Baller's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

Chapter
Eight

Skila

I cannot
freaking believe this shit. Of all the people for me to be stuck interviewing
it has to be the Greek god from the club. My breath catches in my lungs when I
see him and realize that my Greek god is none other than Kiptyn Price, the
elusive, record-breaking star athlete I was sent to interview.

Waiting for
the doors to open, I listen to the others around me, my spirits crashing more and
more with every word I hear. It figures my first assignment would be to
interview the one person in the world who refuses all interviews. I'll never be
able to keep this job. I pull out my phone, ready to start searching through
the classifieds right then and there, when the doors open.

My mouth
goes dry. The phone in my hand is completely forgotten in exchange for the most
beautiful bronze, sculpted man I have ever seen. I can’t take my eyes off him.
His hair is soaking wet from either the game or the shower afterward. It’s hard
to tell from here. Strong arms hang at his sides, covered in intricate tribal
tattoos that travel across his shoulders down his chest. I wish I could step
closer to him and study them, run my fingers along them, down his stomach to
his . . . holy Hades, he has the freaking V.

Look away, Skila. Look away.

I try to
peel my eyes off him. I really do, but I’m drawn him whether I like it or not.
I know the type of ass he is, and God above knows, he thinks he’s God’s gift to
women, but even knowing all of that, I can’t walk away. I can’t look away. It’s
like a horrible car accident.

I’m a
rubber-necker.

God,
he’s so beautiful.

Why is
he in a towel? Lord help me. My skin is flushing hot and my breath is rushing
out in pants of raspy air between my lips. I glance around, wondering if anyone
else is as affected by him as me, and sure enough, every other woman in the
room is fanning herself with whatever is available.

He doesn’t
see me at first. He can’t see anyone with the amount of lights flashing in his
face from the dozens of cameras directed at him, two of which are from my own
paper. It makes him uncomfortable. I can tell by the way he holds himself,
stiff and guarded. It makes me want to jump forward and protect him, to defend
him against the crowd the way he did that night at the club, protecting me from
Rod. Even though I wasn’t in any real danger, I’m pretty certain he didn’t even
know why he was fighting. I take a step forward, and I’m jostled on both sides
by snarling reporters, thinking I’m trying to step on their turf and get the
upper hand. It shocks me, the amount of animosity I feel coming from my
colleagues.

Another
man arrives, and Kiptyn relaxes. His agent, I’m guessing, by the way he handles
the crowd as he seems accustomed to doing. My hand shoots up with the others
and I wait, praying that the good lord above will give me the chance to ask a
question. Just one, and maybe I’ll be able to save my job.

Kiptyn
scans the crowd, passing over me. I breathe a disappointed sigh before his gaze
sweeps back to me. His eyes lock onto mine, and every nerve ending in my body
goes wild. My heart is trying to beat out of my chest. I press a hand over it
and try to calm it. This feeling surprises me. Never in my life have I had this
type of reaction around a man. Blood is roaring through my ears, making it hard
to hear anything around me, but I can still see clear as day when he points
right at me.

“You.”

I feel
that word in the deepest part of my soul. My mouth starts watering like crazy,
and I know I’m exactly two seconds away from losing my lunch on the locker room
floor. I can’t explain it—I just run.

I hear
him outside the door. I know it's him. Who else would have bothered to follow
me? Not one of the other reporters. I’m sure they're happy I'm gone.

It’s
Kiptyn.

I wipe
the back of my hand across my mouth, stand up straight, and make my way to the
sink. I glance in the mirror, not recognizing the woman staring back at me. I
look scared shitless, terrified.
Of what?

I hear a
knock, and the tears I was trying to swallow evaporate to be replaced by
blinding, white-hot rage. How dare he single me out? The nerve of him. I want
to slap that knowing smirk off his smug face. Exclusive interview, hell. I
didn’t want to be in the same room with him, much less have to speak to him.

I snatch
the door open, startling him. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

“How do
you know my name? Are you a stalker?” My question catches him off guard.

“WHAT?”

“A
stalker, ya know, an asshole who follows someone around trying to get them
alone so you can do God knows what.”

“No. No,
I’m not a stalker. I was just trying to check on you. You seemed upset or
something. Forget it.” He turns to angrily walk away. His hands are balled into
fists at his side, clenching and unclenching. I watch him walk a few steps,
satisfied with myself for pushing him away, and then I remember the reason for
my being here. My job. Shit.

“Wait.
Kiptyn,” I call out to him, rushing after him. He turns back to me, raising his
eyebrows and waiting to see what amazing nonsense comes out of my mouth next. I
can’t believe the mess I’ve made of this. The one chance I've got at keeping my
job, and I let my temper get in the way. Typical.

“The
interview?” I ask biting at my lip nervously. He laughs, but it contains no
humor, and he rubs his hand over his brow. I imagine he thinks I’m bipolar,
running hot and then cold, but he doesn’t leave. No, he stands there watching
me, thinking.

“One
condition,” he says after what seems like forever. I don’t want to agree, but
after my display of crazy a moment ago, I don’t really have a choice.

“Anything,”
I say, and I mean it. I need this job, not just so I can find my own place, but
so I can prove to everyone back home that I made it. No one had faith in me.
I’m pretty sure they're taking bets on how long I last before I come running
back with my tail between my legs. It isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it,
and besides, it’s not like he has some crazy condition, does he?

“I want
one date, my choice. Tomorrow night.”

