teased.
Jace shrugged. “Kid probably knows my stats better than I do.”
“You must get that a lot.” She leaned against the wall, her knee starting to feel the strain of standing for so long after her workout.
He shrugged again. “I could say the same to you.”
She reached up and took out her ponytail, shaking her hair free. God, that felt good. “Ballet fans aren’t quite so...enthusiastic. And I usually don’t offer to have breakfast with them.”
“Neither do I,” Jace’s voice sounded strained, and he stopped to clear his throat. “But the kid’s at a crossroads. How he deals with the next few weeks of rehab will determine whether he ever sets foot on the mound again.”
“You mean he could still pitch?” she asked.
“With the right prosthetic and a shit-ton of guts, sure.”
“And Jim Abbott and Pete Gray—whoever they are—can help him?”
“Maybe.”
She stared at Jace. The tattoos. The five-o’clock shadow. The cocky attitude.
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “And to think you had me fooled.”
He quirked a brow at her. “How so?”
“Under that tough-guy exterior, you’re just a big, old marshmallow with a heart of gold, aren’t you?”
“Because I’m having breakfast with a fan?”
“Because you reached out to a scared kid facing an uncertain future.”
Like we are.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever you say, Duchess. I’m a regular Mother Teresa. Just don’t tell the tabloids. I have a reputation to uphold.”
So much for Mr. Nice Guy. “I thought you agreed to stop calling me that.”
Noelle pushed off the wall and headed for her room.
“Only if you stop stalking me,” Jace said, following her. “And I haven’t seen any evidence of that yet.”
“I am not stalking you.” In fact, at the moment it seemed an awful lot like he was stalking her. But she didn’t think it was wise to bring that up since she was guilty of the whole Peeping Tom thing.
“What else do you call breaking into my room and...”
“Stop.” The word came out on a shriek so loud a geriatric patient going past them almost lost his grip on his walker. Noelle mumbled an apology and rounded the corner at the end of the hall, picking up the pace as best as she could with her bum knee. When she spoke again, it was practically a hiss. “I did not break into your room. And I did not spy on you. I returned your phone. I left.”
Eventually.
“Eventually,” he quipped, echoing her thoughts. What was he, a mind reader?
Thankfully, they’d reached her door. The peace and quiet of her Jace-free room was mere inches away. All she had to do was get the dang thing open and get rid of him and his bedroom eyes and his sexy smile and his hotter-than-hot body. She fumbled for her key, finally pulling it out of her pocket and slipping it into the lock.
“Well, this has been fun.” Not. “But it’s time for this girl to soak her tired muscles in a warm bath.”
Those damn bedroom eyes gleamed, and she cursed herself for giving him an opening as wide as the stage at the Palais Garnier. “Sure you don’t want company? I could watch. Maybe even scrub your back if you ask nicely. After all, turnabout is fair play.”
She pushed the door open, not bothering to deny—yet again—that she’d seen him. “Thanks, but no.”
Once inside, she spun around to close the door. Instead, she found him looming over her, one hand hanging on the top of the door frame. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
His low, sexy drawl vibrated through her, making her wish that was an option. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t.” With his free hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek, and the faint tremors his voice had started increased to near earthquake level. “Lock your door if you want any privacy. I hear this place has a problem with folks waltzing in to people’s rooms at the most inopportune moments.”
With a wink, he left.
6
D OOR FIRMLY
Jace shrugged. “Kid probably knows my stats better than I do.”
“You must get that a lot.” She leaned against the wall, her knee starting to feel the strain of standing for so long after her workout.
He shrugged again. “I could say the same to you.”
She reached up and took out her ponytail, shaking her hair free. God, that felt good. “Ballet fans aren’t quite so...enthusiastic. And I usually don’t offer to have breakfast with them.”
“Neither do I,” Jace’s voice sounded strained, and he stopped to clear his throat. “But the kid’s at a crossroads. How he deals with the next few weeks of rehab will determine whether he ever sets foot on the mound again.”
“You mean he could still pitch?” she asked.
“With the right prosthetic and a shit-ton of guts, sure.”
“And Jim Abbott and Pete Gray—whoever they are—can help him?”
“Maybe.”
She stared at Jace. The tattoos. The five-o’clock shadow. The cocky attitude.
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “And to think you had me fooled.”
He quirked a brow at her. “How so?”
“Under that tough-guy exterior, you’re just a big, old marshmallow with a heart of gold, aren’t you?”
“Because I’m having breakfast with a fan?”
“Because you reached out to a scared kid facing an uncertain future.”
Like we are.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever you say, Duchess. I’m a regular Mother Teresa. Just don’t tell the tabloids. I have a reputation to uphold.”
So much for Mr. Nice Guy. “I thought you agreed to stop calling me that.”
Noelle pushed off the wall and headed for her room.
“Only if you stop stalking me,” Jace said, following her. “And I haven’t seen any evidence of that yet.”
“I am not stalking you.” In fact, at the moment it seemed an awful lot like he was stalking her. But she didn’t think it was wise to bring that up since she was guilty of the whole Peeping Tom thing.
“What else do you call breaking into my room and...”
“Stop.” The word came out on a shriek so loud a geriatric patient going past them almost lost his grip on his walker. Noelle mumbled an apology and rounded the corner at the end of the hall, picking up the pace as best as she could with her bum knee. When she spoke again, it was practically a hiss. “I did not break into your room. And I did not spy on you. I returned your phone. I left.”
Eventually.
“Eventually,” he quipped, echoing her thoughts. What was he, a mind reader?
Thankfully, they’d reached her door. The peace and quiet of her Jace-free room was mere inches away. All she had to do was get the dang thing open and get rid of him and his bedroom eyes and his sexy smile and his hotter-than-hot body. She fumbled for her key, finally pulling it out of her pocket and slipping it into the lock.
“Well, this has been fun.” Not. “But it’s time for this girl to soak her tired muscles in a warm bath.”
Those damn bedroom eyes gleamed, and she cursed herself for giving him an opening as wide as the stage at the Palais Garnier. “Sure you don’t want company? I could watch. Maybe even scrub your back if you ask nicely. After all, turnabout is fair play.”
She pushed the door open, not bothering to deny—yet again—that she’d seen him. “Thanks, but no.”
Once inside, she spun around to close the door. Instead, she found him looming over her, one hand hanging on the top of the door frame. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
His low, sexy drawl vibrated through her, making her wish that was an option. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t.” With his free hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek, and the faint tremors his voice had started increased to near earthquake level. “Lock your door if you want any privacy. I hear this place has a problem with folks waltzing in to people’s rooms at the most inopportune moments.”
With a wink, he left.
6
D OOR FIRMLY
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