Page 7 of Worthy


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Not that it did any good since her heart rate kicked back into overdrive the second he opened the door. She was really going on a date with Austin Barrick. The best shortstop Major League Baseball had seen in nearly thirty years.

As if that wasn’t overwhelming enough, he’d singlehandedly fulfilled some of her wildest fantasies by going all bossy alpha male on her. She was half convinced she’d have a wet spot on her skirt by the time she got out of the car again. Which was a damn shame since this was a one-time deal. Getting romantically tangled with a client was stupid, and Kit prided herself on never being stupid.

With another flash of his annoyingly charming smile, they were backing out of the parking lot and headed somewhere. She assumed it would be a place where they served cheeseburgers. Her stomach growled at the thought. The wrap she’d ordered at lunch from the deli down the street seemed like ages ago at this point.

To his credit, Austin didn’t mention her demanding tummy, if he noticed it at all. When he turned onto the highway, she groaned at the sea of taillights.

“Gotta love rush hour,” he quipped, far more cheerfully than the situation seemed to warrant.

“I forgot how bad it could be around here.”

Glancing over at her, the corners of his lips dipped down in a frown. “Do you not usually work in the office?”

“Oh, I do. I just usually come in early enough and stay late enough to miss the worst of it.”

“Jesus, woman. How many hours do you work?”

Suddenly feeling defensive, she tilted her chin up at him. “As many as I need to.”

“I see.”

Something about his tone told her he did see, far more clearly than she wanted him to. “Are you going to tell me you don’t push yourself as hard as you need, as much as you need? You don’t get a reputation like yours without busting your ass, Mr. Barrick, regardless of how much talent you may have.”

That devastating grin flashed again as they inched forward. “You follow baseball, Kit?”

Shit. She’d tipped her hand. Trying to play it cool, she shrugged and glanced away like her entire body wasn’t on alert, waiting for some signal he was laughing at her. “My dad does, religiously. We went to a game every Saturday during the season when I was growing up. Baltimore will always have his heart, but if there’s a game on, he’ll watch it.”

“I could grab a ball from my bag and sign it for him, if you want.”

“Really?” Warmth spread in her chest at the unexpected offer. “He’d get a kick out of that. Thanks.”

“No problem. What about your mom? She a fan, or is it more of a daddy-daughter thing?”

The stab of grief was familiar, but somehow it had never lessened over the years. “My mom passed when I was in high school. She was never really into sports, but she’d always make us snacks when a game was on.”

“I’m sorry, kitten.”

“It was a long time ago.” And it was yesterday. Grief, she’d learned, was funny that way.

“Still sucks.”

The simple acknowledgement somehow soothed her more than the words of shock and pity she’d been fending off the last sixteen years. “It does. Were your parents fans before you started playing?”

“Hell, no,” he said with a deep, rumbling laugh. “The biggest disappointment of their life has been my utter lack of interest in football. But my sister made up for it by dating and marrying our high school quarterback, who had a pretty decent college career. Wrecked his shoulder his senior year though, so he never made it pro.”

“How awful for him.”

“Yeah. But he got the girl and two of his own little quarterbacks out of the deal. He seems happy enough, which I don’t really get because I know what living with my sister is like.”

Adoration colored his tone, and she couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve heard younger siblings can be a trial.”

“Older sister. And bossy, to boot. What about you? Any other little Callahans running around?”

“Just me, thankfully. I’m a spoiled only child and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Sounds like someone doesn’t like to share her toys.”

How could he take such an innocent statement and make it sound so outrageously dirty? Her breath seemed to back up in her lungs, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless. “I suppose not,” she managed to squeak out.

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