Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (7 page)

“Neither do I,” Kristen said with a smile. “Though I wouldn’t mind the perks of having a nice body from working out. Why can’t I have it both ways?”

“Laziness and rock-hard abs?” Aileen ducked the grape Kristen flicked at her.

“It’s a release. I’ve always done better with the physical than the mental. I was never a heavy lifter when it came to academics,” Kat admitted. “Some subjects were fine, but I struggled in a few other areas in high school. I always passed, thanks to the power of athletics, but it didn’t encourage me to reach higher up the academic ladder.”

“It’s a problem, passing athletes just so they stay eligible for competition. It really does them a disservice,” Aileen murmured, then looked stricken. “Sorry, that totally came out wrong. I—”

“It’s a problem,” Kat agreed, smiling sadly. “Not that I think I’ll ever need to know the Pythagorean theorem by heart, but sometimes I wish my teachers had pushed me harder rather than just letting me skate by. As a high schooler, though, it always felt like a stroke of luck.”

Both other ladies made sounds of quiet understanding as they continued to eat in the small conference room.

“So what story are you working on now, Aileen?” Kat asked after a moment.

“Doing a little sociological digging on the difference in experience from players who come from middle- and upper-middle-class families to those who come from disadvantaged ones.” Aileen took a bite of her club sandwich, chewed, then sipped her soda. “You’d think that once they get here, having signed million-dollar contracts, they’d all be on even ground again. Right? I mean, nobody’s poor once you get to the NFL. There are salary requirements, after all.”

“Doesn’t help those who don’t know what to do with it,” Kristen said, sounding sad.

“Exactly. Money is not the great equalizer.” Aileen toasted Kristen with her cup. “So I’m doing a story on several guys who come from varied backgrounds and how that shaped their current experience playing football, as well as their plans for the future post-NFL. Not everyone will be a Bobcat, of course. I’ll have to do some traveling and such. But it’s such an interesting piece to dig into.”

Kat nodded. “I totally get it. I’m curious to see it.”

“You know,” Aileen said after a moment, propping her chin on her hand, “I’ve never done anything about tennis players. I barely know anything about the sport. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know about you at all until Kristen introduced us.”

She started to give the safe response—the response she’d been conditioned to give since she went pro—but stopped. And went for honest. “Most people don’t know about me. And that sucks, because I’m good.”

Aileen blinked, then burst out laughing. Kristen snickered into her soup.

“Oh my God, that was great.” Aileen laughed more and wiped at the corners of her eyes. Her soft red hair fluttered like feathers around her chin as she shook her head. “Priceless. You’re so right. I love it.”

Kristen started to add something, but both her and Aileen’s phones pinged with a notification at the same time. They each looked down at their cells, then both swiped almost in sync with each other.

“Wow, someone left me out of the group text,” Kat joked, taking a bite of the pickle spear Aileen had given her from her sandwich platter.

“It’s a Bobcat news alert,” Kristen explained. “Basically just like a Google alert, but it sends push notifications to our phone whenever… whoops.” She grinned, then turned her phone screen to show Kat. “Not just Bobcats this time.”

Kat squinted at the tiny print of the phone while Aileen read out loud, “Tennis player trounces Bobcats’ center in fitness competition.”

“What?” Kat asked, reaching for Kristen’s phone before she thought twice about grabbing a cell phone out of the hands of a woman whom she barely knew. “That was nothing! We were just doing burpees, for fun, as just a silly competition. This makes it sound… this is stupid.”

“Welcome to the media,” Aileen said unapologetically. Well, she would know. This was her business.

Kat sighed and then played the video that accompanied the short, uninformed article. It was of her and Rodman doing their burpees in the weight room, both of them collapsing at the end, then the coach announcing her the winner. The cheers and jeers were cut off as the video ended. Kat handed Kristen the phone back. At least this one hadn’t mentioned her sex tape.

“Sorry,” she said, handing the phone back with a sheepish smile.

“No worries,” Kristen murmured.

“I should do a segment on you while you’re here,” Aileen said suddenly.

Again, it was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but she shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Kat’s pretty busy these days.”

All three of them turned around at the masculine voice to find Michael standing in the doorway of the conference room, arms crossed, shoulder propped on the doorjamb. He looked freshly showered, wearing a different pair of clothes from when she’d last seen him.

And, she admitted silently as her body reacted, looked delicious at that.

Fighting back the attraction, she turned back to Aileen. “Maybe,” she said again, firmly. A silent message to Michael to mind his own business.

“Kat, we’ve got a phone call to make.”

His voice was so firm, so sure of his position of authority she just wanted to kick him. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, fork dangling over her salad insolently. “Hmm? I don’t remember any phone calls.”

“It’s with Sawyer,” he said, teeth gritted. His arms tightened in frustration, making his muscles bunch deliciously under his Henley.

