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He shook his head. She was the one who insisted on arguing. Which took up time. He certainly didn’t keep her there. Still, the twinge of guilt in his chest throbbed a little.
“That’s good.” Tate had that night off too and he had planned on going to the game. Seeing Mia would be a plus. He had a hell of a time stepping back the other night. Hell, he had been ready to take her into her apartment and continue what they had going. He had been on duty in uniform and almost took her right there.
The draw to Mia went beyond his logic. There was something there, but when she clutched to him, let off a soft little moan that was half sweet, half strong and all woman, he knew he had to stop.
Because being with Mia was already something he was having a hard time walking away from. A woman like her sunk hooks in and left men reeling and attached. Not smart for a man like Tate. Attaching himself to something or someone made his gut hurt. It gave them power over him. Gave them ability to show their true colors and Tate wasn’t interested in taking chances. Especially since he couldn’t tell if Mia even liked him half the time.
They were too different.
But damn there was a fire in her that he’d never seen another woman harbor.
“Your sister said you were having some friends over after the game?” Tate said, sanding down one of the corners on a booth.
“Yes, sir. Just going to play some X-box football and hang out,” Kyle said and he could tell the kid lit up a little.
Tate knew he was part of a hazing prank with the graffiti, one he was manning up to take responsibility for, and Tate could respect that. Just wished the kids who actually did it were held accountable.
“Not the guys who set you up, I take it?” Tate pushed a little.
Kyle glanced away.
“I left Sweet Hill last year and am coming back in the middle of football season,” he said as if that was supposed to make any sense.
Then it hit Tate. The kid wouldn’t say a lie out loud. Kyle knew who painted the wall. But wouldn’t deny or acknowledge it for whatever reason.
“Guess you coming back mid-season and getting a starting slot must not sit well with some of your teammates?”
Kyle hammered another nail and didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Tate may not be a detective, but he was pretty good at reading the obvious signs.
A small town could be difficult to integrate, or reintegrate into. A “newcomer” could always be difficult to handle.
It was coming together. Tate just had to keep his eye out.
“So you went to Seattle with your sister right?”
Kyle nodded. “After our mom died. Mia worked real hard and put me in the nicest schools.”
“Schools?”
“I had some problems…” Kyle trailed off. “But this time is different. We’re home.”
Tate watched the kid take a deep breath like word “home” was the glue that was holding him together. Sweet Hill was his home.
“Mia gave up a lot so we could come back. I need to make her proud,” Kyle said with determination.
“I’m sure you do make her proud.”
Something in Tate’s chest shifted. The way Kyle talked about his sister, and the ferocity Mia gave when it came to her brother was something that was special. He couldn’t help but admire. There was more to Mia, and to the dynamic of her family than he realized. He was starting to learn that she did everything viciously. Once you got around her tactics, the woman was all fire, fight and passion. And those were all good things. They could also all leave a man beaten, burnt and belligerent though.
Tate thought of her sparkling eyes and demanding mouth. Especially when it was laced with his. Maybe burning up wouldn’t be so bad.
~
Mia walked along the high school track that circled the football field, making her way to the bleachers. The band was playing, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted in the
cool breeze and everyone was on their feet. Several kids were scattered in their obvious clicks standing and talking while most of the adults and parents were in the stands.
The cheerleaders lined the field and the Sweet Hill football team tore through the paper banner and took the field. Mia clapped when she saw her brother, number eighty-eight.
