Page 120 of Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars 6)

“It’s not exactly what you’re thinking. The best part of me wants to do this for Heath. But I want to go out on a high note, too. One last match—this match—and then I’m selling my business.”

“Really?”

“I need a new challenge.”

“Lord, help us.”

“I mean it, Bodie. I want to run free. Be wild. I want to go where my passion leads me. I want to work hard at something that only the strongest woman in the world can do.”

“Okay, now I’m scared.”

“I want to eat. Really eat. And to be kinder and more generous. Real generosity, without expecting anything in return. I want to have great skin when I’m eighty. And I don’t ever again want to care what anybody thinks. Except you.”

“Oh, God, I’m so turned on right now I’m going to explode.” Abruptly, he pulled her from the bench. “Let’s go back to my place. Now.”

“Only if you promise not to tell me any of those bag-over-the-head sex jokes.”

“I’ll cut an airhole in it.”

She smiled. “You know I have no sense of humor.”

“We’ll work on it.” And then he kissed her, blue lips and all.

Even before he hit the shower on Monday morning, Heath started working the phones. He was hung over, nauseated, scared, and exuberant. Portia’s shock therapy had made him face what his subconscious had known for a long time but his fear had kept him from acknowledging, that he loved Annabelle with all his heart. Everything Portia said had struck home. Fear had been his enemy, not love. If he hadn’t been so busy measuring his character with a crooked ruler, he might have understood what was missing from inside him. He’d taken pride in his work ethic and his intellectual dexterity, in his incisiveness and his high tolerance for risk, but he’d failed to acknowledge that his crapped-up childhood had left him an emotional coward. As a result, he’d been living half a life. Maybe having Annabelle at his side would finally let him relax into becoming the man he’d never quite had the courage to be. But before that could happen, he had to find her.

She wasn’t answering either her home phone or her cell, and he soon discovered her friends wouldn’t talk to him either. After a quick shower, he got hold of Kate. First she reamed his ass, then she acknowledged that Annabelle had called on Sunday morning to say she was okay, but she hadn’t been willing to tell her mother where she was.

“I’m personally blaming you for this,” Kate said. “Annabelle is extremely sensitive. You should have realized that.”

“Yes, ma’am. And as soon as I find her, I promise I’ll set this right.”

That softened her up enough to divulge that the Granger brothers were gunning for him, so he’d better watch himself. He loved those guys.

He set off for Wicker Park. Messages were coming in fast and furiously from his office, but he ignored them. For the first time in his career, he hadn’t contacted a single client to talk about yesterday’s game. He didn’t intend to either, not until he’d found Annabelle.

Wind whistled off the lake, and the cloudy October morning held a chill. He pulled into the alley behind Annabelle’s house and found the sporty new silver Audi TT Roadster he’d ordered for her birthday, but not her Crown Vic. Mr. Bronicki spotted him right away and came over to see what Heath was up to, but other than passing on the information that Annabelle had driven off like a crazy person Saturday night, he had nothing more to add. He did, however, want to know about the Audi, and when he learned it was a birthday gift, he told Heath he’d better not be expecting any “relations” with her in exchange for the fancy wheels.

“Just because her grammie’s not around don’t mean people aren’t watching out for her.”

“Tell me about it,” Heath muttered.

“What’s that you say?”

“I said, I’m in love with her.” He liked the way the words sounded, and he said them again. “I love Annabelle, and I plan to marry her.” If he could find her. And if she’d still have him.

Mr. Bronicki scowled. “Just make sure she don’t raise her rates. A lot of people are on a fixed income, you know.”

“I’ll do my best.”

After Mr. Bronicki had parked the Audi in his garage for safekeeping, Heath circled the house and pounded on the front door, but it was closed up tighter than a drum. He pulled out his phone and decided to try Gwen again, but got her husband instead. “No, Annabelle didn’t spend the night here,” Ian said. “Dude, you’d better watch your back. She talked to somebody in the book club yesterday, and the women are pissed. Here’s a word of advice, chump. Most women aren’t too anxious to marry a guy who’s not in love with them, no matter how much hair he’s got.”

“I am in love with her!”

“Tell her, not me.”

“I’m trying to, damn it. And I can’t tell you how comforting it is to know that everybody in the city is in on my private business.”

“You brought it on yourself. The price of stupidity.”

---