Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (2 page)

“But you can play for a few more years. I really wish you’d tell me more about this whole sex tape. What possessed you to—”

“Stop.” Something burned behind her eyes, and she clenched her fork hard enough for the metal to jab into the fleshy part of her hand. “I’m not defending myself to my own damn agent one more time. I told you I didn’t release it. I told you Igor did, or someone working for him. I’ve said it more times than I can count. Either believe me and drop it, or just drop it.”

The sex tape, featuring one unsuspecting Katrina Kelly and her then-boyfriend, rising tennis stud and current number nine in the world, Igor Dorchessky. The video was grainy but close up. Though nothing more than some side boob showed, you could clearly see her face at one point and Igor’s. And it was beyond obvious what was happening, thanks to the sounds and motion. The soft lighting made that abundantly clear. So did the fact that the video had been posted from her phone to her own blog. Igor had proclaimed innocence, going on a rampage about women who couldn’t be trusted, gaining sympathy in the media about being used for his money, his rising success, how he wouldn’t let this bring him low…

And everyone had eaten it up with a spoon. Including, apparently, her own agent and her coach. Despite swearing her innocence, despite the fact that she had, up until that point, been a model athlete with no blemishes on her social networking or playing resume… she was immediately shunned. The few endorsements she’d had at that point dropped her like day-old bread. No company would look twice in her direction any longer. Nobody on the tour would talk to her. She was public enemy number one in the locker room of any tournament she played in. She’d been forced to pick up an extra job serving tables because she wasn’t making ends meet anymore with her tournament winnings.

Vicious circle. And the worst part was… there was no redemption. Everyone simply assumed she did it. Tried, convicted, forgotten. They’d moved on. There was no comeback story for her. No way—that she could see—to prove her innocence. All those years of playing clean, behaving perfectly… for nothing. On her best days, she’d become invisible. The worst thing a pro athlete could be.

And so she’d tried something different. She’d tried being visible on her own terms. They thought she was the Jezebel of the tennis world? Fine. She could play that part. Not that she was going to run around sleeping with people and recording it—hadn’t worked so well the first time, and that wasn’t even her fault—but she stopped behaving in a reserved fashion. A song came on that she loved? She danced to it even if she was sitting on the bench between sets. Party of an acquaintance that was set beside a lovely hotel pool? She had no problems jumping in in her cocktail dress, making a splash, encouraging others to join her in a chicken fight in semiformal attire.

If it was outrageous—and legal—she wasn’t going to say no. Being a good girl got her nowhere. Maybe focusing on her own happiness, and not the perception of others, would do something for her career.

At least it would make her happier.

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed as she took a bite of her sauced hash browns. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Peter asked quietly from the corner, “Do you still love the game?”

The food stuck in her throat halfway down. Choking, Kat grabbed for her water glass and gulped, soothing the ache. “What?” she croaked out.

“Do you still love the game? Tennis. The sport you play for a living. The game you clawed and scratched your way through since you were nine. That you’ve endured countless injuries, seen dozens of setbacks, and kept fighting through so you could keep playing.”

The man had a way with words, even if some of them were mangled by his accent. She felt a sting behind her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep tears from forming. “You should be writing ad copy,” she said, trying to sound flippant. “That was masterful.”

“I have a job. Coaching you. You are making that difficult.” His accent made the short, clipped sentences sound harsher than they already were.

Sawyer put up a hand to stop Peter. “It’s
my
job to sell my athletes. It’s my athletes’ job to be sellable.” He pointed a fork full of boring, plain, unseasoned eggs at her. “You’re heading to Santa Fe.”

Luckily, she hadn’t taken a bite yet when he dropped that bomb on her. “Santa Fe. As in New Mexico? As in nowhere near a beach, water, anything?” When he nodded, she just let her fork drop to the plate and sat back in the booth. “Why the hell would I go there?”

“Because we said to,” Peter growled. He wasn’t a fan of being questioned, on or off the court.

“Call it a change of pace. Fine,” Sawyer added when she narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s where your ‘manny’ lives, to borrow your phrase. You’re going to him.”

