Page 26 of When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars 9)

“You, of course, were a star student, quarterback of the high school football team, and homecoming king.”

“I got robbed. They gave the crown to Larry Quivers because he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, and everybody felt sorry for him.”

“That’s the kind of tragedy that builds character.”

“For Larry.”

She laughed. The trail was getting steeper still, the city stretching below them, and again, he’d picked up the pace. “What else?” she said.

“I worked for a landscaping company during the summers. Played for the University of Kentucky and graduated with a degree in finance.”

“Impressive.”

“I was drafted and signed by the Giants. Also played for the Broncos and the Cowboys before I came to Chicago.”

“Why the two middle names? Walker Bowman?”

“Mom wanted her father honored. Dad wanted the honor to go to his grandfather. They drew straws to see which name came first, and Mom won.”

They were practically jogging, and she berated herself for that slab of chocolate truffle layer cake she’d had for dessert last night. This was what happened when you hiked with a competitive athlete. A leisurely morning climb turned into an endurance contest. Which she didn’t intend to lose.

No question he was the stronger of the two. Her thighs were starting to burn, and she seemed to be getting a blister on her little toe, but he was already breathing harder than she was. Any second now, he’d realize exactly how much breath control a professionally trained opera singer possessed.

“Married? Divorced?” she asked.

“Neither.”

“That’s because you haven’t met anybody as good-looking as you, right?”

“I can’t help the way I look, okay?”

He actually sounded testy. Fascinating. She was storing that information away as ammunition for future use when she came to a sudden stop. “Look at that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she’d spotted a small hole in the ground underneath some brush. And right in front of that hole . . .

An arm slammed around her chest, pulling her back. She yelped, “Hey!”

“That’s a tarantula!” he exclaimed.

“I know it’s a tarantula.” She wiggled free. “It’s a beauty.”

He shuddered. “It’s a tarantula!”

“And it’s not hurting a soul. Remember our agreement. I handle the bugs and snakes. You deal with the rodents.”

The tarantula scampered back into its hole. Thad pressed her ahead of him on the trail, away from the nest. “Move it!”

“Sissy.” She’d begged for a tarantula as a pet, but her staid, conservative parents had refused. They’d been older when she was born, dedicated musicians who’d preferred not having their lives disrupted. Still, they’d loved her, and she missed them. They’d died within a few months of each other.

“I’ll bet you didn’t know that female tarantulas can live for twenty-five years,” she said, “but once the male matures, he only lives for a few months.”

“And women think they have it tough.”

Her cell rang in her pocket. The number wasn’t familiar, probably a junk call, but her thighs needed a break, and she answered. “Hello?”

“Che gelida manina . . .” At the sound of the familiar music, the phone slipped from her fingers.

Thad, with his athlete’s reflexes, caught it before it hit the ground. He put the phone to his ear and listened. She heard the music coming faintly from the phone. She snatched it away from him, shut it off, and shoved it back in her pocket.

“You want to tell me about that?” he said.

---