“Here.” He picked up a large pile of papers and magazines and her keys. “I’ve got it. Let me help you get them inside.”

She sighed and stood, ignoring his offered hand. “Whatever.” Pushing her door open all the way, she walked in and dumped the bag on the ratty sofa. He placed what papers he had in his hand next to the bag and followed her to the kitchenette area. She was already guzzling a bottle of water.

She glanced at him over the bottle of water, then tossed her sunglasses on the counter. “I’m not offering you a drink.”

“Okay.”

“Offering you a drink would mean I wanted you to stay.”

He nodded his understanding.

She paused, as if waiting for him to say something. Then she waved toward the door. “That means I don’t want you to stay, which means you should go now.”

“I met Emma my first year in the league,” he began, and she moaned. Determined, he pushed on. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pacing. This would be much easier if she’d offer him a damn seat. “I had almost no expectations, coming into the league. I was a natural loner.”

“No,” she gasped theatrically.

He could handle her sarcasm. He deserved it.

“So making friends was hard. I started latching onto whoever would offer to hang out. There was our punter at the time. Jerry VanHalson. Older than me, been with the Bobcats for almost ten years. Took me under his wing.”

Her forehead wrinkled, as if thinking back. “VanHalson. Name doesn’t even ring a bell. What happened to him?”

“As part of damage control, he was traded away.” When she blinked in surprise at that, he knew her natural curiosity was winning the battle between Pissed-off Aileen and Journalist Aileen. He just hoped, by the end, she made decisions with the Aileen who used her heart. “He was only with his new team one year when he tore something in his hip. He was close to retirement anyway, just came a few years early. But that’s getting ahead. My first year, he invited me to a few parties at his place, and I went. Wanted to bond with the guys, seem like part of the team. A couple of the guys would drink too much, or do a few lines. I wasn’t interested.”

She nodded, hopping up on the counter. The heels of her sneakers banged against the already-stuffed cabinets below. Clearly, she sat like this often. “I believe that.”

“I’ll have a beer, but drugs?” He shook his head. “So they made fun of the freshman boy scout. That I was too uptight. They weren’t going to push drugs on me, but maybe I’d unwind a little with some prime pus—um.” He coughed, remembering his audience a half second too late. “Unwind with some female companionship.”

She scoffed, not fooled. “Right.”

“Emma . . .” He looked at her then, wishing he knew what was going through her mind. Then immediately feeling grateful he didn’t. “She was older, and she latched onto me pretty fast. She showed me around the area, was at all of Jerry’s get-togethers, and we hooked up. Casually, not like we were together. Just . . . having fun.”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead, then pushed her tote bag out of the way and sat on the couch. As the entire studio apartment was probably no more than four hundred square feet, they were still close enough to talk. And he needed to sit to get through the rest.

“I thought the women hanging around Jerry and the others were groupies, or just friends of friends. Party girls looking for fun.”

Aileen was quiet, taking another sip of water.

“Apparently not.” He laughed and looked at the blank space by her front door. “I felt like such an idiot when I realized . . . such an idiot,” he finished, voice low.

She stilled, water halfway to her mouth, but said nothing. Watched him warily. And he could see in her eyes she’d guessed.

“She was an escort. Most of the women there were.” He tried to swallow back the snort, but didn’t succeed. “Escort,” he said again, derision plain. “They were prostitutes. I’d been having sex with a prostitute, and I didn’t know. When I asked Jerry about it, he laughed. Thought it was so fucking hilarious. The freshman noob with no clue how to tell the difference between an eager groupie and . . . you know.” He smiled wryly. “I punched him then. Just one good pop to his jaw. Felt so good.”

“I bet,” Aileen said, her voice a gravely whisper. Her face had gone white, one hand clenched around the edge of the counter. The other squeezed the bottle of water so hard it crackled in her grip.

“A few weeks later, the entire escort service got busted for being a front for a prostitution ring.” He closed his eyes a moment, hating having to clarify. “I never—”

“Paid her.” Aileen’s voice cut through his with definitive certainty. “Of course you didn’t.”

He looked at her, surprised. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to assume that in his stupid youth he’d done so. Either through peer pressure or just a willingness to make a stupid error go away. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you.” She hopped down and put the half-empty bottle in the fridge, grabbing a full one. She walked the few steps over to him, skirting her two-seater kitchen table and sitting next to him on the couch. They didn’t touch, but she handed him the unopened bottle. As he cracked the seal, she turned to sit cross-legged, her back against the arm, facing him. “You’re secretive and distrusting and you can be a total ass. But you’re not a guy who pays for sex.”

“I guess that’s something,” he muttered. He took a large swig of water to wash the dust away that coated his throat. “When they cracked down on the circle of women—you might have heard when it happened—they got the ring leader and most of her girls.”

“I heard,” she said quietly. “Big news, at the time.”

“A couple of the ladies were free, mostly because they were too new to rate the PD’s time and attention. A few guys—like Jerry—were in trouble, because they’d been stupid enough to be seen in public with them. I guess they just thought they were invincible.” He lifted one shoulder. I made a stupid mistake, but thank God I didn’t make it that big. Emma wasn’t picked out, either. Though we knew if she stayed around here, someone would say something. So, she left. I thought that was it. I’d escaped, she’d escaped, and it was over.”

“And . . . your son?” Her voice cracked a little as she asked.

He glanced at her from the side, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t fear anymore that held him back, but over six years of habit. Of convincing himself the truth was ugly.

“She came back a few weeks later. She’s pregnant and swears it’s mine.”

“You believed her.”

He raised a brow. “I didn’t not believe her, but I didn’t take her word for it, either. So she headed back up to Las Vegas—that’s where she and Charlie live—and I paid for her doctor’s appointments. Figured it was the least I could do, and if the kid wasn’t mine, I’d write it off as a good deed. He was born, we had him tested—using an attorney to keep my name quiet—and it was official.”

She nodded slowly, then held out her hand for the water. She took a sip herself, staring at the floor as if in a daze. “Why all the way in Vegas? Why not around here?”

“At the time, it was the big news story. We didn’t want people who knew—or guessed—what Emma’s former job was, seeing us, putting two and two together, and figuring out the whole thing. Vegas was a fresh start for Emma, and then she had Charlie. We wanted none of it to touch him. Emma started over there; she’s a real estate agent, and doing pretty good. I visit as much as I can—which isn’t often during season. And we meet up sometimes when I’m on the road, if we can. We just keep it quiet, stay private, and I don’t mention I’ve got a kid.”

“But you haven’t met up with him this season, have you?” She watched him closely. “Is that . . . because of me? Because I’ve been around you so much?”

“Freckles, I . . .” he started, then saw her eyes heat. She sensed bullshit coming on and wanted none of it. “Yeah. I would have seen him in San Francisco, but I asked them not to come.”