Stop that, Katrina. Not for you.

“Sawyer knows my number.” She crossed her legs, the running shoe dragging her foot down. Still in her workout gear, it wasn’t as pretty a picture as she’d like when in a showdown with an alpha male, but it’s all she had to work with.

“He wants to call us together. Now,” he added with exasperation.

“We can leave,” Kristen said, standing up and gathering the remains of her soup and baguette. “In fact, my lunch hour is nearly over. It was wonderful to meet you, Kat.”

“Likewise,” she said. “Thanks for the tips on the area. I’ll be sure to check some of those restaurants out.”

Kristen’s smile was warm as she gathered her things up, dumped the trash in the can by the door, and walked past Michael on her way back to her desk.

Aileen waited a moment, her eyes darting back and forth between Kat and Michael, a mischievous smile tilting her lips.

“Aileen,” Michael rumbled.

With a sigh, she stood and crumpled her sandwich wrapper. “Fine, fine. Kat, great to meet you. I’m serious though, I want an interview before you leave.”

“We’ll see,” Kat said, and Michael just sighed.

Aileen tossed her trash away, then paused beside Michael, watching him. He turned his head to look down at her, expression softening slightly as he did. Finally, she reached up and patted his cheek in a friendly manner.

“Be nice, cutie.” With that warning, Aileen excused herself, closing the door behind her.

* * *

M
ichael watched
Kat hang back at the conference table, acting like there wasn’t a care in the world for her. Her posture was posed in a relaxed manner… but that was just it. It was a pose. Studied, not natural.

Despite her devil-may-care attitude, she worried about her career. Worried about what others thought of her.

“You’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” she agreed, pushing the lid back over what remained of her lunch and snapping the plastic closed.

“I thought you were getting a cab home.”

“I was going to, but then Kristen introduced me to Aileen, and they invited me for lunch, and…” She shrugged. “It was nice to have a girl chat.”

Was she lonely? “You could have waited and had lunch with me.”

“You hate me. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t hate you,” he denied automatically. It was true. He didn’t particularly like the position he was in, but he didn’t dislike her. Despite her antics, he knew she was intelligent, and clearly hardworking.

“Well, you’re not a fan,” she summarized. Standing, she tossed her closed salad container in the trash. It landed with a solid thunk. Brushing her hands off, she straightened. Her tight body arched and moved with a grace one might think almost balletic, except for the fact that her body didn’t fit the ballerina type. No waif-thin elegance for her. No, her body was tough. Muscular and lean at the same time, with bulges and dips that he wanted more than he should to trace, touch, explore.

“You don’t like that I’m here. That you’re stuck being the manny.” She walked over to him, her running shoes silent on the carpet of the conference room. Stopping in front of him, she poked a finger at his chest. “I’m cramping your style. Annoying the hell out of you. Admit it.”

She hadn’t showered—when would she have?—and he could still smell the musky sweat combined with her own original scent that clung to her skin. God, why was that hot? He was sick in the head.

“Your silence is basically an agreement.” Triumph shone in her eyes. “We could probably work out a deal, you and I.”

“A deal.” His voice was hoarse. Why the hell was his voice so hoarse?

“Yeah. Like, you ignore me, I do what I want, I tell Sawyer I’m just too smart for you, and he lets you off manny duty.”

“Too smart for…” He cut off when he saw her grinning. “You little shit.”

“Don’t make it so easy to tease,” she said with an impish grin.

“Tease. That’s what you like?”

She shrugged.

He gripped her elbows, dragging her body close to his. Until her breasts pressed against his chest, her stomach aligned with his, her feet coming to rest between his. “Is that what this whole act is? Teasing me?”

“It’s not an act. This is me.” Her voice grew smaller, less confident.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his fingers tightening slightly on her arms. Gauging. Testing. She didn’t pull away. She leaned closer to him. And her head tipped back, just enough to give him a clear shot at her mouth.

Jesus. She was asking him to try her.

No, not asking, he silently amended as he caught the glint of challenge in her eyes.

Daring him.

Michael never backed down from a dare.

H
e was either trying
to terrify her, or seduce her. Kat wasn’t entirely sure which, but if the former was his goal, he sucked at it.

If the latter, well… Her nipples were attempting to bore holes through her sports bra, and there was an uncomfortable dampness in her shorts that could clearly attest to his success in the latter.

His grip changed suddenly, losing the feeling of manacles, and morphed into something tender. His thumbs swept over the bend of her elbows, and she wished she hadn’t zipped on her hoodie after the gym. She’d give up a lot to feel those roughened fingertips over her skin.

But…

“Michael,” she said, damning herself for sounding breathless.

“Yeah.”

Not a question. But an answer to an unspoken query.

Then he bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss.

