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Call me when you get home.
What’s going on, Katherine?
After that, crickets. His palm itched with the need to show her how little he appreciated being ghosted in the middle of what was, obviously, an important conversation.
But mostly, he had a headache from trying to figure out what the fuck would prompt a text like that. Obviously, she’d gotten something into that pretty head of hers again, and god help her if it was anything like last time. He really would wear his belt out on her ass if she so much as hinted at not being pretty enough or sexy enough or whatever enough for him.
“You keep glaring at it like that, the phone might burst into flames.”
Relaxing his death grip on the phone, Austin looked up at Torres, who was watching him with a teasing smile on his baby face. The kid looked fucking twelve, and Austin felt irritation claw at his chest, eager for an easy target.
“Something on your mind, Torres?”
“You obviously got something on yours. Lady trouble?” The waggling eyebrows would have been amusing from someone his own age—from Torres, it just made his jaw clench and his fingers close into a fist.
“None of your fucking business, kid.”
And just like that, he felt like the asshole he was obviously being. Torres’s expression took on the look of a wounded puppy for a second before he closed himself off. “Man, fuck you. We’re stuck on this plane for the next two hours. Figured you might wanna talk or something.”
“Sorry.” Unclenching his fist, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Torres wasn’t the problem, and he knew damn well the kid had some idol-worship still left in him. Just because he was feeling twice his fucking age and he was pissed off at Kit’s cryptic texts didn’t mean he had to be a dick. “Yeah, my girl said we need to talk but won’t tell me why.”
Tony let out a low whistle and shook his head slowly. “Never good, man. Here’s what you do. Go straight to her place when we land. Stop for some flowers, if you can find any place open. Your girl, does she like roses or mixed bouquets?”
“How the fuck should I know? We just started seeing each other.” And yet, it still irritated him that he didn’t know. He wanted to know everything about her. Wanted her stripped bare to him, body and soul, without any hidden places or secrets.
“And she’s already got you all tied up in knots, huh? You got it bad, Barrick.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, shooting his phone another glare.
“Okay, so is she classic? Like old school romance, fancy restaurants, stuff like that?”
Images of her colorful apartment, with its eclectic mix of colors and styles popped into his head and he grinned. “No. She pretends like she is at work, but inside she’s… colorful. A little wild.”
It was part of what he adored about her. The way she presented one image to the outside world, when the reality of her was so completely different. Not like some of the women he’d dated in the past, who had been masters at being whoever they thought their audience wanted at any given time. With them it had seemed more…dishonest. With Kit, it was a defense mechanism. Why she felt she needed it was still something of a mystery to him, but that just made him all the more determined to strip her of those defenses until he finally found the real Kit she’d so expertly hidden away. The glimpses he'd gotten so far weren’t nearly enough.
Torres nodded decisively. “Then those are the flowers you want. Colorful, and a little wild.”
“I don’t even know what I did, though. And that’s what’s pissing me off.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Torres shrugged and gave him a rueful grin. “Sometimes you gotta get the apology out of the way and then figure out where you went wrong.”
“Sounds like you’ve had some practice.”
“Been with the same girl since I was fourteen. Married her as soon as we graduated high school. Four years ago in June. Love of my fucking life. Her and our two little boys.”
Had he known Torres had a family? It seemed vaguely familiar, but he’d never really bothered to get to know him, and guilt niggled at him. There was a time when he’d known every man on his team, and their families. But he’d been so wrapped up in the idea of his inevitable retirement that he’d shut himself off from the rest of the team. Even the guys he’d known for awhile; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard about Jameson’s new baby or O’Connell’s latest fling.
Somehow, without meaning to, he’d become the grumpy old man in the locker room. He’d work on that, starting with this conversation with his eventual replacement.
“Tell me about your girl.”
From the grin on Torres’s face, his wife was one of his favorite topics. “We grew up together. Our mamas were best friends. They even bought houses next door to each other when they got married, and our birthdays are only a week apart. Really, we’ve been together our whole lives, but I didn’t really see herthat wayuntil our freshman year when Kyle Pickett started telling everyone how he’d kissed her and a whole lot more under the bleachers after the homecoming game. I gave Kyle a black eye, stormed over to Claudia’s house, and asked her what the fuck she was thinking, screwing around with that asshole.”
“And you lived happily ever after?”
“Shit, no.” Torres threw his head back and let out a whoop of laughter. “She told me what she did under the bleachers was none of my business and that she’d waited fourteen years for me to kiss her, and since I obviously didn’t want to, she was damn well going to find someone who did. Then she kicked me out of her house and didn’t speak to me for a month, and even then, it was only after I got my head out of my ass and apologized about a hundred times.”
“How many times have you had to apologize since then?”
