possible. He was one of those environmental guys who got their jollies off on calculating your carbon footprint and stuff. People around town always got a kick to see him pedal past on his way to practice or something.
Stephen, a mountain of a man who liked to laugh, just smiled quietly and walked toward the parking lot.
Killian worked in La La Land.
He ran a hand over his hair, then forced himself to walk back toward the players’ lot. Freckles was none of his business. If she wanted to fail at her job, so be it. The less time he spent arguing with her, the more time he had for himself.