The instant their lips touched, she felt the fire. One that took her by surprise and blazed all the hotter for it. One she wasn’t prepared for and wasn’t sure whether she wanted to bank it or feed it and see where it grew.

Then his hand slid from her elbow to the small of her back, pressing her in closer, and she knew.

Feed it.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she lifted up onto her toes and pressed closer in. His mouth slanted over hers, and she opened slightly, testing. Seeing if he’d take the bait.

Of course he would. He was a competitor, same as her. He wouldn’t back down from a challenge. His mouth slanted farther over hers, tongue invading her space, tasting her, enticing her to try him out. To open wider. She ignored, moving at her own speed.

Then his hand cupped her cheek, thumb pressing at the junction of her jaw and making her gasp with a sensation that wasn’t quite pain, not quite pleasure. More a tingle. He took advantage, delving deeper into her wide-open mouth.

God, he had a talented tongue.

Then he was gone in an instant, pulling away so fast she nearly tumbled face-first into the door. Only his arm thrusting out against her chest, like he was the driver saving the passenger in a car accident, preserved her from knocking out her two front teeth.

Embarrassment, party of one. Your table is now available.

“Sorry,” Michael muttered as she stood upright. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his singing cell phone. “The phone just…”

“Yeah.” She turned her back on him as he answered in a rough voice.
Pull it together, Kelly. Pull yourself together. Who cares that he just rocked the hell out of you? Game face. You’ve got a good game face. Put it on.

Then his big hand covered her shoulder, and she looked behind her without turning around. Michael’s face was pulled into a grim expression, and she finally tuned in to what he was saying.

“It wasn’t a big deal, Sawyer. I’m not sure why you’re throwing a fit about it.”

Sawyer?
she mouthed.

He nodded, then held the phone away and pressed a button to turn on the speaker phone.

“… but does she stay low? No,” Sawyer droned on. “No, she goes and gets herself involved in showing up a freaking Bobcat. Because that’s the way to look humble and likeable.”

“Maybe people will like a strong female sports figure. Ever thought of that?” Kat asked, her fists clenching.

“By the way, you’re on speaker,” Michael added dryly.

“Jesus and the disciples.” Aggravation bled through the phone line. “Fine. Now that you’re both on the line, let’s go over why Kat’s there in the first place. To learn a little humility.”

Kat started to argue, but Sawyer just kept on bulldozing.

“To stay out of the spotlight while we think through her future. To not make any rash decisions while I’m attempting to line up a new sponsor. And instead, she keeps finding herself in these situations where she’s stripping on a freaking bar or humiliating an NFL player.”

“Sawyer.” Michael’s voice was calm, but it cut through the conversation like a knife. Kat’s vibrating body stilled, waiting. Knowing he was about to agree with their agent. That he was going to call her reckless. Impulsive.

“Why should she be humble? She kicked Rodman’s ass fair and square. It’s not her fault he lost. And she was just doing a lip-sync battle. You make it sound like she got naked and rolled in Jell-O, for crying out loud.”

Adrenaline, which had been bubbling in anticipation of a fight, fled her body so quickly she was lightheaded.

“We agreed she would stay low-key while she was out there, while we reassessed her career options.” Sawyer’s voice managed to contain that perfect balance of culture and bite. He’d never do anything so stupid as yell at his talent… but he’d let them know in a way that nipped that they were treading into dangerous water. “And you agreed to help.”

“I’m helping,” was all Michael said, then hung up.

* * *

M
ichael watched
as Kat unlocked her apartment door with uncharacteristic slowness. Everything she did seemed to have a blurred edge to it. She laughed hard, walked fast even if it was just down the hall to nowhere, and threw herself into life. But suddenly she was unlocking her own damn apartment door as if there were something on the other side that was going to bite her.

“Problem with the key?” he asked mildly. She flinched but didn’t look back.

“No, just… you know. I’m not great with keys. I have a hate-hate relationship with hotel key cards too,” she said with a soft laugh that sounded not at all right. Then the door popped open, and she sighed. “Thanks for letting me work out. See you later.” She didn’t even look at him as she closed the door behind her.

And that, Michael thought as he opened his own door easily and let it shut behind him, was that. Practice done for the day, mentoring complete, delightful call to his agent over… He was free to do what he wanted with the rest of the day.

Surveying his apartment, he frowned. Too damn quiet. He could call one of the rooks up to play some Xbox. Or maybe talk to Josh about real estate. He’d mentioned he was going to start investing in some of that pretty soon. Josh was a solid guy and grew up in the area. They could have a chat about the good places to look for houses.

And yet, when he sank down on his couch, none of that sounded appealing. He picked up his remote and turned the TV on, then back off immediately. False noise wasn’t what he needed.

He needed something… someone else.

Changed into fresh clothes, he knocked on Kat’s door. Nothing. He felt confident this time she hadn’t slipped by him and gone out, so why wasn’t she answering? Not willing to take no, he texted her.

