Since kicking a ball around wasn’t what he wanted to be doing in twenty years either, he could relate. He glanced around the room, found a photo that he could easily assume was Aileen at around age five or six, standing with two adults beside a car. She was an adorable little girl, her hair more red than brown, with two braids and dirt smudges on her knees. Her smile displayed two missing teeth, and her cheeks were dotted with her unloved freckles. “Who are these two? Your parents?”

Just like that, the friendly moments died. Her smile dropped off, her eyes shuttered like someone battening down the hatches before a hurricane, and her shoulders slumped. “Put that back, please.”

He hesitated. He really should ask. Dig harder. Wasn’t that the entire point of the back-and-forth? That he annoyed her enough she left him alone?

No, even as he set the picture back gently, he knew their arrangement, and his desire to get out of the interview, had nothing to do with wanting to know more. He just . . . wanted more. Wanted more inside info on her thoughts, her wants, her past. Slippery slope.

But he wouldn’t push today. Tomorrow was his official turn to interrogate. He’d try then.

* * *

Aileen paced in the practice field bleacher, checked her watch, then dropped back down with a groan. What the hell was taking so long? She wanted to get back to the basics with Killian. After he’d left her apartment, she’d given herself the stern talking to she’d needed, and was ready to roll again with the professional aspect of their relationship.

No, not relationship. Professional working partnership.

She grimaced at the label. So stuffy, so . . . ug. But what other term properly explained exactly what they should be?

When a weight sat beside her, Aileen glanced up and into the eyes of one Cassandra Wainwright. The head coach’s daughter, the center of a bizarre, alleged sex triangle that never added up to Aileen. And, also allegedly, Trey Owens’ girlfriend.

“Hi,” Aileen said cautiously.

The other woman smiled easily, her long chestnut-brown hair braided and draped over one shoulder. She wore a trim olive-green jacket and simple jeans, the outfit ending in simple brown boots with a short heel. She looked professional without looking prim. Something Aileen had never managed to pull off. “Hey, I’m Cassie.”

“Aileen.” She shook the hand Cassie extended. Bobby’s request for a Cassie Wainwright story shot through her brain like a fire bolt. She released the other woman’s hand, irrationally worrying she could read her thoughts via the contact. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same. They’re taking forever today.” She tipped her head back to the sky, serenely soaking in the waning winter sun. “I needed some vitamin D. I love my job, but if I’m not careful I’ll turn into a pasty, squinting stereotype.”

Observing the slender woman with a healthy complexion in front of her, Aileen found that reality hard to believe. “What’s your job?”

“I work in the tech department for the main office. Part of the Nerd Herd.” She said the term so fondly, with a slight smile that Aileen knew it wasn’t an insult to be considered a nerd in Cassie’s eyes. “But being inside for so long, hunched over a screen, wears on you. Thought I’d get out for an hour.” She glanced around, then leaned in. “My dad texted me and asked me to come over for lunch. So I think we’re going out.”

“Did he?” She looked around, but most of the other media were hanging close to the locker room exit. They were surrounded by a hundred yard bubble of solitude.

“My dad’s Coach Jordan,” she added, giving Aileen the idea she had no clue who she was talking to. A journalist. “Still feels weird to say that.”

“I, uh, saw your interview a few weeks ago.” Aileen picked up her bag, then set it back down again. This was so wrong. “Just so you know, I didn’t believe any of that sex triangle crap. I’m sure there’s another reason for what happened, and we’re just not privy to it.”

Cassie beamed at her. “Finally, some intelligent life. Thank you. I’m so tired of saying ‘no comment’ every time I go grocery shopping. You know, the last time I was at Target picking up deodorant, someone asked me if I was picking up some for my two lovers?” She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “It’s funny now, but at the time it freaked me out a little.”

“Sorry,” Aileen said sincerely. No matter how much time she spent with players and their families, she would never quite understand how difficult it was to live life in that spotlight. “That sucks.”

“It does.” She glanced around once more. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Killian Reeves.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay. I wasn’t aware he was dating anyone.”

“He’s not.” Or was he? No, no, they were not dating. And she’d have noticed a girlfriend by now, given how they’d practically lived in each other’s back pockets the last few weeks.

Cassie blinked, confused. “Okay then.”

If you use the sneak-attack approach, real sly-like, she won’t even see it coming.

Screw you, Bobby.

“I have to tell you something,” Aileen said quickly. “I’m actually a reporter. Journalist. Whatever. I do the Bobcat beat for a small website called Off Season.” She grimaced. “You’ve never heard of it, I’m sure. But I just had to tell you, in case, you know . . .” She waved her hand toward Cassie, then between them. “I just didn’t want you thinking I was trying to gain something by hiding my identity.”

Cassie sat for a moment, her eyes a little wide, then narrowed them. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

Aileen shrugged.

“I mean,” Cassie went on, “you could have just let me keep talking. I’m in a chatty mood today. Happens when I’ve been coding for too long. The computer screen is poor company, and suddenly I need to bust out and talk, so I talk to anyone.” She grinned. “I once accidentally held a barista hostage with my ramblings for half an hour. Poor thing, she had no clue how to get rid of me.”

Aileen laughed before she could help it.

Cassie nodded. “I like you,” she declared. “I’ve made it my mission to start making more friends out here, now that I’m officially in Santa Fe on a permanent basis.”

The reporter in her heard a story in the making. Moved out permanently, putting down roots, working in the Bobcat main offices . . . Sounds like a good one. Then the woman slapped the reporter back two steps. “Friends are good.” She wouldn’t be able to speak from experiences, of course, but she knew logically they were a good thing to have around.

Cassie’s phone beeped and she checked it, smiling a little. “It’s my dad,” she explained. “He apologized for taking so long, but apparently he had to, in his own words,” Cassie held up quote fingers, “‘rip a few new ones.’ They’re done now.” She made a face. “Guys say the nastiest things.”

“They do,” Aileen agreed. “But God love ’em.”

Cassie bumped her shoulder and chuckled.

Too bad they couldn’t be friends in real life. Cassie would always be guarded around her, and Aileen would never be able to fully put away the reporter instinct.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye and saw Killian approaching.

He would always be guarded, too. She had to keep remembering that. Even in the soft afterglow, he wasn’t going to fully let her see in. It would never work out.

Man, that sucked.

* * *

For approximately five seconds after seeing Aileen with Cassie Wainwright, Killian had the panicked thought she was grilling Cassie for a story. Just what he needed, the coach’s daughter being pissed at him for bringing around a reporter to pick at her.

Then he shook that idea off. He wasn’t bringing her around. She was following him, just like any other member of the media. Trying to get a story, then backing off when it didn’t work. Then Cassie laughed, and Aileen smiled, and he let out a breath. Not grilling, but gabbing. Doing that mysterious girl-bonding thing that men never seemed to quite understand.