AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Let me up.”
She released him at once and he schooled his features into relaxed lines as he looked over his shoulder. “You did good.” He rose and pivoted toward her, taking in her expression from the wrinkle between her brows to the glow of pride in her eyes. And her sexy pout. There was definitely no missing the pout. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Tai Kwon Do, Ju Jit Su, Karate.” She ticked a few more styles of martial arts off her fingers. “Plus a couple of self-defense classes. My technique’s sort of a hybrid method not often seen in the concrete jungle.” At her frown, he realized he was unconsciously cradling his tingling left arm. Great. “Hey, did I hurt you?”
“No.” His reply was too sharp, a mixture of disgust at his injury and insult that a tiny brunette thought she could lay him low with barely a twist of her pretty little fingers.
Though that wasn’t all that far from what had actually happened. So much for physical therapy doing him any fucking good.
“Oh God.” She clamped her palm over her mouth then let her hand drop. “I usually skip the gossip rags, but I read something about your arm being injured a while back. It’s not true, is it? People started coming up with crazy theories when you got into that slump—”
“Slump, my ass.” Before she could ask any more questions, he strode toward the door. “I’m going to get dressed. I suggest you do the same. Then we’re going to talk.”
Her muttered curses followed him down the hall.
Chapter Three
Chas
e found Summer in the kitchen, staring at the package of eggs she held as if she expected them to magically jump into the frying pan she’d set on his stove. Two glasses of orange juice stood on the butcher block counter and a slab of bacon waited next to the burners.
He’d stalled for half an hour in his bedroom to avoid talking to her—and to avoid acknowledging the embarrassment that was still heating his ears at being so unpleasantly manhandled—and that was after he’d forced her to sleep on the sofa. Yet she was making him breakfast. What was wrong with this picture?
“Are the eggs expired?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his still damp hair. He’d let it grow since he’d been away from the game and the shaggy length was now creeping past his shoulders. Eventually he’d have to handle it, like he had to handle too many other things.
At least his hair wasn’t keeping him up at night.
She checked the carton. “No, not for another week.” Cutting him a glance, she bit her lip in an unconsciously seductive way that did nothing to help the hard-on he was still sporting after being confronted with her twin weapons of mass destruction.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I never expected you to be like…this,” she finished lamely, looking from the galley kitchen into the living room in obvious puzzlement. “You do laundry and you have real, actual groceries, which means you must cook. Everything’s so tidy too. Do you have a cook or maid?”
What kind of lazy motherfucker did she think he was? So he played ball. That didn’t mean he needed someone standing at his side with a moistened towelette to wipe his ass. “No. I have me.”
Her frown reached her eyes. “There aren’t even any condoms or sex toys or bottles of Heineken lying around.”
It took effort, but he managed not to grin. “You haven’t been in my bedroom.”
She canted her head and sent her rivulets of dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Even her slight case of bedhead made her more attractive, as well as giving him an uncomfortable reminder she still hadn’t showered. He’d have to step outside onto the balcony and maybe blast some rap music in his ears to block out the sound of the water—and to distract him from thinking about her covered in nothing but soap.
Her voice intruded into his prurient thoughts. “Is that an invitation, Deuce?”
“Don’t call me that.” He moved past her to snag one of the glasses of juice. Tossing it back in several swallows, he set it down and eyed her white-knuckled grip on his eggs. “I usually don’t roll out the red carpet for women who land me in jail on our first date.”
Her lips twitched and he felt an answering smile tug at his own. “Our first date, huh? Since you’ve seen my boobs and I’ve seen you in cuffs, are we going steady now?” The scorching look she aimed over her shoulder would’ve killed the last brain cell left in his head if they hadn’t already all vacated south. Studying her shapely butt as she cracked eggs in the pan and set it on sizzle didn’t exactly help his directional issues. “If so, maybe you should go lie down so I can feed you in bed.”
“If we’re in bed, trust me, food would be the last thing on my mind,” he muttered.
She grinned and started to hum under her breath, a song he soon realized was one from last night’s set list. Ignoring his better judgment, he propped a hip on the counter and reached for her untouched juice without a qualm. It was her fault she was making his damn throat so dry with her hip gyrations.
“What’s the name of that?” he questioned once she stopped humming.
“Hmm? They’re your usual scrambled eggs. If you could grab me those peppers and ’shrooms over there, that would be a huge help.”
Rather than hand her the cutting board with the chopped vegetables, he grabbed the knife she’d set aside and chopped the vegetables more finely. The movement sent a wave of tingling numbness through his hand, and he had to grip the knife twice as hard not to drop it. He’d be paying for her martial arts practice moves for hours, if not days. “The song,” he grated out. “What’s it called?”
“Oh. It’s ‘Deep’.”