Answer your door.

No answer.

He growled in frustration. They needed to talk, damn it, and she was avoiding him. “Kat,” he called and pounded the door.

His phone pinged.

Shower. Go away.

It was logical, given he’d had a chance to shower after practice and she hadn’t. But still…

Don’t believe you. Open up.

Go. Away.

She aggravated him. Made him want to do something stupid, like stand out in the hallway banging on her door until she answered, whether it took thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

He’d never made an ass out of himself like this before. What the hell was his problem?

She was. She was everything that was upside down in his life right now.

Prove it, he texted back because he’d run out of ideas.

Twenty seconds later, he got a photo text.

It was Kat. Hair soaking wet and slicked back, skin from the shoulders up glistening with that freshly-scrubbed shower look, a scowl on her face and her middle finger firmly flipping him the bird.

Okay, so that was proof.

And now he had a boner.

He’d dropped IQ points since she’d moved next door.

I need to talk to you. Come over to my place when you’re done.

Bite me.

He grinned, then headed back to his place to get something started for dinner.

* * *

“
J
ust thinks
he can summon me like a genie in a lamp,” Kat growled as she located a bra and shoved her arms through it. “Thinks this little experiment of Sawyer’s gives him the right to be my boss. Yeah, I don’t think so.”

She kicked at the towel on the floor, but it was a less-than-satisfying experience as it only went about two feet and landed with a soft plod on the carpeted floor.

“This is why people own their own houses. Because they can have a punching bag in the garage or basement.” With a sigh of frustration, she pulled a comb through her hair quickly. After a short debate, she just claw-clipped it up. Screw him. If he thought he could demand her presence like a king to a peasant, he’d just get what he got. The drowned rat look should discourage him from trying it again.

After throwing on the first tank top she could find, along with some long shorts—or rather, long on other people, normal length on her legs—and two-dollar flip-flops, she stuffed her key in her back pocket and huffed over to his apartment.

She banged on the door and counted to five impatiently. “Figures,” she called when he didn’t appear. “You spend all your time trying to push my door down and then you’re not even ready when I come over to your—oh.”

Kat took a quick step back as the door opened. Michael stood there, looking half-annoyed, half-amused. He pulled it off remarkably well.

“You rang?” he asked dryly.

“No, you did, about ten minutes ago,” she reminded him. When he just stood there, staring at her, she shrugged. “You get me out of the shower, you get what you get. I don’t really care if I don’t meet your visual standards.”

“Who said you didn’t?” he asked calmly, then let her in.

The moment she walked through the door, she smelled something delicious. “What… okay, what’s that?”

“White chicken chili. I usually like to let it cook longer, Crock-Pot style, but I was in the mood for some and didn’t have any in my freezer.”

“He cooks,” she murmured, following him to the small kitchen that mirrored her own. Only his had something hers didn’t… food.

“He dumps cans and chicken breasts into a pot and turns the heat on,” Michael corrected as if that weren’t more than about 50 percent of the population. Walking to the stove, he stirred the pot of the aforementioned soup, then set the long-handled spoon down in a spoon rest. “This could use another half hour. Let’s talk. Then I’ll feed you dinner.”

“Oh, by all means, let’s talk.” She was fighting to hold on to her annoyance by the minute. The man had badgered her out of the shower… to feed her dinner. This was a first. She walked with Michael to his mirror-image living room and sat on an armchair that was suspiciously identical to hers… minus the pattern. He settled in on the sofa, and she waited expectantly. For him to tell her he was done. That Sawyer called, and the experiment was over. That she was a horrible kisser.

No, wait… not that.

“I have to apologize.”

No, not that either.

“Apologize for… what?” She blinked. When he raised a brow, she held up her hands. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in the sarcastic way… which is odd for me. You’re surprising me.”

“Because real men don’t apologize?”

“They do if they want to be respected,” she shot back, and he grinned, surprising her once more.

“Well, I apologized. Take that for what it’s worth.”

She bit her lip and nodded, then shook. “I’m sorry, what were you apologizing for again?”

That quick grin flashed once more. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m apologizing for treating you like a kid when you got here.”

She waited for more.

“Okay,” he said into the silence, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “When Sawyer called, he asked me to do him a favor. I do a lot of favors. I collect them, you might say.”

“Favor collector. Sounds like one of those weird subtitles they would put under your name if you went on a seedy talk show.” She bit back a smile to think about it. “Michael Lambert, favor collector.”

“Now you’re mocking. It’s okay,” he added when she started to laugh. “I’ve earned it. I do this mentoring thing a lot with the guys. I like it. Love it,” he inserted, as if correcting himself. “Love it. I love catching the guys before they make mistakes you hear about on the news. And it’s good for me too.”