Kept Page 16
Dillan’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What I suggested?”
“Yes. Told him no sex to see if he split.”
“You—oh.”
He took in the news, the tiniest bit of irritation flying over his face.
“Don’t you want to know how it went?”
“I don’t want to talk about Mark.”
“You brought him up.”
“Then let’s change the topic.”
“Okay. What should we talk about?”
His jaw tightened. “You know what bugs me about him?”
“Mark? I thought we weren’t talking about him.”
“Changed my mind. You know what gets me?” He shook his head. “The arrogant way he views everything and everyone. If he were married to my sister and treated her like… I’d be all over the jerk.”
She drew back. Jerk?
“Relationships aren’t sacred to him. When I marry, I’m not throwing it away for nothing. I’d do everything I could to make it work. To make it great.”
“That’s easy to say now.”
“Yep. And it’s easy for Mark to say what you want to hear too.”
“So you don’t like my boyfriend.”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Can you call a married man your boyfriend?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Hey, you said you liked it when I was honest. You see him, what, every time his team comes to Chicago?”
“No,” she snapped. “More than that.”
“Not much more, I bet. How often do you see him when baseball’s over?”
His question surprised her. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
“I think he’s taking advantage of a beautiful woman who shouldn’t be taking crumbs—” He clamped his mouth shut. His jaw twitched, and he clenched the steering wheel.
A beautiful woman. There was no way he meant to say that. But to know how he viewed her… A beautiful woman. Taking crumbs. Was she taking crumbs? When she could do better?
He glared at the road like it had yelled at him.
“Dillan.”
He grunted.
“What you said—”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, thank you.” She pressed her hands into her lap. Why couldn’t Dillan, who’d have no trouble going out in public for breakfast, be right for her? “Don’t let it make things awkward.”
The hum of tires throbbed between them.
“Hey. Say something.”
He stared out the windshield a few seconds longer. “So. How ’bout them Bears?”
She laughed. “Really? That’s what you came up with?”
“You said say something. You weren’t specific.”
“The Bears aren’t even practicing yet. Are they?”
“Mini-camp is a week and a half away.”
“What about the Blackhawks? They’re in the Stanley Cup Finals.”
“Not much of a hockey fan.”
“Not enough to jump on the bandwagon?”
He glanced in his side mirror. “Nope.”
“Just so happens I get to go to the first game Wednesday.”
“Mmm.”
“A friend has tickets.”
He grunted again.
Miska looked at him. He was staring at his rearview mirror.
She swiveled in her seat in time to see blue and red lights flash behind them.
Dillan groaned. “Great.”
“How fast were you going?”
“Too fast.” He slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. His jaw clenched.
He had to be frustrated. Or embarrassed. “It’s no big deal, Dillan. Everyone gets pulled over.”
“Yeah, well.” His fingers tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. “This will be my second ticket.”
“Ever?”
He sighed and looked at his rearview mirror again. “This year.”
“This year?” The laugh burst out of her. “It’s not even June.”
His scowl softened. “It’s almost June.”
“I’d hate to see your insurance bill. Need anything from your glove box?”
“Oh yeah. You’d think I’d have that down.”
She opened the compartment. A receipt for his last oil change sat on top of his insurance card and registration. She handed him the papers.
“Thanks.”
The cop closed his door and walked up the side of the SUV. Maybe she could flirt with him and get Dillan out of trouble.
The man stopped just behind Dillan’s door. “You know how fast you were going?”
“No, sir.”
“Sixty-seven in a fifty-five. You have anything to drink tonight?”
“No.”
It was Memorial Day. Of course there’d be cops all over. She ducked her head until she could see the man’s face.
He caught her movement and shifted to look at her.
“Officer, it’s my fault.” She flashed him a smile. “He was answering some questions for me, and I guess I distracted him.”
The cop ignored her. “I need your license, proof of insurance, and registration.”
Dillan handed him the papers.
“Where you headed?”
“The Loop.”
“Coming from?”
“Uh, church activity.”
The cop looked up from the license. “Church stuff?”
“Yeah. I’m a pastor.”
He was so getting a ticket. She leaned forward again. “Yes, he’s my pastor, and he was answering some questions for me.”
Dillan narrowed his eyes at her.
“Sit tight. I’ll be back.”
The cop walked back to his vehicle. He’d barely looked at her—and Dillan had told him his job. “You’re so getting a ticket.”
“It’s just money.” He stuck a finger inside his cast and scratched. “And I’m loaded.”
“You are?”
“I was. Not after this.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Completely.”
“Don’t be. Ask me when I got my last ticket.”
“When was your last ticket?”
She shrugged. “Never.”
“Oh, nice one.” She laughed while he shook his head. “Here I thought you were trying to make me feel better.”
“No, just trying to make you laugh.”
His smile said he was mildly amused. “I’m laughing on the inside.”
“You should let it out. It’s good for you.”
He studied her, his mouth curving a little more.
