She started to ask another completely stupid question when the real object of her thoughts walked out of the locker room. He caught sight of her from the corner of his eye, halted, and glared at her.

She ignored him. “Can you say ‘Fluffy bunny’ with all those in there?”

Michael snorted and shook his head. “Never tried.”

“That’s the whole point!”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She skimmed her gaze to Killian for a moment, then back to Michael and Stephen. “Just talking to my new friends, Michael and Stephen. Maybe you three have met before?”

“Yup.” Michael grinned at Killian—more like grinned down at Killian—and waved a finger between himself and Aileen. “New friends.”

He scowled and slowly walked away. Aileen bit down on the grin threatening to spread across her face.

Leaning in a little, she asked in a lower voice, “Okay, Michael, but really. Here’s the important question. I’ve just got to know . . .”

He bent over her to hear better. Michael was so close, she could smell the soap from his after-practice shower. From the corner of her eye, she saw Killian completely stop, back turned, waiting to hear what she would ask.

“Twenty-two marshmallows? That’s a lie, right?”

Michael chuckled. “No lie.”

“I’m gonna make you prove it.”

Killian’s disgusted snort as he walked away was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She couldn’t hold back the laughter.

Michael’s eyebrow winged up. “Something funny about marshmallows?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Sorry. I have a confession. I was mostly using you—both of you—to get under Killian Reeves’ skin.”

Stephen blinked in disbelief. “Reeves? As in, silent as a monk Reeves?”

“One in the same.” She stretched her neck. “It was a good opening shot. Sorry I used you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Honey, the day I’m sorry for a woman using me for a few minutes of conversation is the day I’m six feet under. No problem here.”

Michael nodded.

“Well. Maybe you wouldn’t mind doing your marshmallow trick for me on camera? I could do some segment like . . .” She flexed her fingers and thought for a moment. “Hidden talents. Stephen, any tricks? Or maybe someone on the team knows how to juggle, or can speak backward or something.”

“Nobody wants to see me crush beer cans,” Stephen said easily.

“Josiah Walker knows some bike tricks,” Michael offered.

“Perfect!” She held out a hand, hoping for a truce, and felt shocked when Michael pulled her to the side in a half hug. The large, beefy arm wrapped around her shoulders might have felt intimidating to some, but to her, it was a comfort. “Thanks for not being offended.”

“Please. If someone can get into that thick skull of his, it’ll be totally worth it.”

Stephen grinned in total agreement.

* * *

The next time Aileen saw Killian, he was walking into the weight room. She focused all her efforts on watching Josiah Walker explain the bike he rode to practice daily, and why, and then he explained a few of the tricks he could do. Nothing intense, he promised, as he rather happened to like his job and would hate to be sidelined for a season with a broken elbow from a trick gone wrong. But a life without risk . . .

Killian walked past, halted, then turned around and approached. She could practically feel him glowering.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up at him innocently, as if she’d just noticed his presence. “I’m speaking to a potential interviewee. Can I help you?”

He glared at Josiah. “What’s she asking about me?”

Josiah smirked. “She hasn’t said your name once, man. Quit being paranoid. Aileen’s cool.”

He looked taken aback at that, though she wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she hadn’t asked about him, or that someone thought she was cool.

Probably both, in his mind.

He hitched his gym bag higher over his shoulder. “Yeah, well . . . she’s . . . watch out.” He shook his head and walked toward the entrance for the locker room.

“Grouchy, isn’t he?” she asked.

“You’ve gotten under his skin, that’s for sure.” Josiah shook his head. “I can’t believe he even stopped to talk to you. He’s never looked twice at a reporter before.”

“Must be my stunning good looks,” Aileen said sarcastically, jotting down a few last-minute notes on Josiah’s Hidden Talents segment, as well as a potential one on his thoughts about alternative commuting in the city.

He didn’t laugh, like she’d meant him to, so she glanced up. He was watching her oddly, like maybe judging how serious she was.

“Oh, come on, Josiah. That was a joke.” She punched him in the arm lightly—not that she thought she could hurt him, but why risk a million-dollar receiving arm? “Got any leads on other hidden talents?”

Josiah’s slow grin put her on alert. With his syrupy drawl thicker than usual, he said, “I know a guy who can kick a ball through a field goal at sixty yards.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said hidden talent. Pretty sure that one gets displayed on a regular basis. And this isn’t about him.”

He stared at her pointedly. “Isn’t it?”

* * *

Killian didn’t believe for a second Freckles had been oblivious to him. He waited until Josiah entered the weight room before he ambushed him. “What’d she ask about me?”

The running back shook his head and made his way to the side wall holding cubbies and tossed his backpack in one, sitting on the bench in front of it to change shoes. “Not everything’s about you, Killian.”

Of course it wasn’t. It hardly ever was about him, for which he was very grateful, thankyouverymuch. But this was different. She was . . . well, he couldn’t say she was stalking him, because it wasn’t like she followed him home or to the grocery store or anything. But she had a tricky way of making it seem like she was ignoring him while at the same time, making him feel completely exposed. Freaking unnerving.

She should work for the CIA.

He breathed out heavily. “Okay, fine. Sorry. She’s just . . . she’s . . .”

“She’s under your skin.”

He jerked his head toward the other man. “No, that’s not it. She’s annoying.” His hands clenched in front of him. “She’s like this annoying, buzzing, tiny, little freckled beetle that just circles you until you can’t see anything else and can’t focus and—”

“Under your skin,” Josiah crooned softly as he changed from street shoes to gym shoes.

“Bite me.”

Taking pity, he tugged at his laces to tighten them. “Look, she’s doing a legit story on hidden talents. It’s just one of those cute fluff pieces. Harmless. And I like her. The other guys she’s talked to like her. She’s thoughtful, she’s self-deprecating, and she gets the game. You can tell she wants better gigs, but she’s biding her time. I respect that.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t respect her.”

“You just acted like it,” Josiah added helpfully.

Killian rolled his eyes and sat.

“But I think we can safely say that one good thing has come out of her hanging around.” When Killian raised a brow in question, Josiah added, “Since she started coming around, you’ve been opening up more in the locker room. I haven’t heard you say this much to other guys on the team since you got here.”

He absorbed that for a minute. It was true that he’d spent more time talking to the guys since she showed up. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He needed the anonymity. Wanted to stay under the radar as long as he could.

Killian tapped out a staccato on the bench beside Josiah’s gear. “You know kickers. We’re the redheaded stepchildren of the league.”

“Yeah. Ugly, too.” Josiah grinned. “Come hang out with us after practice.”

Something he’d thought long-buried clawed up his throat and begged him to say yes. The part that was tired of going home to an empty apartment and nothing but the six o’clock news for company. Something that reminded him that he, too, had been social and friendly . . . once upon a time.