“Is something else going on, Emma?”

There was a slight pause, then a cautious, “No.”

“Because you’ve never had a problem with my schedule before. In fact, you’ve usually bent over backward during the last few weeks and play-offs, giving me a lot of leeway and not crawling up my ass because I didn’t answer on the first ring.”

“Language,” she said primly, which was a joke given the way she’d answered the phone.

“What’s changed, Emma?”

“Nothing,” she said sharply.

“I’ll come out there as soon as the season’s over. I always do.”

“You also always let him come to away games if we can manage it.” Emma was starting to get hotter, he could hear it. He imagined her porcelain skin flushing with anger and frustration, her blonde hair slowly escaping whatever prissy updo she’d pulled it into that morning. “You come out here more often. You let him visit you over long weekends. Where have those visits been?”

“I’m not doing this right now. Hand the phone to Charlie, and I’ll talk now.”

“He’s watching a—”

“Now, Emma.”

He heard her huff, then her muffled voice as she called for their son to come to the phone. While he had a moment, he let out a groan of frustration and hit his hand once against the steering wheel.

Five minutes later, his heart rate back down to a normal speed, he felt refreshed from his chat with Charlie. Hearing about his son’s day always made him smile, even at the worst of times. And he wished again, just for a minute, he and Emma could have made a more conventional parenting pair for their awesome kid.

But some things just didn’t work out the way they were meant to. He breathed deeply, caught a lingering whiff of clean linen from Aileen, and thought about the feisty freckled reporter once more.

Yeah, some things just didn’t work out.

* * *

Aileen felt like an idiot. She’d put on makeup. Makeup, for God’s sake, to go to bowling league. Fortunately, two of her three teammates seemed indifferent to the change. Cindy had said she’d looked nice, in an offhand manner, before going back to looking up new team shirts on her phone. Al hadn’t noticed at all. But Ernie was watching her with an eagle eye, as if waiting for any sign of weakness or desire to spill her guts, so he could pounce on it.

And to top it all off, she was bowling like crap. She finished her round, disgusted with the two pins she’d left behind, and walked back to the seating area to flop down by Ernie.

“Kid, you couldn’t bowl worse if you were blindfolded.”

“Thanks, Ernie. Your pep talks are always treasured.” She reached down and fiddled with the lace of her bowling shoe. Yeah. As if that were her problem tonight.

“Want me to get you some kiddie bumpers?”

“Har, har.”

He sniffed. “I could probably find one of those stands the toddlers use to perch the ball on and then roll it down the lane.”

“Okay, Ernie. What’s going on?” She straightened, pushed the hair out of her face, and found herself looking at Killian instead. He stood, hands in his jacket pockets, behind Ernie, grinning. “Oh. Hi.”

“Oh, hi,” Ernie mocked under his breath, standing to take his turn at the lane.

Killian took his seat. “Having a bad night?”

“Not my best,” she agreed, embarrassed. Then suddenly felt the most ridiculous urge to amp up her game to eleven and kick some serious ass. What the hell was that all about? Bowling had always been a fun activity, social more than competitive. A way to get out of the house and see the world besides reporting on it. And now she wanted to show off? She was worse than a high school quarterback, hot dogging for his girlfriend in the stands.

That was the real embarrassment. The way Killian affected her so intensely.

They watched as Ernie bowled a spare and stopped to speak with Al a moment. “Should I get up?”

“It’s okay. He’ll sit somewhere else. No assigned seating.” She shifted, letting her slick-soled shoes slide over the cracked linoleum floor. “So, what’d you do after practice?”

His jaw tightened a little, but he shrugged. “Went home, ate, took a nap. Nothing out of the ordinary. Why me?”

Aileen blinked. “Why you . . . what?”

“I’m supposed to be interviewing you, aren’t I?” He leaned back and draped his arms over the chairs next to him. Which meant his left arm brushed against her neck and shoulders as he positioned it. She fought against the urge to tilt her head up and rub against him. Because that would be creepy.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted to interview-interview me. Just, you know, annoy me and stuff.”

His lips twitched at that. “Caught, huh. Well, I suck at annoying you, so I figure I might as well try another tact.”

“Hmm.” She watched as Cindy hit the gutter instead of the ten pin she was aiming for and groaned. “And now we’ll get to hear about that for another ten minutes,” she muttered under her breath. Though Cindy and Al were a very nice couple, they were intense about bowling in a way that made her wonder why they’d agreed to be teammates with her and Ernie. Ernie was good—great, actually—and she could hold her own when her head wasn’t stuck up her ass. But neither were overly competitive. Cindy and Al . . . were.

Cindy held up a hand when Aileen stood to take her turn, indicating she wanted more time. Aileen sank back down, grateful for a moment longer.

Killian watched as Cindy and Al replayed where she’d went wrong, going so far as to take a practice run at the lane without a ball. He tilted his head to one side. “What are they doing?”

“Beating a dead horse. It’s as much fun for them to do play-by-plays as it is to actually bowl.” She gave him a look that said, without words, she didn’t understand. He smiled his understanding.

“I know you sometimes get assignments from work, and sometimes you choose them. So did you get assigned to me? Or did you pick me? And why do you stick with it, even when I’ve been giving you such a hard time?”

She shrugged and stood, shaking out her right hand. Both palms had suddenly become damp. “Because annoying you is the highlight of my day, of course.” She held her hand over the fan and prayed he wouldn’t push.

But of course, he did. “Was I assigned?

“Why does it matter?”

“Or did you pick me?” he asked, ignoring her sharp return.

She indicated with a finger she needed a minute for her turn, then grabbed her ball and headed to the lane. She watched as her left hand, positioned over the side of the ball, trembled. Aileen took a few deep breaths, took two steps, then realized if she took her backswing, she’d drop the ball. She set the ball down between her feet and shook her hands out, as if they were still damp. They weren’t. They were shaking instead.

Ernie stepped up behind her. “You okay, kid?”

“Sure.” She clenched her right hand to keep it from jerking and then heard the stiff canvas of her brace creak. “Just a little sore.”

He stared at her, faded blue eyes assessing, taking in every word. And clearly, found her answer to be the bullshit it was. “He bothering you? Want me to make him leave?”

“No,” she said quickly, then glanced over her shoulder. Killian was sitting forward now, forearms on his knees, watching her. A lock of dark hair fell over one eye, but he didn’t brush it away. He waved one hand at her. She lifted her own in return. “No, he’s fine. I’m just not in a great mind space tonight. Maybe I should go.”

“And handicap us?”

“Those two are better than I am,” she pointed out.

“And leave me with those two?” he corrected. He nodded slightly at Cindy and Al, who were watching a bowling video on Al’s phone about the importance of a good backswing. “Don’t leave me.”

Killian wandered up, hands still in his pockets, looking a little lost. He paused on the linoleum, not stepping up onto the wooden floor. “Problem?”