“Normally, handlers do the bidding of their clients.”

“He’s not a handler. He’s an athlete. A Bobcat, to be exact. And his season is in full swing.”

That took her by surprise. “So… this isn’t some professional career cleaner.”

“Nope.”

“Not someone with a psych degree who will try to make me meditate and chant junk, shop for crystals, and preach to a woo-woo god.”

“I don’t think Michael has ever owned a crystal.”

“Michael who?” she asked warily.

“Michael Lambert.”

Kat shrugged her shoulders. “Never heard of him.”

Sawyer took that as a reason to continue. “He’s a center for the Bobcats, and he mentors the younger guys on the team. He’s got a calming way about him. He’s the athlete whisperer.” When Kat rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Fine, that last bit was bullshit. But he’s doing me a favor. Look, hang out with him a bit. See a new part of the country. Relax. Stay the fuck out of the media for a few weeks, maybe a month or two. Come back refreshed and ready to train for a new tour, and we can put this year of debauchery behind us.”

That…was not a plan she would have come up with by herself. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea of a new place, a new location, a new arena for her to breathe and reboot began to sink in. She could get out from beyond the frustrating, smothering layers of her coach, her agent, the people around her who knew the story and wanted nothing to do with her and just go
be
somewhere else for a while.

Yes, the idea of needing someone to “babysit” was infuriating, even demoralizing. But that was slowly taking a backseat to trying out a new location for a while. A new crowd. A new… life.

But there was no way she was about to make Sawyer think she was looking forward to the excursion. Never that.

Casually, so as not to tip her hand, she took another sip of water and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

Sawyer narrowed his own eyes a moment as if gauging her sincerity, then nodded. “Good.”

Peter muttered more Russian. She might have caught the word
shit
in there, but she couldn’t be certain.

She flicked some extra-saucy hash browns onto Sawyer’s plate, splattering his food with the red stuff. He just sighed.

* * *

M
ichael locked his door
, tested the knob behind him, and sighed inwardly while lifting the phone to his ear. “Sawyer, you’re sure she was supposed to be here by now? Because the front desk swears nobody has asked for me.”

“She texted me and said she’d arrived. I checked with Peter—her coach—and he received the same message from her. I’d have hand delivered her myself if I didn’t have another fire to put out.” Sawyer growled. “I’ll text her again, but she says she’s there.”

“She got the address wrong then.” Michael punched the button for the elevator harder than necessary, then reminded himself to rein in his temper. “I’m the one doing the favor, Sawyer. Remember that. My in-season off time isn’t all that plentiful.”

“I know, and I love you for it,” his agent said in that voice he used to soothe problem clients. Michael knew; he’d witnessed him doing it before. Just never to him.

“Don’t use that
you’re the crazy client, I’m the sane agent
voice on me, Sawyer,” he warned. “I’ll find her, but Jesus, next time you send a kid my way, actually bring them.”

“Kid?” There was confusion in his voice. “What kid?”

“Kid. Kat. The rebellious teenager I’m about to straighten.” Maybe she wasn’t strictly a teen, but Michael had gotten the impression from the few bits of info he’d received from Sawyer, she was young and impulsive. He hadn’t Googled her—always tried to avoid information so he could get a read on the mentee fresh from outside influence—but he’d do that later after meeting her.

When Sawyer said nothing, Michael held the phone away from his ear and checked the screen. Disconnected, thanks to the elevator. “Not that you were a help anyway,” he muttered, stuffing the cell phone in his pocket. As the car rested on the lobby floor, he stepped out and into a mess.

Bobcats. Bobcats everywhere. Not unusual since so many of them lived in the building. But they usually didn’t convene in such a public spot. If the apartment guys got together, they did so privately, in someone’s place.

Even as he watched, another one—Sam Henderson, offensive line—busted in through the door leading to the stairwell and ran to join the huddle of guys standing by the benches.

With a shake of his head, Michael wandered over to the front desk. “Hey, Tiff,” he said, greeting the college student who worked the desk on the weekends. “Nobody’s come by for me, huh?”

