False Start: A Football Romance (18 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.

Chapter Ten

Skila

Kiptyn is due to arrive in fewer than ten minutes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I'm practically shaking in my heels. Lisa passes me a glass of water. “It's going to be fine. You’ve got this.”

I nod my head, agreeing. Yeah, I’ve got this, if he shows up. I can’t help but be reminded of the last person I stood by the door waiting for. I still haven’t heard a word from Amryn in almost two months. My cell rings, and for a second, the blood in my veins freezes.

Surely it’s not him. Thinking about him couldn’t have conjured him up. If that was possible, he would have appeared months ago, not the moment I’m about to walk out the door with another man. I reach my hand into my purse and pull out my cell. The call has already gone to voicemail. I check the missed calls, my hands shaking now but for a totally different reason. I breathe a sigh of relief. It wasn’t him.

It was the doctor’s office. My phone chirps with a new voicemail right as Kiptyn knocks on the door. I drop it back into my bag and smile when I open the door. Each time I see him, he’s more handsome than the time before, and tonight is no different. I could just eat him alive, right this second, with his bright blue eyes and that dimple in his left cheek. Jeans and a button-down, cream shirt are nothing special on your average man, but Kiptyn is no average man. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, teasing me with a peek of his tan chest.
I want to lick it.
I can’t believe I just had that thought.

“You look beautiful,” he says, holding out his hand, and I can feel him taking me in. His words are so sincere. He makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Are you ready?” I nod my head and follow him outside the apartment to his blue Audi. He opens the door for me and waits as I lower myself inside before shutting it behind me.

When he pulls out of the complex, he takes a right toward downtown. I assumed we would be doing the traditional dinner and dancing date night, and in a way, I'm disappointed. I wanted tonight to be special, extraordinary. I gaze out the window and watch the cars fly by, feeling dejected. He must sense a change in me, even though I don’t mean for him to, because he pulls off the interstate and turns around, heading in another direction.

Surprised, I turn and look at him. “I want you to know I had an amazing night planned for us.”

Had. He said
had
. Is he taking me back home? Has he changed his mind already? Why?

“I was going to take you to Bareli’s and then maybe take you dancing, but I'm sensing that you could use something else tonight, so I’m taking you to my favorite place in the world when I was a kid.”

I smile. I can’t help it. Going to his favorite place sounds like so much more fun than dinner at a snobby restaurant. I could do that alone if I wanted to, granted, probably not at Bareli’s, since the waiting list for that place is around two years long, but still.

Ten minutes later, we pull up outside Susie’s Miniature Golf. There’s a giant sign out front with a picture of a missing giraffe. I can tell from the picture that said giraffe used to sit right where the sign is now.

It reads,
Missing Giraffe. If found, please return. Reward.

I instantly love this place. Kiptyn climbs out of the car and comes around to open my door. He places his hand at the small of my back and leads me to the front window. An older woman sits behind the counter, staring at a book in her lap.

“How many?” she asks, not lifting her eyes from the pages.

“Just two, if you can handle it, Suzy.” Her gaze lifts, and her eyes brighten when she takes in who is standing in front of her. Coming around to the front, she wraps her arms around his waist, not able to reach much higher, and when she’s done with him, she pulls me in for a tight embrace as well.

“What do I owe this wonderful surprise?” she asks, her gaze darting between me and Kiptyn.

“Well, now. We're just out looking for some fun. You still have that around here?” he asks, teasing her.

“Always for you, Kip. Y’all go on in and pick out your clubs. The new ones you ordered are in there on the right, beside those kiddie ones you picked up.” She ushers us through the gate and into the club room.

I wonder at her statement for a minute longer than I need to, and shame swallows me whole. This entire time, I've been judging this man before me based on other people's experience rather than taking the time to get to know him myself and then form an opinion. How many times have I, myself, faced that—someone looking at me and automatically deeming me inadequate because I'm a woman, or worse, when they judge me based on the color of my skin?

Kiptyn grabs two from the shelves and passes me one. I take a second to watch him and ponder what I've learned about him so far, not what someone else has told me. He is a sweet, kind man, and judging from Susie’s statement, he hasn’t let the fame go straight to his head. He gives back—some, at least. I make a decision in that moment to forget everything I've heard and just go with the flow and see where tonight takes me.

“You ready for this, Miss Parker?”

I laugh wholeheartedly, feeling the apprehension melt away. “Why yes, Mr. Price, I think I am. I've got one question before we go, though.” He looks at me, waiting. “Are you a sore loser?” I taunt him before running through the entrance to hole number one.