“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, thanks for that.” She gave him a weak smile.
He shook his head. “Not what I meant. I meant you look likeyou just got bad news.”
“Depends on your perspective, I guess. Ijust got fired by a new dog-sitting client. On the bright side, it freesup my schedule. And the text was from Kevin’s ex, telling me I’m off duty. Iguess I’ve been double-dismissed.” She threw up her hands and plastered on aridiculously fake grin. “All kinds of spare time now.”
“Who’s Kevin?” As the question left his mouth, puzzle piecesbegan clicking into place, forming a picture that was all wrong. His hand flewto the back of his neck as a jolt shot through his bloodstream.
“Kevin’s my boyfriend,” she explained. Anothermassive sigh. “He’s a hockey player who took a dirty hit about a monthago that landed him here.”
The bottom fell out of T.J.’s stomach. Oh shit, oh shit,oh shit! Just kill me now. He picked up a spoon and shoveled it underwobbly neon-yellow Jell-O, which he promptly lifted to his mouth and sucked in.Hard. At least the goo was wet and slippery in his suddenly parched throat.Appraising eyes scanned him. Does she recognize me? Panic, in the formof adrenaline, flooded his system, and he tensed, ready to vault from the table,the cafeteria, her.
But she hadn’t realized who he was—yet—as evidenced by hernext words. “Don’t get me started on the scumbag who sucker-punchedhim.”
Scumbag sitting right here.T.J.’s roiling stomach sank lower, nearly dropping to his knees. “I heardsomething about that. Didn’t he get a long suspension?” He surprised himselfwith the nonchalance he faked, given his heart was hammering like a runawaynail gun and an urge to heave was swelling inside him. He eyed the remainingJell-O. Not helping.
A head bob. “The rest of the season. Kevin thinks the leaguewas too tough on him, but he’s being too forgiving, in my opinion.”
He wiped his palms along his thighs. “So you agree with thesuspension?”
Fiery amber eyes locked on his. “No. I think the goon thatwent after him—T.J. Whatever—should miss as many games as Kevin does. Hepunched him! For no reason! You can’t tell me that’s ‘just part of the game.’The guy crossed a line.” She let out a little hmph, then fired up again. “And irony of ironies, he got traded toDenver! I hope I never run into him—unless it’s with my car.”
Something with sharp edges twisted inside him. He’d beendoing his job. Even Kevin May, broken as he was, understood that—but NatalieFoster didn’t, and God, she must hate him! With any luck, she wouldn’trecognize him—not in his presence anyway. His old Earthquake mug shot, the onethat had continually aired on the sports channels, showed him with long, unrulyhair and a full beard. Thank God he’d been in lazy manscapingmode then.
“Just kidding about that last part.” Her voice had gentled.“I wouldn’t actually run over him. Maybe nudge him a little with mybumper.” Her lips curved into a smile as she nibbled at a forkful of somethingorange.
Definitely does not recognize me.
Her smile softened his—what? Anger? Outrage? Shame? Fear?Guilt? Irritation?—and helped him slide whatever itwas past the wedge in his throat.
They spent the next few minutes talking about a guy who’dstolen a bulldozer and run it into a city building a week prior.Inconsequential stuff—at least to him.
“I’m sorry, but I never caught your name,” she said sweetlyduring a pause.
Fuck me and the horse I rode in on.A royal battle began raging inside him, one where his conscience yelled athim to end this. Pronto. Yank the damn Band-Aid off in one clean go. Butcuriosity—and something a hell of a lot like powerful attraction—won out.
“Tyler,” he mumbled, his tongue twisting around hishalf-truth.
“Well, Tyler, it was kind of you to sit here patiently,listening to a stranger rant about her troubles.” And there were those eyesagain, the ones he could look at the whole damn day.
“That was a rant?” he chuffed, amused.
She shrugged as they stood. “I try to stay positive. Somedays are easier than others.”
With a nod, he took her tray, sliding it onto his. “I’llwalk you out,” he said before he could second-guess himself.
As they ambled out of the cafeteria, he asked if dog-sitting was her full-time job.
“No, but it pays the bills. Well, some of them. I have a fewcareer paths I’m exploring at the moment.” Her eyes twinkled, and he breathedan inner sigh of relief. Because happiness had just flittedacross her face.
He sped up to open a door for her. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, like bookkeeping, financial auditing, and writing formagazines.”
“Seriously? What kinds of magazines? You must be reallytalented.” He slowed his stride, partly so she could keep up and partly becausehe wanted to linger. She fell in, matching his gait.
“Ha! Maybe you could tell the editors I’m talented? I don’tthink they’ve caught on yet. I write for accounting trade magazines.” Theystrolled through the concourse and headed toward the main doors.
He must have looked confused, because she raised her hand asif being called upon. “Recovering CPA here. Hated the work—and the workenvironment—but I love the theoretical practice and studying tax law.” She letout a little laugh and crinkled her nose, which happened to be sprinkled withpale freckles. “I know. Weird, huh? I guess that makes me a tax nerd.”
Glass doors whooshed open, and they stepped into the briskair.
“Not at all. More like smart.” Waysmarter than me, that’s for damn sure. Why was healways attracted to smart girls?
“If I could live on what the publications pay, maybe teach alittle on the side, I’d do it full-time.”
“Huh. I never knew there was such a thing. Does it pay much?The writing, I mean. Authors make lots of money, right?”
Her eyebrows inched up her forehead. “No way, unless you’reDan Brown or Malcolm Gladwell. But I love it.Bookkeeping and dog-sitting are steadier, and up until recently they supportedmy writing jones.”
His hands slid into his pockets. “Have you