“No,” she said, giving him a quick, apologetic smile before looking back toward the crowd. “Nobody’s come looking for you.”

“No young girl wandering around, looking a little lost and confused? Maybe walked by without saying anything?” When Tiff said nothing, he moved back into her line of vision. “She told us she was here, so…”

“Oh. Uh, young girl? Like a kid?” Tiff blinked, straightened the uniform blazer she wore with her name tag over the breast and started tapping what he assumed were codes to bring up a security camera. “You didn’t mention it was a child. If there’s an unattended child in the building, I—”

“Not child. Just… kid. Younger than me. Probably a teenager who doesn’t know where she’s going.”

Tiff nodded slowly, but then shrugged. “Sorry, no.”

“Damn Sawyer,” he muttered, turning to lean his elbows back against the counter.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” he added. “So, what’s up over there? Someone get a puppy or something?”

The young lady laughed. “No, definitely not. It’s our newest resident.”

Something tingled at the base of Michael’s spine. “Oh, really? What’s her name?”

Tiff gave him a
good try
look and smirked. “You know I’m not going to tell you who it is. That’s the reason all you football boys live here, because we can keep our mouths shut. But the fact that you seem to think it’s a female is telling. Maybe you should tell me who
you
think it is.”

He patted the top of the counter and shot her a grin. “Thanks, Tiff. Looks like I’m gonna meet the new neighbor.”

And it better not freaking be who I think it is.

K
at crossed
her legs and laced her fingers together over one knee. It hurt the ring finger on her right hand, thanks to still being a bit swollen from having been dislocated the other week after a mishap with another racket, but it made a nice picture. “So which one of you gentlemen can show a girl around town? I’ve never been to Santa Fe, you know.”

Several men started talking at once, and Kat bit her lip to keep from grinning. It was sweet that they all wanted to give her suggestions for places to check out. None of them stared at her like she was a sexual leper, like she was someone to avoid. “Are there any fun places around? Nightclubs, maybe, or decent bars?”

“There’s this jazz club,” the man to her left said, starting to launch into why paying twice the going rate for drinks was totally worth the entertainment it came with.

“Jazz, hell no.” The man who had introduced himself as Matt shook his head, his dark dreads brushing against her shoulder. “You want fun, we can go to Sin’s Inn. Tonight, in fact. I’d love to take you.”

The man to her left—had he ever told her his name?—made a sound low in his chest and started to tense. Whoops, not what she’d intended at all. “That sounds like a great offer, but it’s my first day. I think I’ll take tonight to ease in. Unpack, all that. You understand, right?”

Both men nodded, as well as a few who had just been standing around listening.

The crowd had been totally unintentional and not at all her doing. On that, she knew for sure. But like Sawyer loved to say… spectacles found her wherever she landed. When she’d rolled her two suitcases plus carry-on over to the side of the lobby to make a call and then text Sawyer she was here, first one tall, broad-shouldered male had come up to greet her and ask if she was moving in, then another, and another. Then they’d just started… multiplying like minks.

Glancing at her watch, she stood. The men sitting beside her stood as well. “Gentlemen… all of you,” she added, looking around her, still slightly in awe of the sheer size of them. She wasn’t a tiny woman, and they made her feel petite. “I appreciate the offers. Since we’re neighbors, I know we’ll see each other soon. But I should roll myself on up to my room, get situated and get started on unpacking.” She patted the top of her rolling suitcase as evidence.

“Let me carry those for you.” Matt-with-the-dreads reached for the bag just before another hand closed over the handle.

Looking up, Kat found herself staring into an intense pair of hazel eyes. Eyes that looked none too pleased to see her. Which was odd, since she had no clue who those green-brown eyes belonged to.

“I’ve got it,” he said in a soft voice.

“I can—” Matt started.

“No,” Hazel Eyes said again. “I’m on it.”

The men started to dissipate around her, several telling her they’d see her around or shouting apartment numbers at her so she could “come visit” if she got bored. The man with dreads hung around a little longer, almost as if making sure the pushy leader would take care of her. She sensed he had a sweet, protective nature. But he, too, eventually took off.