She watched him back, watched his amusement fade into awareness. His eyes, so dark in the night, slid across her face, down her cheek and mouth, and back up to her eyes. She swallowed. This moment, right here, was where some other guy might lean across the inches separating them and kiss her. But not Dillan, even though he kept hold of her gaze.
What was he thinking? And why did she think about kissing him after the past few days with Mark?
The thump of a car door ended the moment. The cop returned and handed Dillan his information. “Make sure you obey the signs. Slow down, and have a safe night.”
“Thank you.” Dillan sorted through the cards and paper. “Huh.” He handed her his insurance card and registration. “Would you put that back?”
“Sure. He didn’t give you a ticket?”
He slid his license into his wallet. “Nope.”
“Seriously?”
He set his wallet in the cup-holder between them. “Seriously.”
She picked it up and flipped the soft leather open. “Does this mean you’re still loaded?”
“Guess so. Good to be me, huh?”
“Or me. I’m the one with your wallet.”
“Good point.” He shifted into drive and eased onto the highway.
Miska pulled his license out. His serious face stared back at her. Six nine, two hundred fifteen pounds. “You are not two-fifteen.”
“You planning on impersonating
me?”
“Right. People think I’m over two hundred pounds all the time.”
“At least you’re aware of it.”
She flicked his cast.
He chuckled and let it fade into a sigh. “So.”
She slid his license back and closed the wallet. “So what?”
“Why’d you tell him I’m your pastor?”
“Because you are.”
His glance questioned her.
“You’re the only pastor I know. And we were having a serious discussion.”
“Were we? I can’t remember.”
She settled back in her seat and watched the glittering skyline approach. “You were telling me how beautiful I am.”
He didn’t say a word.
“You change your mind?”
“You trying to get me pulled over again?”
“No, just helping you remember.”
He chewed on his lip.
So the moment was really over. She adjusted her seatbelt.
“Miska, what do you… How do you see yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
He pressed his lips together, slowing through the curved interchange ramp. “You are beautiful.” He glanced her way. “Don’t you see that?”
She caught her breath.
“You’re kind. Caring. Don’t—don’t throw it away on Mark.”
He looked back at the road, but Miska couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was the beautiful one. All six foot, nine inches, two hundred and more like forty pounds of him. He was a gorgeous man, in and out.
And she wished she’d met him before Mark.
Oh, how she wished she’d met him first.
Chapter Twenty-One
Working was pointless. Absolutely pointless.
Dillan pushed his chair back and stretched his good arm high over his head. Maybe he needed a break. He checked the clock. Four-thirty. There had to be something good on ESPN. That might get his mind off Miska.
He swallowed, remembering everything about the night before. The way she’d looked running down the field, dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. Her teeth bright against her skin, her cheeks flushed. The feel of her on his back, her scent when he turned his head. Oh, man. He dragged his hand down his face. The way she looked at him after he’d been pulled over, like she was waiting for a kiss.
She wasn’t. But it had been tempting.
Which was scary.
He tapped his fingers against the laptop, staring at his notes. He pictured Miska between Jordan and Tracy, the three of them laughing about something, looking so different yet seeming as if they belonged together.
He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t go there. She wasn’t a Christian.
The intercom buzzed.
He jumped on the interruption, hurried into the hall, and pressed the speak button. “Yes?”
“This is Scott downstairs. I’ve got a package for Dillan Foster.”
“Be right down.”
He grabbed his keys and left. Had to be the commentaries he’d ordered. Maybe that would help him focus.
An elevator came quickly, and he rode uninterrupted to the main lobby.
Scott stood behind the front desk, on the phone. Across from him a well-dressed African-American man waited.
The man flashed him a smile, and Dillan nodded back. The guy looked familiar. Tall, just a couple inches shorter than he was. Well dressed in a bright orange sweater with light blue shirttails and collar sticking out. Dark jeans and boat shoes. His hair in short dreads and a diamond in each ear. Some fat silver watch on his wrist.
Where had he seen him before? Was he new to the building?
No, he hadn’t seen him here.
Scott hung up the phone. “You can go up, Mr. Sullivan.”
Dillan blinked. Kendall Sullivan? Shooting guard for the Detroit Turbines? Now he could picture the man in the hated jersey, playing for the Bulls’ rival.
“Thanks.” Sullivan tapped a knuckle against the raised desktop and walked past Dillan, a wheeled suitcase in hand.
What was he doing here? Dillan faced Scott. “You got a package for me?”
“I do.” From beneath the desk Scott pulled out a box. “Here you go, Dillan.”
“Thanks.” So he was just Dillan while Mr. Athlete was Mr. Sullivan. Good to know.
Sullivan was still waiting for an elevator when Dillan entered the glassed-in lobby. The man smiled again. “Whatcha got there?”
“Just books.” Dillan took a deep breath. Whatever the guy said, he was not going to act like Garrett. “Are you Kendall Sullivan?”
