Cat’s knuckles wrinkled as she squeezed the worn leather of the taxi seat. She was nervous, I could see that—I’d have to be an idiot not to be able to see it—but it wasn’t quite so obvious why.
Was she upset with the way she’d found out who I was?
It didn’t feel that way. When she’d broached the question, she’d seemed amused and entertained by my response.
Or was she thinking she’d made a mistake, getting in a cab with a virtual stranger and actually fearing for her safety?
God, I hope not.
I scooted a little farther away, just in case, and cleared my throat, trying to come up with some small talk that might put her mind at ease.
“So,” I muttered, “have you always had a green thumb?”
Her gaze swung from the window to me, and her eyebrows were drawn together. A little jagged line ran from her hairline to the top of her nose—a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of an old scar.
“A green thumb?”
I smiled at her confusion. “You know…the ficus. You said he requires regular maintenance. I can’t keep bamboo alive, and all you have to do is stick it in water.”
Surprise over the change in topic of conversation made her answer sound robotic. “I, uh, keep a watering schedule.”
“Like in iCalendar?”
“Google.”
“Oh, groovy,” I said easily. “Does that mean you’re an Android user?”
She shook her head, still trying to follow the direction of our conversation, but her fingernails had stopped digging into the leather.
That’s it, kitten. Just relax.
“No, I have an iPhone. Google calendar still syncs.”
“I’m terrible at keeping a schedule,” I admitted after a nod. “My assistant, Jilly—Jillian—she keeps all that shit organized. Otherwise, I’d be missing games and practices and all kinds of shit, and she wouldn’t get a paycheck.”
“Your assistant…Jillian,” she murmured, and I had to laugh. I could see the direction she was going, and yeah…the idea of romance with Jillian was hilarious.
“I see what you’re thinking, but Jilly would rather, uh…cut off that appendage than play with it.”
The cab driver cleared his throat, obviously listening in on our conversation, and Cat blushed.
“I drive her crazy. She’s in charge of things like making sure I don’t run out of shampoo, have clean clothes for practice, de-smelling my gym bag…” I made a face that said how terrible a job that really was. “Hard to believe, but apparently, all that sucked all the romance out of good ol’ Quinn Bailey for her, Cat.”
Just a hint of a smile curved the corner of her mouth, and white-hot victory surged in my chest.
“Hard to believe, indeed,” she murmured.
“So, I guess you don’t have any manservants…pool boys…that kind of thing?”
She barked a surprised giggle. “Manservants? No, that’d be a negative.”
I held my expression serious and thoughtfully pursed my lips. “That’s good. I mean, I’m not the excessively jealous type, but thinking about you getting, like, fanned and bathed by some other guy—”
Her eyes widened. “Bathed by someone?”
“Well, you know. Whatever it is manservants do. I’m no expert because I’ve never had one, but I imagine if I were yours, I’d try to be accommodating.”
“Accommodating…” she muttered.
Starting to sound a little creepy, Quinn, I warned. Dial it back.
I cleared my throat and shifted uneasily in my seat. Somehow, I’d become the one who was uncomfortable.
“I, uh…” I rambled. “Sure, sure. Did you say you had a roommate or—”
“We’re here,” the cab driver announced, pulling to the curb in front of a brick-faced apartment building.
Wow. This maybe wasn’t the note I’d wanted to end on.
I looked over at Cat to see her digging in her purse for some money to pay for the cab, so I reached over quickly to stop her with one hand and dug into my pocket with the other.
“No way, Cat. I got it.”
She smiled and shook her head, so I just nodded mine. “Go on, get out. And don’t even think about grabbing your own bag.”
“Or what?” she asked through a laugh, her face finally fully relaxed, smiling, and goddamn beautiful.
“Or…” I thought quickly, trying to come up with something, but I had nothing. I sighed. “Geez, kitten, you’re just supposed to take the threat at face value.”
“So sorry,” she murmured cheekily, sliding out the door gracefully.
I looked forward to the driver, my intention to ask him to wait so that I could say goodbye before we headed to my place, but he was already turned all the way around in his seat, watching us and grinning.
“Quinn Bailey, huh?” he asked.
I tried not to grimace. “Please, wait here while I say goodbye and save any commentary until she goes inside, and I’ll give you as many pictures and autographs as you want. I’ll even get you a fucking game ball,” I pleaded.
“Fuck yes. Consider your game uninterrupted, dude,” he agreed, turning back to the front and putting both his hands on the wheel obediently.
I rolled my eyes even as I celebrated internally and climbed out of the car.
The trunk popped as if on my command, and I pulled Cat’s bag out and left my own.
As I set it by her feet, I asked, “Can I carry it upstairs for you?”
She smiled but shook her head. “I’m on the first floor.”
“Yeah, well,” I said with a laugh. “I guess that means you’re all set, huh?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and then reached out a hand, her eyes frantically looking anywhere but directly into my own. I went with it, moving my head around in chase until I caught them.
Her face melted into a cute crinkle, astonished wonder making her deep brown eyes shine.
I took her extended hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks for sharing a cab with me, Cat.”
“Thanks for paying for it, Quinn.”
I wanted to touch her. Pull her body to mine, smell her hair—breathe her in. But a woman who extends a hand, gets a hand back. The last thing in the world I’d ever want to do was barrel through one of her boundaries without permission.
I gave her one last smile and waited to get one in return before turning back to the cab and climbing inside. When I settled into the seat, the door to her apartment building was closing behind her.
“Where’m I headed, boss?” the cab driver asked. I stared at the closed door, wondering if even a small part of her had wanted to linger, to stay and talk some more—to get to know me.
“Mr. Bailey?” the cab driver questioned again when my thoughts kept me silent.
I turned back to him then and settled into the seat, letting the overanalyzing die. I could question myself until my brain bled, but Cat still wouldn’t be around to give me any of the answers.
“Far Hills.”
He whistled. “A little out of your way, huh?”
A wealthy New Jersey town in relatively close proximity to the Mavericks stadium, Far Hills was south and west of Cat’s Hoboken neighborhood by just under an hour and home to several of my teammates. New York was short on space, and since stadiums tended to take up a lot of it, the Mavericks stadium was actually located in New Jersey. It always confused people that a New York athlete actually spent all of his time in New Jersey, but it was the way of our world.
Still, my daily life wasn’t just around the block from Cat’s.
I thought about Cat and her shy smile and the way her hand had felt in mine.
“Just a little,” I answered while my mind silently added, But most definitely worth it.