Sorry, fellas… not tonight. Probably not any night.

After most had taken off via the stairs or elevators, Kat flashed her Hazel Mystery Man a grin. “I’ve got it. I’m a big girl, I can wheel my own luggage.”

“Well, I’ll say one thing… you’re definitely not a rebellious teenager.”

Kat reared back. “Who the hell do you… oh. You. The manny.”

“No, Michael.”

Kat sighed and tugged on the bag. He didn’t let go. “Male nanny. Manny. Everyone needs to improve their lexicon. I can carry that myself, you know.”

“I was raised right,” was all he said, then started walking toward the elevator. He froze just as she began walking, and her nose connected with his arm.

His rock-hard arm.

“Ouch.” She stepped back and rubbed at the bridge of her stinging nose. No blood, so that was good. But holy crap, that hurt.

“Sorry. Sorry. Here, don’t do that.” He dropped her bag—luckily it wasn’t fine china—and cupped her chin, angling it up. “Hold on. Look right at me.”

“Like I can look anywhere else,” she snapped. When she tried to move, his grip firmed. “What are you doing?”

But his hazel eyes were intently watching hers, and she felt herself calm down without even meaning to. Something about the way he watched her… It was a little spooky, but not in a weird way.

With nowhere else to look, she found herself studying him. He was handsome, no doubt, with a little scruff and a nose that bore an interesting bump. And hands that were the size of dinner plates but cradled her chin like they were accustomed to holding delicate teacups.

Without warning, she felt herself softening, just a little. Totally physical reaction, she reasoned with herself. So the guy was good-looking. So what?

“Okay,” he finally said, releasing her chin. “No concussion.”

“That… that’s what you were doing?” Why did her voice sound so breathless? Women who used a breathy bedroom voice outside the bedroom were annoying.

“Habit. In my line of work, you tend to jump to conclusions and play it safe. You got an apartment key already?”

She dug in her shorts pocket and pulled it out. “Here we go. I’m on floor…” She dug in the other pocket to pull out the card the front desk assistant had given her. “I’m on floor eight. Apartment 823.”

“Of course you are,” he said on a sigh and wheeled the suitcase toward the elevator.

“Why, are we on opposite ends?” Could she be so lucky?

Over his shoulder, he called, “You’re my next door neighbor.”

* * *

M
ichael entered his own apartment
, glad for the silence. Which was promptly broken by his phone ringing. With a grunt of annoyance, he answered. “Yes, Sawyer, I found her. She is not, by the way, a surly teenager with an attitude problem.”

Attitude problem, maybe. But teenager? No, his new neighbor was definitely all woman, in her midtwenties at least. A sexy, sass-mouth of a woman…

“Never said she was a teenager. You jumped to that conclusion all on your own.”

Michael ignored that true statement. “She’s safely enclosed in her apartment—which, by the way, is literally next door to me. How the hell did you work that out?”

“Agent magic. If I tell you details, it loses its power. Thanks for that, man. Now, can you keep her in for the first night, at least? Just until you can get to know each other a little more and she learns she can rely on you for things?”

“She got here, like, five minutes ago. It’s going to take her the whole night to unpack, minimum. She’s a girl. You know how they are about their clothes and shit.” Not that Michael had much of a clue. No sisters, no long-term relationships… but he could guess. He’d heard stories. He had cable.

Sawyer paused, then said, “She’s already gone, isn’t she?”

Michael made a huffing sound of annoyance and opened his door again. God, this was already a pain in the ass. The IOU for this one was going to be big. Huge. Mega. “She’s in her apartment. Watch.” He knocked on the door, waiting. Then knocked again. “Kat! Sawyer’s on the phone.”

Nothing.

“Okay,” Michael said slowly, “so she’s ignoring me. She wasn’t all that pleased to meet me in the lobby. I think she’s just doing this to piss me off.”

“She’s gone,” Sawyer said with annoying certainty. “Check the front desk.”

