Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) by Jeanette Murray Page B

the heat on,” Michael corrected as if that weren’t more than about 50 percent of the population. Walking to the stove, he stirred the pot of the aforementioned soup, then set the long-handled spoon down in a spoon rest. “This could use another half hour. Let’s talk. Then I’ll feed you dinner.”
    “Oh, by all means, let’s talk.” She was fighting to hold on to her annoyance by the minute. The man had badgered her out of the shower… to feed her dinner. This was a first. She walked with Michael to his mirror-image living room and sat on an armchair that was suspiciously identical to hers… minus the pattern. He settled in on the sofa, and she waited expectantly. For him to tell her he was done. That Sawyer called, and the experiment was over. That she was a horrible kisser.
    No, wait… not that.
    “I have to apologize.”
    No, not that either.
    “Apologize for… what?” She blinked. When he raised a brow, she held up her hands. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in the sarcastic way… which is odd for me. You’re surprising me.”
    “Because real men don’t apologize?”
    “They do if they want to be respected,” she shot back, and he grinned, surprising her once more.
    “Well, I apologized. Take that for what it’s worth.”
    She bit her lip and nodded, then shook. “I’m sorry, what were you apologizing for again?”
    That quick grin flashed once more. “You’re something else, you know that?”
    “So I’ve been told.”
    “I’m apologizing for treating you like a kid when you got here.”
    She waited for more.
    “Okay,” he said into the silence, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “When Sawyer called, he asked me to do him a favor. I do a lot of favors. I collect them, you might say.”
    “Favor collector. Sounds like one of those weird subtitles they would put under your name if you went on a seedy talk show.” She bit back a smile to think about it. “Michael Lambert, favor collector.”
    “Now you’re mocking. It’s okay,” he added when she started to laugh. “I’ve earned it. I do this mentoring thing a lot with the guys. I like it. Love it,” he inserted, as if correcting himself. “Love it. I love catching the guys before they make mistakes you hear about on the news. And it’s good for me too.”
    Holy shit, this guy… He was either the most genuine, good guy she’d ever met in their crazy world of professional sports, or he was in the wrong profession and should be working a stage somewhere. “That’s… nice. That sounded weak.” She covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I meant it though. It’s nice. Good that you do that. It can’t be easy.”
    “Sometimes it is, sometimes it’s not. But I see it as self-serving, to a degree. What helps the team, helps me.” He shrugged. “Not the point. When Sawyer told me he was sending me this brat of a tennis player, I expected some nineteen-year-old kid.”
    She settled back. “Didn’t want to Google me?”
    “Nope. I like meeting people where they’re at. So we’ll just say I had the wrong idea. Not that Sawyer helped. He gave me a few basics, and that was all. Then you showed up, surrounded by my teammates.”
    “I didn’t—”
    “Do it on purpose. I gathered. Eventually.” He stood with a sigh and held out a hand. “Let’s pick out a side to go with the chili. I do better apologizing when I’ve got something in my hands.”
    “You were doing all right,” she protested but took his hand when he held it out. There was no shock, no lightning bolt that struck. No zap of energy that made her rethink all her life’s choices and look at Michael Lambert with new and appreciative eyes, like there was in the movies.
    But when his large hand wrapped around hers, she felt safe and secure, stupid as it sounded even in her own mind. Like… he wasn’t going to let go and feed her to the wolves. That he’d taken her in hand—literally and figuratively—and he took his favor