Uh-huh. “Okay, so since you knocked by mistake, I’m just gonna go back in and—”
“Not a mistake. I’m here to take you to dinner.”
Well, this was an unexpected development. “That’s sweet, but I already have plans.”
“I know. You and I are heading the same way. Dinner with teammates. Harrison’s house.”
“Michael didn’t say anything about a ride.”
“Michael doesn’t know. He had to stay behind for a quick exam with the team doctor.”
Guilt and concern warred in her stomach. She pressed a hand there to ease the ache. Matt must have noticed, because he added, “Dude’s fine, though he won’t explain where the shiner came from.” A sly smile spread across his handsome face. “You know anything about that?”
“Priests, attorneys, doctors and neighbors all have confidentiality agreements. Did he ask you to come pick me up?”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t fall into the wrong hands,” he said with a wink.
Kat pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of him quickly before he could move.
“What the hell…” he started, then watched while she shot off a quick text.
“Just asking a friend if you’re real or not and if you can be trusted.”
He raised a brow at that. “I seriously think this is the first time my credibility has been questioned.”
“You’re welcome. Happy to be a first.” Aileen’s text back was fast. Girl had rapid thumbs.
Yes, that’s Matt, he’s a teammate. Good guy. Watch yourself. Considers himself quite the lady slayer.
The smirky emoji followed in the next text.
“Looks like you check out.” She waggled the phone in front of him, then stuck it in her pocket. “Now, what’s the real reason Michael didn’t text to tell me you were picking me up?”
“Because he doesn’t know?” Matt chuckled. “I knew he’d be lagging behind. I live one floor up in this building and thought I’d grab you before he could.”
Kat just waited silently for the kicker.
“It’ll annoy the shit out of him.”
“Sold.” She grinned, hooked an arm in his, and walked with him to the elevator. “I still have to tell him I’m with you.”
“Aww, now you’re spoiling half the fun.”
“Sorry. Manny wouldn’t like it otherwise.” She grinned again when he gave her a confused look, then he began to smile, catching on.
“Manny. Ha. I bet he loves that.”
“About as much as he loves his black eye.”
She caught the speculative look Matt threw her direction, but she was having too much fun. As they got in the elevator, she texted Michael.
Caught a ride to dinner. See you there!
What the hell… with who? I said I’d pick you up on the way.
She snorted as they stepped out and walked to the parking garage attached to the apartment building.
“Lambert ain’t happy?”
“Nope,” she confirmed.
Matt Peterson
If he touches you, he’s a dead man. I will rip every one of his dreads out by the root. Tell him that.
I will not.
As they got to Matt’s car—a pretty sweet convertible even she had to admit—Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, then laughed. The sound echoed off the cement block walls of the garage.
“What?”
He opened the door for her, watched her slide in, then leaned down. “Your man… is toast. He threatened to castrate me if I even considered touching you.”
“Well that’s rude,” she said.
“No, honey, that’s a man who knows what he wants and is willing to protect it. Don’t forget, protecting someone is his career. He’s gonna be damn good at it when it comes to something he wants.”
He shut the door gently, which was a good thing, because she couldn’t think of a single word to say.
Chapter 20
“Goddamn Peterson,” Michael muttered as he let himself into Stephen’s house. For the team, for friends, for brothers, Stephen had an open-door policy. His house was large, which worked because Stephen had a large personality. But it was just him and Mags rattling around in there. Made Michael realize he didn’t want a minimansion when he finally took the plunge and bought a place. Something small, at least at first, would do better. Josh Leeman had the right idea, buying a place to fix up. He’d have to start nudging the backup quarterback for some house-hunting tips.
The object of his annoyance was standing in the kitchen, rooting through Stephen’s fridge. “Did you say tomatoes and onions or tomatoes and olives?” Matt asked, then looked over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re not Trey.”
“No, I’m not.”
Matt’s smile grew wider as he took in Michael’s admittedly defensive stance and scowl. “Problem?”
“You know what my problem is.”
Matt shut the fridge door with his hip, holding a plate in each hand with sliced tomatoes and onions. “I’m guessing you don’t like that I gave your project a ride out here.”