“Irene’s a good kid, she’s just trying to find her own way. She’s been under their mom’s thumb for so long, now that she’s breaking out, she’s struggling to figure out what she wants instead of what her mom wants.”
“Well, I appreciate her missing the game to babysit.”
“I think Irene and her mom needed some space. They’re still working out . . . issues. Watching the little guy was the perfect excuse to skip out of the game with the family.” Trey nodded. “How’s Aileen?”
“Dunno.” He picked up his bag, then let it fall back to the bench. “How the fuck would I know? She doesn’t answer her phone or call me back. She’s not hanging around here doing her damn job. She’s supposed to be interviewing me, isn’t she?” The last was said through his teeth. “So where the hell is she?”
“I think the interview’s off. She got fired.”
“What? You’re shitting me. That can’t be legal.”
“Probably is,” Trey said. “Cassie hung out with her yesterday. She’s on the hunt for a new job. Something about not finishing the interview . . .”
“I got her fired,” he moaned, letting his head fall back to smack against the locker. It hurt, but was less than he deserved.
Trey shrugged, zero help there. But clearly, he understood there was more than an interview in play. A few teammates walked past, slapping backs or shoulders. It didn’t make Killian antsy to bolt like it used to. And in the back, they were still sheltered from the media with locker room access. Somehow, the camaraderie was soothing as much as it was hectic.
“I’ve got to figure out a way to get her back, man.”
Trey drummed his fingers on the bench.
“I can’t not be around her. She’s stuck under my skin. Used to make me want to swat her off,” he said with a small smile. “Now I wish she’d cling harder. But she won’t answer the damn phone so I can tell her that.”
“Hmm,” Trey said, as if he had only been half-listening. “So Cassie and I have been thinking . . . now that the season’s over, it’s a good time to get the whole ‘we’re dating’ thing out in the open. Deal with it now, so it’s no biggie by the time next season rolls around.”
Killian watched him from the side, not turning his head. “Trey, no offense or anything, but I don’t really care right now.”
“That means,” Trey continued, as if Killian hadn’t spoken, “we need to find just the right avenue. A casual little interview, not making a big deal about it. No need to do Good Morning America or anything crazy. And we want someone we trust, who we know will respect the boundaries we put up and won’t screw us over.” He grinned when Killian turned his head to look at him square on. “Know anyone?”
Slowly, Killian processed what Trey was asking. “You want Aileen to do the interview.”
“We agreed she’s someone we both trust.” Killian nodded resolutely.
“She got fired,” Killian said, pointing out the obvious. “You said she hasn’t found anything yet.”
“So maybe she doesn’t find anything at all. Maybe she goes freelance. Or maybe this is the type of interview that gets her noticed by bigger and better places.” Trey shrugged. “What she does with it is up to her. The point is, we trust her not to abuse the situation.”
Killian’s hands clenched around the straps of his bag. “She might not accept it, coming from me.”
“She’s a journalist being presented a story on a silver platter. She’s going to take it.”
“Glad you’re confident. You’ve already got your woman.”
Trey snorted. “She’s got me just as much—if not more—than I’ve got her. That’s the beauty of being in love, my friend.” Standing, he slapped a hand on Killian’s shoulder and squeezed once in solidarity. “You always know there’s at least one other person in the world who’s just as happy—or as miserable—as you are at any given time.”
“Sounds like hell.”
“Heaven,” Trey corrected, and walked back to his area of the locker room.
Heaven. He could use a little of that. With a freckled pixie by his side.
* * *
Trudging up her apartment stairs, Aileen debated letting her tote drag behind her. Only the reminder that her laptop and cell phone were inside, sure to break if she succumbed to temptation, stopped her. Everything was heavy. Her head, her shoulders, her spirit . . . it all wanted to droop.
Rounding the corner, she hefted the bag higher over her shoulder and looked up. And froze. And cursed under her breath.
Killian stood beside her apartment door, waiting. His back leaned against the cement wall, with one foot propped up. His head was down as he scrolled through his phone. He wore a red windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes, and his hair tossed around with the breeze. He needed a haircut again.
He was so damn beautiful. And it made her angry, so angry, that he was that beautiful. He had no right to look so good when she still wasn’t done working out what she felt about him, for him . . . for them.
This time, she had the element of surprise. She crept up as best she could, pausing when it looked like he might glance up. Then, at the last minute, she pounced. She grabbed his arm and yelled, “Boo!”
His head turned, the only part of his body to move, and looked down at her, one brow raised. “Hey, Freckles.”
She threw his arm aside, though it didn’t actually go anywhere. “Seriously, that’s just not fair. You knock me on my ass and I can’t even make you jolt.”
“You have a heightened startle reflex,” he quoted at her, lips quirking a little. God, she missed his smile. It faded as he surveyed her outfit. “What the hell are you wearing?”
She looked down, taking in the simple black dress pants and matching blazer, with a prim button-down shirt beneath it. On her feet were simple black flats with a silver buckle accent. “Clothes. I hear it’s considered good form to wear some when you go out in public. What are you doing here?”
He ignored her question. “Why aren’t you dressed normally?”
“This is normal. There are probably five dozen women within a two-mile radius wearing a nearly identical outfit.”
“Exactly,” he growled. “Where are your clothes? The sneakers and the jeans and hoodies.”
She groaned in exasperation. “I had a job interview and didn’t want them to mistake me for a college student. Who cares? Killian, why are you here?”
“You got fired.” His eyes were so angry, it made her take a step back. “That jackass boss of yours fired you.”
“Um, he half-fired me, I half-quit.” She dug through her bag for her keys. “I’m not entirely sure what ended up being the official diagnosis there. Suffice to say, I don’t work at Off Season.”
“Because of me.”
“No, Killian.” She looked up, ready to rip him a new one for putting her through this. This torment of being near him without actually having any rights to him. Even professional ones. “Because of me. Because I couldn’t do the story anymore. I couldn’t . . .” She started to breathe heavily and forced herself to calm down. “I couldn’t be objective anymore. I couldn’t do it.”
“Because of me,” he said again, but his voice was softer this time.
“Because of us,” she answered just as softly. “Because I felt too much for you and I lost perspective. And I knew when I dropped the story, I’d get fired. Or I’d have to quit.” She still wasn’t sure what officially happened there. “But it was worth it. I wasn’t going to do some story on you alone, and there was no way in hell I’d do one about you and—” She glanced around, saw nobody nearby, then leaned in and whispered, “You and Charlie.”
He met her halfway and kissed her. Her mind screamed to back up, that this was what got her into trouble in the first place. But her heart, the one that had led the way from the beginning, weakened in a moment’s time. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she lifted up on her toes to add pressure.