“You know they won’t tell me that. She doesn’t have a car. She doesn’t know anyone here. Know anything about the area. She…” Michael listened harder at the door. Silent as a tomb.

“Okay, yeah… she’s gone.” Damn Uber.

“Find her,” was all Sawyer said, then hung up.

Right. Because that had to be easy. With a growl, Michael started texting.

* * *

K
at had been
to the southwest—though not specifically Santa Fe—a handful of times before. Mostly for tournaments, with very little local flavor thrown in. Airport to hotel to playing site to hotel to airport. Her travel budget left little in the way of “tourist” money. So when she’d had an Uber driver take her to somewhere “very Santa Fe, with local color,” she had expected something a little more… southwestern.

Not this bar, that seemed like it could have been yanked out of any major city in any state and plunked down in the middle of downtown Santa Fe. With simple, scuffed wooden floors and wide, planked tables, peanuts in the baskets thrust in front of drinking patrons at the bar, with Keith Urban playing through the loudspeakers and muted ESPN on the big screen… she could have been in Milwaukee or Seattle or back home in Florida. Where was the culture? The unique zest that this city carried?

She sipped her beer and snorted, watching a replay of a college football game on the big screen. Nothing about this evening thus far was working to her advantage, with the exception of slipping past the manny. Clearly he was new to the job if he didn’t realize she would walk in, drop her suitcase off, and go right back out again. Kat smiled a little as she reached for a peanut. Amateur.

“There’s an interesting smile.”

Kat started and looked toward the voice. A few feet away a young woman sat with her hip propped on a stainless steel cooler behind the bar, wiping out a beer mug before reaching above her head to rest it on a hook.

“Me?” Kat looked around, but she was one of only a few people in the establishment.

“Yeah. You’re here early. Most people don’t get here until late. I figure the reason you’re here is the same reason for that smile.”

Kat took in the other woman, who was probably close to her age. The bartender’s long black hair was pulled into two pigtails, which should have looked juvenile, but she’d done something with it to make the parts poof out and it almost looked… edgy instead. Combined with the tight polo shirt that exposed a few inches of pale stomach, short denim shorts and painfully high heels, she was everything Kat wished she could have been. Confident, no excuses, full stop.

“I, uh…” Kat checked her phone. “It’s, like, eight. Isn’t this when people go out for drinks? Why is it so dead in here?”

The bartender laughed, a throaty sound that fit her look, and wandered over to lean against the bar a few inches to Kat’s left. Now that she was closer, Kat could see her eyes were a gorgeous, vivid blue and were heavily accentuated with eyeliner and mascara, which should have been
too much
when combined with her cherry-red lips but looked just about perfect. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“That obvious, huh?” Kat smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I asked the driver to take me somewhere for local color. I got dropped off here. How much does your manager pay for that service?”

The other woman laughed again. “Nothing. You’re early, that’s all. Give it another two hours, and this place will be standing room only.”

Kat glanced around once more, taking in the two gentlemen she’d guess were in their seventies playing a game of checkers at a table close to the door. They were the only other patrons. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

The bartender laughed again and held out a hand. Her fingernails were painted midnight black. “I’m Sissy.”

“Sissy?” Kat asked dubiously, then mentally smacked herself.
Rude.
“That’s… a cool name.”

Sissy raised a brow to call her on the bullshit. “Childhood nickname, can’t seem to shake it. We all use nicknames around here, so I kept that one. Real name’s Stacy, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to any other customers. We usually try to keep a bit of a barrier there.”

“Sure.” This was definitely a little odd but whatever. She had nowhere else to be. “I’m Kat. Also a nickname, but that’s obvious.”

“Unless your parents had a feline fetish, that’s a pretty easy bet.” Sissy grinned and propped her elbows on the bar. “What do you do for a living, Kat?”

“Normally, I’m a tennis player. Currently on a break,” she added, tilting the nearly empty bottle of beer. “Just taking in the sights somewhere else.”

“Tennis. Like, professional? Wimbledon and the US Open and all that?” Sissy’s eyes went wide. “The one where you play in the tiny skirts, right? Tell me I’m right.”