Okay, then. No small talk this time around. Suited her just fine, since she had no freaking clue what she would say. It felt . . . wrong, somehow, to interview him in the small confines of the car. Like she would be breaking some sort of unspoken rule to bust out her phone and start recording.

So she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, reliving the moments in the bathroom. She’d felt so vulnerable, stripped to the waist, with nothing but her shirt clutched to her front. His touch had been soothing. He probably would find that insulting to hear, she mused. She stole a quick glance at him as he changed lanes. His body was stiff, his face set in grim lines that radiated the warning Back Off. He considered himself a hard man, a man without people, an island.

Which was all bullshit, of course. But he’d also hate to hear that.

He pulled up to the lot with her car and parked two spaces over. As he reached for his door handle, she waved him off. “Don’t get out, I’m fine.”

His scowl told her Yeah right, and he did it anyway. But she just got out her own side and walked swiftly toward her car, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Which meant he did, of course. “I said, I can do it. You don’t have to play the gentleman and open my doors or anything.”

“Who says I’m playing?” He seemed easier now that they were out in the open air again. His teasing tone—so rare she secretly treasured it—was back. As she opened her door and tossed her bag in the passenger seat, he got a good look inside. “Holy hell, Freckles. Were you raised in a barn?”

She glanced into her backseat, which served as part suitcase, part trash can. “I’m messy. Can’t help it.”

“Messy would be an upgrade.” His face showed serious signs of horror, to the point where she giggled a little. “Ever had this thing shoveled out? It’d probably run better without fifty pounds of junk weighing it down.”

“It runs fine,” she said, defensive of Sybil, while simultaneously praying to the car gods the car started the first time she turned the key. “You’re just jealous.”

“Caught me.” He grinned, and she mirrored the gesture. His was the first to fade. “My day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” She fiddled with her keys. “I get what you’re doing, you know.”

His face went blank. “What am I doing?”

“You were just using that as a way to lower your interview days.” She watched as something flickered over his face. “Only have fifteen instead of thirty?” she added. “You don’t have to interview me or anything. That’s silly. I can just give you a day’s break between each session.”

Killian shook his head. “No way, Freckles. You and I had a deal. Are you gonna back out?”

“No, I just . . .” She shrugged. “Thought I’d offer you an easy out.”

“I don’t take the easy out.” There was a world of determination in his voice as he said it. “That’s for pussies. I’ll see you tomorrow after practice.”

She opened her mouth to say yes, then stopped. “Can’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “Back to reneging?”

“I don’t renege,” she said hotly, then forced herself to calm down. “I just have plans tomorrow, that’s all. So you can have a free day to not be around me.”

She hadn’t meant it in a negative way, but he shook his head. “It’s not a chore. I mean, it’s just the deal. What plans do you have? I’ll come with you. Same thing you’d be doing with me.”

He was right, but she didn’t want to say. “Just, you know . . .” She mumbled the rest, then tried to duck into the car. His hand wrapped around her upper arm and halted her escape.

“Didn’t hear you, Freckles. What is it?”

She looked away and muttered it again.

“Speak up, Aileen.”

“Bowling. League,” she snapped. “There. Satisfied? I’m in a bowling league. And when I’m not working or at home, I’m at the bowling alley.”

His brows rose in surprise but, to her relief, she didn’t see any mockery in it. “Bowling league. That’s . . . unexpected.” He nodded a little, looking at her as if trying to picture her in an alley, holding a ball. “Yeah, okay. So I’ll go with you.” When she gave him a scathing look, he smiled. “Maybe I like bowling myself. Maybe I’ll take the lane next to you and get in a few rounds while you do your thing.”

“Maybe pigs will fly,” she muttered. “You can come, but you can’t make fun of my friends.” It would be horrible, she realized, if he ruined her league for her. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

“I wouldn’t,” he said, and his face held such sincerity, she didn’t question it.

“Fine. Just . . . be there around five if you want. But I warn you, I’m not going to have a lot of time to talk. I’ll be in the zone.” Even as she said it, she realized how stupid it probably sounded to a non-bowler. But he just agreed and let go of her arm. Until he did, she hadn’t realized he’d been holding her in a gentle grip the entire time.

He watched her another moment and, almost resigned, he bent and brushed a kiss over the corner of her mouth. “It’s not a chore,” he said again. Then he turned and went to his car.

She resisted the urge to run her fingertips over the corner he’d just kissed, to see if it felt as hot to the touch as she thought it did. But when he didn’t start his car, she realized he was waiting for her to leave before going himself. She hopped in the car, sent up a quick prayer, and started Sybil on the first try.

“Sybil,” she said as she pulled out of her parking spot, Killian right behind, “you won’t believe my day.”

* * *

Michael and Josiah walked by his locker after their team meeting. “Wanna grab a burger?”

Killian glanced at his watch, surprised that he was seriously considering it. “I would, but I have somewhere to be.” Practice had run over, and then the team meeting had taken forever, so he was already late for the start of her game. Match? League? Practice? He didn’t know what to call it, but he did know he was running too far behind to sit around and gab.

Josiah looked dubious, but said nothing.

Michael had no such reservations. “Dude, don’t be an anti-social nut sac. Come eat with us. We’re about to go on the road for two weeks straight so let’s just hang out tonight.”

He hid a grin as he bent over and zipped up his bag. “Unlike popular belief, I’m actually not a . . . what was that term you just used? An anti-social nut sac.” He clapped Michael on the shoulder as they all headed toward the exit. “But I actually do have plans.”

“What?” Michael asked, clearly not believing him.

“I’m meeting up with Freckles.”

“Who?” Michael asked.

“Aileen?” Josiah paused mid-step, forcing both Michael and Killian to glance behind them. “You’re going out with a reporter? Lambert’s wrong. Your sac isn’t anti-social, it’s made of brass.”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “She’s okay. But it’s not social,” he hastened to add as the other two exchanged a look. “She’s been hounding me for an interview so I agreed. I’m just trying to annoy her into giving up before things actually get started. I figure me pestering her while she’s doing something she likes—like she pesters me at my job—is the quickest way to get that accomplished.”

They both looked like they doubted him, but said nothing.

“Thanks for the offer, though,” he added after some thought. When they reached the parking lot, he took a chance and said, “Next time?”

Michael shot him a thumbs-up before heading to his car. Josiah walked to his hybrid SUV—too cold to bike today—and gave him a wave.

Killian tried to remember the last time he’d hung out with his teammates. His freshman year . . . when he’d met Emma. He hitched his bag in the back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was twenty-nine. Wasn’t it time for him to start having a social life again? A select few guys, maybe. The ones who wouldn’t say shit even if they found out about Charlie and Emma. The kind who wouldn’t blink before agreeing to protect a little kid.