What?
No, no, no, no, no
. There is no way. I
can’t do it. He can’t make me, but my job . . . I've got no choice. Swallowing
my pride, I hold out my hand. It isn’t a deal until you shake on it, and I’m
not about to let him back out on a loophole, no matter how childish. The smile
that lights up his face steals my breath. I force air into my lungs. His hand
wraps around mine, engulfing it completely. Chills run up my arm and travel
down the length of my spine. My nipples harden instantly, jutting out from
beneath my thin lace bra. I hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

I try to
pull my hand away, but he holds it in his strong grasp, waiting, forcing me to
meet his gaze. The palest blue eyes I've ever seen meet mine, piercing my soul.
Holding my gaze, he raises my now limp hand to his lips and places one kiss on
the back side of my palm before turning it over and nipping gently on the fatty
part of my thumb. I suck in a breath, startled by the way my body reacts to his
blatant display of attraction, and pull my hand free. His smile widens. He
knows what he’s doing and the effect it’s having on me.

I turn,
and for the second time this evening, I walk away from Kiptyn Price.

I only
wanted to ask him one question—just one. That would have been enough to
hopefully save my job, but now, instead of asking Kiptyn one question, I seem
to be asking
myself
one.
What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Nine

Kiptyn

When I wake
this morning, I lie there for a minute, wondering what or who I had done last
night, and feeling the emptiness on the other side of the bed, I struggle to
figure out where ‘she’ had gone. Then I remember that I didn’t go out last night.
I have a
date
tonight, a real fucking
date.

I can’t
remember the last time I went out on a date. Maybe when I was fourteen? Yeah, I
think I remember taking someone to the movies, hoping to get a kiss afterward.
I can’t remember if I did, in fact, get the kiss. It wasn’t long after that
when I discovered what an easy girl was.
Now, I usually just pick up a willing girl at whatever bar
I'm at, in whatever city we’re playing.

I jump
in the shower, excited to get a start on the day. Hopefully, it will fly by and
tonight will be here before I know it. Shoving my hands through a tee, I stop
with one arm in and one halfway. I didn’t get her fucking number.

“Shit.”
Pulling the shirt on the rest of the way, I leap on my bed and grab my phone.

Please let there be something.
I type in my name and hit search and
then wait for Google to pull up the most recent articles. A picture of Skila
graces the front page, along with a small article detailing my willingness to
interview with her. It lists the paper she works for at the end, and I almost
jump for joy.

Clearing
the search, I type in
Los Angeles Daily
Home
and press the highlighted
call
button. A scratchy-voiced receptionist answers on the second ring, and I ask
her to patch me through to Skila Parker.

“She isn’t
taking calls today.” I could hear her popping gum across the line.

“Well,
can you take a message or patch me through to her boss? Is he taking calls?” I
ask, getting angrier by the second. This one person is not going to stand in
the way of me and my date.

“Sure.
What’s the name?” she asks, bored.

“Kiptyn.
Kiptyn Price,” I say.

It’s
amazing how quickly her entire demeanor changes when she hears my name. “Oh,
Mr. Price. I’m sure I can transfer you. Hold, please.” I don’t reply.

Fuck
that.

I make a
mental note to contact her manager about her shitty people skills. The more I
think about it, the angrier I get. Like she has any right to be nasty to
regular, everyday people? I’m famous, so I get special treatment? That’s not
cool. No one has the right to be an asshole just because. Fuck that.

“Skila
Parker speaking,” she answers, and her voice alone soothes my temper. She
sounds irritated, exasperated, and yet she answered the phone cordially.

“Sky,
its Kiptyn. I’m sorry to call you at work, but I forgot to get your number last
night,” I say. I don’t know why I’m apologizing, but it seems right.

“Oh,
it’s ok.” She rattles off her number and I tell her goodbye. The phone is
resting in my lap, discarded and forgotten, while I sit on the edge of my bed
and smile off into space. Five seconds. I spoke to her for maybe five seconds,
and it wasn’t nearly long enough. I pick my phone back up and dial her cell
this time. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”
It sounds like she’s whispering. Shit. I didn’t think she might get into
trouble for my calling her at work.

“Hey.
It’s me again.” She laughs into the phone, and the worry I feel for calling her
melts away. I would do it all over again and again if it meant I got to hear
that laugh one more time.

“Did you
need something, Kiptyn?” she asks when her laughter dies down.

“No, I
just wanted to hear your beautiful voice again, and I need your address to pick
you up tonight.”

What the
fuck? I don’t talk like this.

This.

Is.

Not.

Me.

I don't
compliment women. At least not anymore. The old me might have, but the new me
suggests, quite provocatively, that they strip or suck me off. I've never had
to be the one to pass out compliments to get what I wanted, and so I don’t do
it, period, until now. Until Sky. She sighs on the other end of the phone.

“I know
what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”

“What?
What am I trying to do?” I ask. I’m truly curious to hear what she thinks I
want from her.

“To
seduce me, and it’s not going to work. I mean it. I’m . . . I’m not available.”

Not
available? What the fuck does that mean? Is she married? I rack my brain,
conjuring images of her, and then relax. She wasn’t wearing a ring either time
I saw her, so no husband. She might have a boyfriend, but that won’t last long.

No. Not
after seeing the way her body reacted to my touch last night. If she does have
a man, I would be doing her a favor by stealing her away from him. She needs
someone to show her what it means to be treasured.

“You’re
wrong. I’m not trying to seduce you . . .” I let my sentence trail off. Let her
wonder what I mean by that. It's true, at least. I’m not
trying
to seduce her. I'm going to tonight.

She may
have denied me once, but she won’t get the chance again. I’ll make sure of it.
I plan to pull out all stops for this date. Wine and dine.