Chapter Fourteen
After the gamethat night, another loss, Jason stormed out of the locker room, hair still damp from the rushed shower. He scowled when he saw Stacia standing by the locker room door and brushed past her with a snarl. He had no interest in rehashing the interview, the confrontation with Monroe, the game. He just wanted to be left in peace. She didn’t let that deter her and scrambled to keep up with his long strides eating the concrete, feet pounding the pavement. When they got to his SUV, she tried to take the keys.
“You’re in no condition to drive.”
He whirled on her, hands raised to ward off discussion. “I’m not drunk, just pissed. Back off.”
There was no way he was going to wait for her to get her car and she was not letting him go without her. She bolted to the other side of the vehicle and slid in, barely before he took off. He swore and slammed his foot on the brake.
“Out. I’m in no mood for little Miss Sunshine and rainbows.” He pointed to the door, not in the mood of any more analysis.
“I’m going with you.” She buckled her seat belt and locked the door. “Besides, I promised you a steak dinner, and, judging by your attitude, you need to eat.”
He blinked a few times, confusion clouding his gaze. Then his face returned to the sullen scowl. He shifted into reverse and tore out of the parking space. “You asked for it.”
*
Nothing much wassaid on the drive to his condo. Stacia clung to the side handle as unobtrusively as possible but never said a word. Jason cast her a few sidelong glares, taking in the death grip and the subtle passenger side invisible brake, but she met his gaze, daring him to speak.
A short while later, they pulled into his condo. Stacia scrambled out of the car, gathering her briefcase, purse and laptop, hoping he wouldn’t close the door on her face. Instead, he was waiting at the door, holding it open for her. He closed it behind her and stomped upstairs. She walked into the kitchen and laid her things on the table then started to make dinner. A few minutes later, she heard him stomp down the stairs.
“What the hell? Stacia, get in here.”
She winced at the anger in his tone. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come back to his condo today. Not after her afternoon adventure. She wiped her hands on a towel and stepped into the living room from the kitchen/dining room. “Is there a problem?”
“You bet your sweet little ass there is. What the hell happened to my furniture?”
She glanced around the now-furnished room and the dearth of boxes. She smiled. “Isn’t this more comfortable? A couch instead of a lawn chair, chairs, lights and no boxes. I unpacked for you since you said you had no time.”
He glared at her, fists planted on his hips, body rigid and tense. “I told you to stop mothering me. I was fine with my chair and boxes. I’m barely here, and won’t be staying for long. And how did you get in?”
She shrugged. “It’s the team’s condo. I asked for a key. You don’t like it?” She held her breath, waiting for the explosion.
He growled low in his throat and stalked across the room to the couch. He flopped down and grabbed the remote, flipping on the television.
Stacia frowned. “Thank you, Stacia, for taking time out of your busy schedule and unpacking for me. Dinner smells great.”
He flipped the channels, turning up the volume on ESPN, drowning out her voice. She snorted, but the sizzling from the steak drew her attention back to the kitchen. She flipped the steak with more force than necessary, splattering herself with burning grease. She cried out and wiped her hand.
Within seconds, Jason had come in the room, grabbed her hand and ran it under cold water, rubbing it lightly to clean it off. His gentle touch sent fluttering deep into her stomach and lower still. “Are you okay?” His low voice rumbled, all traces of anger gone.
She nodded, blinking back the tears but failing.
“Sit down. I’ll finish this.” He guided her to a chair, grabbed some ice and wrapped it in a wet towel. He squatted in front of her and tenderly picked up her hand and placed the ice wrap on it. He gently rubbed her arms soothingly until her tears stopped. Then he went back to the small kitchen and adjusted the temperature on the steak then popped the vegetables into the microwave.
She watched him move about the kitchen, clearly well-accustomed to cooking, despite his earlier words. “I thought you didn’t cook?”
“I like to eat. Have to cook to eat.”
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?”
A subtle pause, so quick she barely noticed, then he resumed his actions. “Mom was too busy to cook. She worked two jobs to feed us and she was just out of high school. Most times, it was barely enough.”
“Did you cook for her?” Another layer in the Jason Friar onion. What else would she find? Her heart melted a little more. What woman didn’t like a man who could cook and took care of his mom?
“Sometimes, when I got older. She’d come home so tired. She tried to be a good mom, she just didn’t have the time.” His voice was gruff, as if rusty and tired.
“What about your father?”