“See, now I don’t remember it that way. I remember you saying you were willing to work with me and do a few interviews.”
“You were naked at the time. I would have agreed to almost anything.” He crossed his arms and pouted like a child.
“And so you did.” She slammed her hands on the counter. “Look, I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died but unclench and let it out. You agreed to this and I’m tired of fighting you.”
“You blackmailed me. I’ll need more than a steak as payment.” He corralled her into the corner of the kitchen and caged her neatly with his arms. “What else do you have to tempt me?”
She snaked a hand under his arm and pulled a chocolate cake out of the bag. She held it to his nose and waved it a few times. “Truce?”
He inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head. He reached for the cake box and she put it behind her. “Only if you’re good.”
He crooked an eyebrow, amber eyes melting like the frosting of the cake. “I can be very good, darlin’.”
“After the interview.” She pushed against his arms. She wasn’t going to fall for his little boy attitude and sexy he-man attitude. “You’re not getting out of this with sex.”
She ducked under his arm and behind him. She struggled to regain her equilibrium when her body screamed to get back under him, over him as long as she was touching him. She squared her shoulders and walked down the hall. “Now, let’s pick out what you’re going to wear. And leave that cake alone, Jason.” She sensed him following behind her but he was anything but meek. Once upstairs, she opened the closet door and saw nothing hanging. “Where are your clothes?”
He glanced around vaguely and waved his hand. “Somewhere in one of these boxes. I don’t know.” He flopped onto the bed and flicked on the TV.
She yanked the remote out of his hand and turned it off. “I see you had no problem unpacking the television.”
“And the sheets. Want to try them out?” He patted the mattress and waggled his eyebrows.
She smothered a smile, and pasted on her stern, headmistress face. “Not likely. We have four hours until your interview.”
“Well hell, I only need thirty minutes to drive to the stadium, maybe thirty more to get ready. Why the hell did you wake me so early? I got in at three a.m. I hate Sunday night games.” Irritation laced his tone, making him sound more like an overtired and cranky three-year-old than a thirty-something adult.
“You may have gotten in around three, but I still had to drive home, remember? So, I’ve had even less sleep than you. And you don’t see me whining.”
“You didn’t have to drive home.” He avoided her gaze, looking out the window instead of at her.
She quirked an eyebrow, suddenly shy and hesitant. “I don’t recall anyone inviting me to stay.”
“If you recall, I didn’t invite you to come over in the first place.” He stood up and stalked around the bed, his intent clear in the wicked glint in his eye.
“Whatever. Get in the shower and I’ll find you something to wear. Then we’ll review the questions.” She turned her back and almost fled out of the room, resisting her body’s urge to hop in the shower with him.
Being a responsible adult sucked.
*
Jason stepped inthe shower and turned on the water, more on the cool side, hoping to quell the raging hard-on that seemed to be present every time Ms. Stacia Kendall was around. It’s not like he was still in his dry spell. They had sex only a couple of days ago, so he couldn’t blame it on that, not any longer.
No, the blame firmly lay with Stacia—she and her prim little teacher attitude was slowly driving him crazy. When she’d marched into his bedroom he’d almost thrown her on the bed and made them both late for the interview.
Yeah, that would have killed two birds with one stone—hot sex and no interview. Then chocolate cake for dessert. What could be better?
Instead, she was downstairs being happy homemaker, trying to unpack his clothes and dress him like a two-year-old, as if he didn’t know how to dress and act in interviews. He’d been doing it since he was thirteen and won the Little League World Series. He knew the game, knew how it was played. It wasn’t his fault that the rules changed.
He braced his hands against the shower wall, lowered his forehead to the cool tile, and sighed, letting the water sluice over him. Damn he hated this part of the game, the interviews, the reporters, the bullshit. The fans were fine if the media got out of the way. They didn’t care if you slept alone or with a supermodel as long as you hit the ball, caught the ball, and legged out your hits. The rules hadn’t changed. He had. He was no longer the superstar, could no longer ignore the catcalls and reporters. Hell, he was in his thirties. Maybe it was time he grew up and handled the situation better.
A toilet flushed and a blast of ice cold water hit him. He choked back a shout and yelled for Stacia.
“Are you okay in there?” Stacia’s soft voice sounded from the bedroom, all sweetness and light despite having flushed the toilet deliberately. Damnit, the cold water did nothing for the erection, still rock hard and begging for some TLC. The door handle jiggled. “Do you need any help?”
He cursed under his breath. “Only if you want to wash my back and other body parts.”
Her heels clicked rapidly as she left the room then echoed on the stairs. Probably a smart idea. Damned if he didn’t want her to stay though. And not just for the sex, which was pretty fucking amazing. He enjoyed her company, go figure. Liked talking to her.