His smile grew. “That’s me.” He stuck out his hand, and Dillan took it. “And you are?”
“Dillan. Foster. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. It’s always a pleasure to meet someone in Chicago who isn’t a Bulls fan.”
“Actually…”
The elevator dinged, and Kendall laughed a deep, rolling laugh as the doors opened. “Do I want to get in an elevator with you?”
Dillan grinned. “We’ll keep the rivalry on the court.”
“My man.” Kendall slapped him on the back as they entered. “Chicago’s too cool of a city to pretend I hate it.”
He pressed the eighteen. “Lots better than Detroit.”
“You don’t hear me disagreeing.” Kendall reached for the floor buttons, then stopped. “You live on eighteen?”
“Yep. You headed there?”
“Oh, yeah. Love the views.” He laughed that deep, throaty laugh again, but this time the sound grated.
Dillan held the smile on his face. He wasn’t going to… He couldn’t finish the thought. There was no way. No way. “What are you doing in town?”
“Just having some fun in my off season. My hockey team’s playing for the Stanley Cup. Got to support my boys, you know?”
Dillan’s stomach turned. This couldn’t be.
“You like hockey?”
He tried to smile at the guy, but it fell flat. “Not much.”
“I used to play. Fun sport.”
He stared at his toes. “What made you choose basketball?”
“My coaches thought I could make it. I gave up hockey in middle school, but I still love it.”
Dillan nodded. The elevator slowed, and he jammed his lips together. What on earth was Miska doing?
“You play basketball?” Kendall asked. “You’re tall enough.”
“No.” He followed Kendall out of the elevator, and the man turned down his hallway. Dillan muffled a groan. God, no. He couldn’t be seeing Miska. She couldn’t be… sleeping with another athlete. He slowed his steps, finally stopping to retie his shoe.
Kendall glanced back at him. “Have a good day, man.”
“You, uh, you too.” The words were foul in his mouth. Kneeling on the floor, still tying his shoe, he watched Kendall walk past his door and stop at Miska’s.
He knocked.
The door opened immediately, as if she’d been waiting. She stepped into view, and Dillan froze. Long curls danced across bare shoulders, a gauzy, pink top barely covering what had to be covered. She wore tiny, white shorts, and between the top of the shorts and the bottom of her shirt, a band of tanned skin showed.
Kendall’s face lit up. “Hey, sweet thing.” He held her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.
Dillan wanted to look away. So much. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the awfulness of what he was seeing—Miska’s hands on Sullivan’s waist, Sullivan’s fingers traveling down her shoulder, her arm.
He’d never seen her like this, flaunting everything, kissing a man she’d never mentioned, letting his hands run across her body. What had happened to Mark?
Forget Mark. What had happened to last night?
He couldn’t watch. She was nothing but a skank. A whore. He stood, the contents of his box thumping inside, and started for his door, toward the couple displaying their immorality to anyone who happened to look.
She pulled back fro
m Sullivan and peeked at Dillan.
He searched his keys. So she was embarrassed. Good. She should be.
Her voice was almost a whisper. “You coming in?”
Sullivan grabbed his suitcase. “Absolutely.”
Dillan jammed his key into the lock, unable to keep from glancing her way. Miska had already disappeared, but Kendall sent him a wink.
Dillan set his jaw. He tossed the box beside his desk, then wandered into the living room. The windows beckoned him, and he took in their view, trying to empty his mind of what he’d just discovered. Of what he was pretty sure was going on next door.
The woman knew how to cast a spell on him, just like she had with Scheider and Sullivan. He rubbed his throat. It was amazing, really, how she could seem so innocent and sweet, all soft and safe around him. And the next day be opening her home to some other guy.
Some guy with boatloads of money.
His words from the night before came back to him, his warning not to waste herself on Mark. She had to have been laughing at him. She wasn’t wasting herself on Mark. She was wasting herself on him and Sullivan and who knew who else.
She was disgusting.
And she and Mark and Sullivan—they could have each other. His fist fell against the window. He’d learned his lesson this time. She was a beautiful woman on the outside only. Inside she was all filth and perversion and—
He sighed. He was a fool. A stupid, stupid fool. From now on he’d keep his distance.
He didn’t want any part of her.
*****
When the front door squeaked open and Tracy and Garrett entered, laughing about something, Dillan still leaned against the window. He pushed off the glass and turned toward the recliner, hoping he looked busy.
“Dillmeister.” Garrett set his briefcase on the counter. “What’s up, bro?”
“Not much.” He plopped onto the couch and flipped the TV on to SportsCenter.
“You eaten yet?”
“Nope.”
“Everything go okay with Miska last night?” Tracy asked.
Oh, yeah. “Yep. How’s your tire?”
“Between Garrett and your dad, it’s as good as new.” She sank onto the far end of the couch, water bottle in hand. “More sports. Do you watch anything besides sports?”
Dillan grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. Tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
Silence filled the room.
“Dill?” Garrett asked. “You okay?”