Page 50 of Love Game

“We were just finishing up,” Kate announced. She nodded to Mike. “Thank you for your input. I’ll take your suggestions under consideration.”

Mike inclined his head, shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and strolled to the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Thank you, Coach. Have a good time with your campers.”

Jim’s brows rose again as the AD moved past. Then he slipped into her office wearing a sly grin. “What was going on in here? Contract negotiations?”

She rolled her eyes, but a shudder ran through her. Turning her back on him, she moved to her desk, wondering what she could possibly have seen in him. “Hardly.” She shot him a condescending look. “I have an agent who handles those things. We were discussing my schedule.” Kate winced when she realized she’d handed him a huge opening.

Predictable as he was, Jim dove right in. “Speaking of your schedule, I was hoping to see you this week. I’m starting to get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”

“Don’t be silly.” But her denial rang hollow. They both knew Jim didn’t have a silly bone in his body.

“And that makes me wonder why.” He moved closer, effectively trapping her behind her desk. “Everything was going great with us up until McMillan came around.” She opened her mouth, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Don’t get me wrong. The ratings are great, but I can’t help but wonder…”

Every muscle in her body tensed. Her fingers curled around the pen she’d picked up. Even her eyeballs felt stiff as she forced herself to roll them. “Yeah right.” Her laugh sounded more like a bark, but she couldn’t do any better with his gaze boring into her. “Well, there’s been the television thing, and I didn’t want…you know, awkward.” She checked her babble, corralling her runaway mouth like a ball that took a bad bounce off the rim. “You know what it’s like. Summer is always a time of transition. I’ve got camps, lectures…”

“Good. I’m glad it’s nothing more. Bad enough that the guy is using you to get himself a little publicity.” He tapped his fingertips on her desk, then fired off his next question. “Dinner?”

The invitation sounded like a challenge. The kind she didn’t dare refuse. “Tonight?”

His brows rose inquisitively, and she forced herself to smile as she bent toward her computer and grasped the mouse. In an instant, her calendar filled the screen. Camp obligations, local appearances, and speaking engagements littered the electronic grid. The flurry of reminders, both personal and professional, that her assistant pinned to the sidebar added an extra boost of credibility. She closed her eyes, made a mental note to send her Aunt Julia a birthday card, and thanked God for giving her sense enough to never touch this calendar.

“Looks like I’m free tonight.” She clicked to minimize the screen and turned her best postgame interview smile on him. “Steak?”

“Sounds good.” Jim took a half step closer to her. “I, uh, look forward to it. I could use a good steak.”

Kate covered her involuntary groan by dropping into her chair and giving her bad knee a rub. “Sounds great. I’ll be tied up until about six, but I can meet you there.”

“Okay. No, wait…I’ll pick you up at about seven.”

She offered up a weak smile, knowing he was mentally mapping out his moves for the evening. Moves he’d never get to use. And the fact that she’d have to wait until seven to eat dinner. Was she the only person on earth whose stomach was set to five o’clock sharp?

“You don’t have to—”

“Seven.”

He turned away, his pivot jerky. A surge of irritation pulsed through her as she noted the lack of grace. Stubborn, cocky, indecisive, and unintuitive. Twisting in her seat, she placed her fingers on her keyboard and spared him the barest of glances. “See you then.”

Instead of leaving, he lingered in her doorway, his eyes locked on her. “Will the addition of Coach McMillan impact your contract negotiations?”

She looked up from the screen and fixed him with the same stare she used on recalcitrant refs. Then she blinked, all sweetness and baffled innocence. “As far as I know, he isn’t invited.”

Jim threw his head back and laughed. His eyes crinkled, and attractive grooves bracketed his mouth. In that instant, she remembered what she once found appealing about him. A tiny lump of regret formed in her throat. But then something in the corridor caught his attention, and his smile slid into something fake and a little smarmy.

“See you tonight, Coach.”

Kate flinched slightly, jarred by the volume of his announcement. Until that day, he’d been a stickler for keeping their personal relationship separate from the professional, afraid someone would think he was compromising his journalistic ethics. She wanted to cry foul or call bullshit, but he raised the tablet he always carried and saluted her with it.

“I’ll pick you up at your place. Seven sharp.”

Kate fought the urge to lower her head to the desk and thump it a couple of times.

“Hey, Coach McMillan,” Jim called in a too-jaunty tone. “I was hoping to get a little time with you today.”

Kate tuned out the low rumble of masculine voices. Worlds were colliding. There were too many variables. Too many men backing her into corners, getting up in her space, trying to force her to take shots she wasn’t interested in taking.

“It’s not tournament play that I object to—it’s the use of a selection committee to determine who makes the tournament.” Danny McMillan loomed in her doorway.

She blinked, too stunned to respond to his lack of segue.

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