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“What are you doing here?” she asked, reaction making her blunt, and saw surprise in his eyes at her lack of welcome.
“I haven’t seen you lately,” he purred in the velvety voice that had women flocking to him, though the millions he made carrying a football didn’t hurt. He usually had a small entourage of hangers-on around him; he loved his fame and the limelight, and made the most of it.
“The last two weeks have been crazy,” she said. “First there was the List, then Marci—” She stopped, her throat seizing. She still couldn’t believe Marci was gone. No; she did believe it. She just hadn’t accepted it.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. The two of you were tight, weren’t you?”
He really didn’t know much about her, she thought. Their relationship, such as it was, had always been about him.
“She was my best friend,” she said, and tears blurred her eyes. “Look, Shamal, I’m not in the mood for—”
“Hey, I didn’t come here for that,” he said, frowning as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tailored silk pants. “If it was just sex I wanted, I could get that from—” He stopped, evidently realizing that wasn’t the wisest thing to say. “I’ve missed you,” he said helplessly, ill at ease. That wasn’t the type of thing Shamal King said to women.
Luna stepped past him and unlocked her door. “Really,” she said in a dry tone. It was funny; for almost a year, since the moment she met Shamal, she had dreamed about him saying something like that, indicating that she was, in any way, special to him. Now that he had, she wasn’t inclined to give an inch. Maybe she had already given all she could, gone as far as possible.
He shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t know what to say, she realized. He had always been too handsome, too gifted, and now he was too rich; girls had always chased him. He had been sought after and idolized and pandered to since junior high, when his running ability became obvious. This was new territory for Shamal King.
“Would you like to come in?” she finally asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
He looked around her small apartment, as if he was seeing it for the first time. Going over to the bookcase to examine the books she had there, and the family photographs. “Your dad?” he asked, picking up a photo of a stern, handsome Marine major.
“Yes, right before he retired.”
“So you’re an army brat?”
“A Marine brat,” she corrected, concealing her wince at his failure to recognize the uniform.
He looked uncomfortable again. “I don’t know anything about the military. All I’ve ever done is play football. I guess you’ve traveled all over the world, huh?”
“Parts of it.”
“I could tell you’re sophisticated.” He returned the photograph to its place, precisely lined it up as she’d had it. “You know wines, and things like that.”
Luna felt a twinge of surprise. He sounded a little insecure, an emotion she would never have associated with him. He was always so cocky and brash, as if he thought it only natural to receive as much attention as he did. He lived in a mansion, she thought, and he was intimidated because she had traveled some and been exposed to a lot of formal dinners.
“Would you like something to drink?” she offered. “I don’t have anything stronger than beer. There’s also fruit juice and milk.”
“A beer,” he said, relieved. Maybe he’d been afraid she would offer him a selection of white wines.
She got two beers out of the refrigerator and twisted the tops off, then handed him one. He watched, fascinated, as she took a long swallow.
“I’ve never seen you drink beer.”
She shrugged. “It’s kind of endemic to a military base. I like it.”
He sat down and rolled the frosty bottle between his hands. After a moment of gathering his courage, he said, “Luna—the reason I’m here—” He stopped, and did some more bottle rolling.
She sat down across from him and crossed her long legs. He eyed the elegant length of exposed skin, as she had meant for him to do. “Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “When you stopped coming around, I … well, it kind of surprised me. I thought we … that is—”
“We had sex,” she said gently, deciding to help him along. At the rate he was going, he would still be trying at midnight to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.
“That’s all it ever was to you, and all you seemed to want. I wanted more, but I guess you get that a lot from all your other girlfriends.”
More discomfort. “It—uh … it was more than just sex.”
