Chapter 7 #2
“I’ll just be a minute.” Damn. I leaned my head against the cool tile and took a breath, turned the handle to warm up the spray, and made a quick pass with the soap over my body, getting the worst of the sweat and dirt off me.
I finished in two minutes and, when I emerged, caught the towel that Wyatt hurled at me.
“Get a move on, lover boy.”
Wiping down as I walked to my locker, I scowled at him where he lounged in a chair, fully dressed, every hair in place.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shouldn’t have asked. Should have ignored him. But if we were going to be roommates, we had to set the boundaries. Plus, he was the only guy on the team talking to me so I couldn’t afford to aggravate him. Not unless it was for a damn good reason.
“It means I saw how Cat looked at you, like there’s something going on with—”
“There’s not.” I took a deep breath, pulling my shirt over my head, keeping the anger, mostly at myself, to a simmer. I could be a good liar when I had to be. Lucky me, I got that from my old man. My father’s legacy was a mixed one, to say the least.
Wyatt kept his mouth shut, expecting me to give him an explanation. Once I put on my pants and my head was cleared enough, the tension eased back so that I could talk, say what I needed to say without being a total dick.
“Look, there’s nothing between Cat and me and there never will be. I’m not insane. And I really can’t afford rumors like that about me, not even a whiff of a rumor. The coaches are looking for any excuse, any misstep even an inch off the straight and narrow to can my ass.”
“Hey, sorry. I was only teasing. Didn’t mean anything by it. The last thing I want to do is get the team’s savior in trouble.”
“Savior? Don’t give me that.”
He put up his hands in surrender. “Okay, settle down. You’re very touchy for a tight end. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of tough guy.”
“I didn’t expect you to be a comedian with a death wish.” I smirked to take the edge off my words and sat in the chair opposite him to tie my shoes.
“Ha. Good one.”
I felt him watch me as I finished with my shoes, but I wasn’t interested in continuing to spar. My gut told me he was decent and generally good-natured. We should be able to get along.
Standing, I said, “Let’s get on with the tour.”
He stood, still studying me. Then he nodded and slapped my back, hard but not enough to knock the wind out of me.
“You’re okay, Quintanna. Don’t try so hard to hide it. You may not exactly be a savior, but you’re damn good and we could really use your help for the duration.” He paused. I said nothing. “I’ll do my bit to help you succeed. On and off the field.”
“Good to know.” We walked from the locker room into the tunnel and out to the parking lot in silence. His car was parked close to the entrance and mine was a good hundred yards away.
“Where’s your car?”
I jerked my head in the general direction and got in the passenger side of his slick sports car. In the dim light, I wasn’t even sure what the make and model was, but it had to be pricey.
“So explain to me why exactly Cat is trying to find you a place to stay.”
“I thought we agreed it was none of your business.”
“No. We agreed I wouldn’t joke about it or spread rumors, but I gotta tell you, her attention to you won’t go unnoticed, so—”
“She’s my handler,” I said. It cost me, but it was official and I wasn’t sure if it was possible to keep it a secret even if I wanted to, with her on my ass about every little thing.
“Handler?” He laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”
I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her that.”
“Oh, I will, believe me.”
I darted a look at him, then checked my surprise, and double checked the spike of possessive annoyance at the implication of his words.
“Maybe it’s you who has a thing going with Cat.” I kept my voice even, but my gut clenched waiting for his answer.
He snorted. “Not f—cking likely. Like you, I am concerned with self-preservation. It’s well known on the team that Catalina Marini is off-limits.
” He slid a glance at me as he negotiated the light traffic through the congested city neighborhoods.
I thought we were still in East Boston. I could see the lights for Logan Airport not too far off.
“Oh that’s right,” he said, “You weren’t around for Coach’s speech on the subject.
But trust me, the message was loud and clear.
No interest, no commentary, no nothing will be tolerated.
If anyone so much as smiles at her their ass gets kicked to the curb.
That’s the rules. Very heavy on the nonfrat rule. ”
“Goes without saying.” Great, just great.
“Easy enough to stay out of her way for the rest of us. We only see her at events, or on the sidelines taking photos, occasionally. But you,” he shook his head, “you’re being handled by her. Now that’s gonna be hard, a real challenge to stay clear of the no-smiling rule.”
“Shut the f—ck up, will you? You talk more than my three sisters combined.” I forced mock disgust, but what I felt was sick. Because everything he said was the damn truth.
He pulled into the driveway of a large three-story home with a covered porch and a tiny lawn out front lined by a picket fence.
The car glided into the detached garage as the door went up.
I’d never lived anywhere in my life with an automatic garage door.
It was on the list of what I wanted for my mother, my sisters and brothers.
Hell, maybe I’d even get one for myself someday, but that wasn’t important right now. If ever.
“Home sweet home.” Gabriel Wyatt grinned and shoved out of the car.
I followed him outside to the well-lit stone-paved driveway, down a short walk, and into the back yard.
The back was larger than the front, but not by much.
A patio with a grill and umbrella table took up most of the space.
And a motorcycle. A Ducati Diavel. The 2011 model.
I paused, admiring the only beauty in the world that rivaled a woman’s.
The only thing more temptingly dangerous.
“Come on in already.” Wyatt held the door open.
I tore my gaze away from the shiny beast, swearing at myself.
Once upon a time I would have wanted that bike, would have jumped at the chance to ride it.
There was no way I could ever ride again.
Not since my old man died after crashing and burning.
The bike must belong to Wyatt, but I wasn’t going to ask.
We went inside an entryway and up the kitchen stairs to a bright and spacious apartment, if a little old-fashioned with its carved doorframes, glass doorknobs and built-in shelves. Wyatt showed me a luxurious bedroom suite with an enormous shower.
“This is mine. You can have the suite upstairs. The ceilings are lower, but it’s otherwise similar to this one.”
“Furnished?”
Wyatt nodded, and would have asked a nosy question, I was sure, but my phone rang.
Saved by the bell. Or so I thought until I swiped the screen to see who was calling.
Putting the phone to my ear, I turned away from Wyatt and went from the bedroom back out into the hall and then down to the kitchen.
I would have walked out the door to leave, but remembered we came in his car.
“What do you want?” I said, my voice tight along with everything else in me.