Page 9 of Against the Clock

“I don’t know why I expected a Maserati.”

“Is the truck a problem?”

“No,” I say honestly, and shake my head. “A Maserati would have freaked me out.”

“So you’re saying you’ll let me drive you? On our date?” He nudges me with his elbow, and I glance up at him to see a huge smile on his face.

I can’t help but smile back.

“I am a very safe driver,” he says. “Gotta protect this moneymaker.” He gestures to himself, a very serious expression on his face.

I bark a laugh, and he chuckles too.

“Yeah, you can drive,” I say.

“Did the moneymaker comment convince you? Making notes for later,” he taps his temple, nudging me with his elbow again as we walk toward the truck that’s inexplicably parked right in front of the building.

“More like my feet hurt from these heels and your car is right there.” I crane my neck as we continue towards it. “And I’m pretty sure it’s in a no-parking zone.”

Not that our security officer seems to care. In fact, he gives Daniel a two-finger salute as we walk by his desk.

“Noted.” His laugh’s infectious and unself-conscious, and he exudes such an air of quiet confidence that it makes me stand up straighter.

All I can think is that Daniel Harrison would be easy to fall for… and that it would hurt like hell once he inevitably decided to find a new flavor of the week.

CHAPTER 5

DANIEL

Kelsey settles into the car like she’s sitting on a bed of acupuncture needles.

“You know, the med team with the Beavers, they like these mats,” I say conversationally, putting the truck into drive, “that have all these little plastic pins all over them. They’re supposed to help circulation or lymph or whatever. Fluid build-up. They like to have us lie on them after rehab sessions. I think the real reason is so that we want to say we’re feeling better more quickly so we don’t have to lie on them.”

Her pretty pink lips twist to the side in disgust. “That sounds awful.”

“You look like you’re sitting on one right now.”

A laugh peals out of her, and I grin at catching her off guard. I like that she puts up with my gentle ribbing. My ex-wife would have just gotten mad. Familiar shame floats through me. I would have deserved it with her, though.

“Do they work?” she asks, her face angled away from me, watching the buildings pass by as we sluggishly make our way through Philly traffic.

“The mats? Yeah. I think they do. It’s a shock for the first few seconds when you lie down on one, though. One of the guys on the team, Ty, he bought one and swears by it. Calls it his girlfriend.”

She laughs again, and the sound is bright. Her head turns back to me, and her gaze is curious as it skates over my face. There are dark circles under her eyes, ones that say she hasn’t been sleeping well.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her, guilt surging through me. “Did you get checked out after I hurt you?”

Her answering smile is soft, like she’s surprised by the questions. Like she’s surprised I care about how she’s feeling.

It surprises me how much I do care about it.

“I did,” she says. “The Beavers sports medicine trainers,” she flicks her hand, “whatever they’re called, they made me submit to a quick exam. Nothing more than a few bruises. I’m good.”

“Shit.” My gaze darts from the road to her. “I’m so sorry, Kelsey.” I hate the idea of her being bruised from me, her skin blue and green from taking a hit like that at my hands.

I like the idea of finding every single bruise and working my lips across her skin, kissing her better. I cough.

“I should have been paying more attention to the game,” she says. “It’s all good.”

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