Rewind. Begin again. Gather your composure and act as if the kiss meant nothing. It didn’t mean anything at all! “That was a pretty good line. Honesty. I like that.”
“I was an Eagle Scout. We’re big on honesty.”
“I know,” she said. She knew every arcane detail about Max. “I mean, Eagle Scouts are supposed to be trustworthy, right? You should have probably led with that instead of the angel line.”
He held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Max Morgan, former Eagle Scout.”
“Angela Weatherby,” she replied. “Former …” What could she say. Wallflower? Introvert? Stalker? “President of the Latin Club.”
“Really?” he asked. “So, you’re smart and beautiful.”
“And you’re cheeky and charming,” Angela replied.
Max pushed away from the bar. “Would you like to get out of here? It’s a nice night. Why don’t we take a walk?”
She felt a tremor run through her. This was the moment of truth. She could turn and run or she could hang in there and get her interview. Angela pointed to her shoes. “I’m not going far in these heels.”
“I know the perfect place, then,” he said.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle Max on her own, without the distractions of the bar to fill the silences. But this was her chance, to figure out this guy who’d had such a hold on her. And to rationalize her crazy reaction to him. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds nice.” In truth, it sounded impossibly romantic.
“All right, here’s the plan. Where is your car parked?”
“In the ramp just down the block.”
“Why don’t you leave through the front door and start walking toward the ramp. I’ll go out the back and meet you outside. That way, nobody will see us leaving together.”
Angela frowned. “That was not a good line,” she said. “In fact, it was kind of insulting.”
“No!” he cried, taking her hand again. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that if we leave together, there will be all kinds of speculation, maybe even some mention of it in the papers. I don’t want you to get pulled into that.” He paused. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
Angela decided not to lie. What would be the point? She just stared at him silently and shrugged. “You’re Max Morgan,” she replied. “You play baseball.”
He grabbed her hand. “Come on, we’ll both go out the back.” He laced his fingers between hers and pulled her along behind him, through the crowd to the kitchen and then out the rear door to the alley. “We’ll take my car.” He pointed to a black BMW sedan with tinted windows, parked against the building.
Max opened the passenger side door for her and helped her inside, then hopped in behind the wheel. Angela wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d expected they might chat at the bar. She’d been prepared to ask him a few questions, to get a sense of the man he was. She’d even predicted it would take approximately thirty minutes for her to realize, once and for all, that he was not the man of her post-adolescent dreams. The night was definitely not going as planned. “Nice car,” she murmured.
He laughed as he reached for the ignition. “Now, I’m going to have to start calling you out on the cheesy lines.”
“Sorry,” Angela said, relaxing a bit. “I’m not the best flirt. And I’m sure that’s what you’re used to.”
Max turned to her. “Maybe I don’t like what I’m used to,” he said. “Maybe I don’t want you to flirt with me.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I just wish people could forget all that celebrity stuff and be normal.”
“Well, if you’re looking for normal, then I’m definitely it,” Angela said. “Nothing very special here.”
“You were president of the Latin Club,” he said, grinning. “I think that’s kind of special.”
“You’re very strange,” Angela said. As he pulled out of the parking spot, she took the opportunity to observe him, his profile outlined by the light from the street lamps.
He was even more beautiful than she remembered, his features so perfectly. His hair was darker and his body more mature, but there was still a bit of the handsome boy left inside him—especially in the smile and in the teasing tone of his voice.
“Tell me something completely random about yourself. Let’s start there.”
Angela knew she’d have to come up with something intriguing and humorous. Something to show him that an evening with her could be fun. “I can list all the states in the Union.”
“Impressive,” Max said.
“In alphabetical order, in reverse alpha order, in order of entrance into the union, and in order of geographical size. Plus I know all of the capitals by heart.” She drew a deep breath. “What can I say, I was a geek and my parents thought it was an interesting party trick.”
“You are a very interesting woman, Angela.” He turned on some music, flipping through the CDs in his player until he found something soothing.
She was going to make a complete mess of things. In another hour, he’d be dropping her off at the parking ramp and heading back to the bar, looking for someone more intriguing. It was time to start asking questions. “So you’re famous,” she ventured. “What’s that like?”
“It’s about what you’d expect,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes bad, sometimes good.”
“Tell me the bad,” Angela said.
“I hate the press. I hate that they can make up stories about my life without any thought of how it affects the people I love. I hate that people wonder who I date or where I eat dinner or where I sleep at night. I hate that I don’t have much of a life outside of baseball.”
“Tell me the good,” she said.
“If I wasn’t famous, you might not have given me a second look at the bar,” he said. “I’m glad you did.”
“Oh, you think I’m impressed by your fame?” Angela asked. “I’ve spent time with much more famous people than you—Churchill, Gandhi, Hemingway. You don’t impress me.”
“Obviously not,” Max said with a devilish grin. “Since you seem intent on poking holes in my ego.” He opened all the windows in the BMW, letting the warm summer wind blow through the car. “I love Chicago in the summer. The smell, the sounds. I never get to enjoy my summers anymore. It’s always about work, the next game, the next at bat. This is the first summer in my memory that I haven’t played baseball.”
“Isn’t it fun?” she asked, anxious to keep him talking about himself.
“It’s a job. It can be fun. It certainly looks like fun. But it’s not … normal. I’d like to lead a normal life.”
“Normal is boring,” Angela said. “Take it from me.”
