there, anyway.” Leo’s mouth ticked up in nasty smile. “She won’t have anything to do with anyone even dimly connected to the Hawks. I don’t know if it’s her father’s edict or the fact she hates anything to do with the team. But trust me, she’s a snotty brat. Just ask me.”
“Can you still be a brat at her age?” Rafe asked.
“She hasn’t grown up much,” Leo commented. “So yeah, brat probably still applies.”
Rafe deliberately lifted his menu to study it, hoping Leo would get the message this conversation bit was over. Still, he managed to catch a glimpse of Tyler with a sideways glance. She looked like a totally different person without all that trash on her face, wearing none of her usual glitz.
He knew she’d seen him spot her and hoped she didn’t think he was following her or anything. When she left the table, he let his gaze fall to the menu. But then, in what seemed like a moment, she was back, stunning him with the change she’d affected. The layers of makeup were back again, her T-shirt pulled out of her jeans and knotted in front to expose her midriff, and the hair that had been so smoothly contained in a ponytail now hung in a wild tumble of curls around her face.
He wanted badly to tell her how much better she’d looked without all that crap plastered on her face, but was sure she’d misunderstand. Even from the distance he’d been able to see she had beautiful skin and gorgeous hair. In fact, he wanted to run his fingers through it, but they’d probably throw him out of the restaurant if he tried.
Then she was gone and he was left with more questions than answers about what had just happened. Why did she hide herself? What was so awful that she’d turned herself into a caricature of a woman with too much money and too few morals? More importantly, why did he care? That was the question that wouldn’t leave him in peace.
“Those are some deep thoughts.” Leo’s voice broke into his unexpected reverie.
“Oh. Sorry. Just running over some things in my mind.”
“Some things?” Leo asked. “Or someone?”
“Enough.” Rafe cut him off. “Is that all you can talk about?”
“Well, we could discuss the uptick the team has taken since the name change.” Leo dipped a piece of the Italian bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
“According to what I’ve heard,” Rafe said, “it seems people are split evenly between a good and bad decision. But you can’t argue with the fact the team’s been winning.”
“They have,” Leo agreed. “Best streak since Tate Manning got hurt and had to retire.”
“Boy, that was a damn tragedy.” Rafe shook his head. “It nearly destroyed his life.”
“But it didn’t. Amazing what the love of a good woman can do.” Leo grinned. “Maybe that’s what you need, Rafe. Then you wouldn’t be such a sourpuss.”
“Sourpuss?” Rafe lifted his eyebrows. “I consider myself serious, not sour.”
Leo shrugged. “Whatever. I can only tell you since Jeannie and I got married my life has improved a thousand percent.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be that lucky with a woman.” Rafe should know. He seemed to have made a series of bad choices. Lately he’d just decided to avoid women completely. As he’d rediscovered in his shower, his right hand did the job and didn’t give him any problems.
But it doesn’t replace a living, breathing woman.
Shut up, he told the voice in his brain. He was doing just fine.
Thank God Leo spent the rest of the meal discussing the team and the upcoming schedule. They chatted about some of the players who needed some extra work, those who might be aging out of the game, what the future held for the Hawks. Neither man wanted dessert, so they paid their checks and made their way down the open staircase and out of the restaurant.
Just at the doorway, Rafe stopped. A tiny chill had raced down his spine, the kind of feeling you get when someone is watching you or danger is near. But what kind of danger would there be in a restaurant? He looked around, scanning the diners, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. He just had the feeling—
He’d been watching too much television. Either that or he still carried the vestiges of his confrontation last night with Dewey. But Dewey wouldn’t be having lunch at Al Dente. And this was just plain stupid. Idiotic.
He made his way out the door and into the crowd moving along the Riverwalk. Maybe he’d been braced for trouble at the stadium for too long, belligerent drunks and angry fans. Maybe he just needed a little time out of the office.
Maybe he just needed to get laid.
At that, he snorted and blended into the crowd moving along the walkway.
* * * *
Malevolent eyes followed Rafe as he headed out of the restaurant.
Asshole! Jackass! Bastard!
He wanted to spit on him, then pulverize him into the ground. The thought of the man with Tyler made him sick to his stomach. If he hadn’t been keeping an eye on her, he would never have been aware of what happened the previous night. It was enough to enrage him.
Who the fuck did the rich princess think she was, anyway? Damn good thing she hadn’t invited Rafe into her house when he brought her home. Watching that kiss had been bad enough. It should have been his mouth on hers. His hands touching her body. He would have made damn sure he got inside her place. And then got inside her.
Thinking about it now he had to stop himself from licking his lips. He was in a public place, for fuck’s sake. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steadying himself. If he didn’t stop having these thoughts about her, he’d have an erection that nothing he wore could hide.
He’d called her that morning, just wanting to hear her voice. Maybe, he’d thought, this time he’d say something. Let her know who was making these calls. How special she was to him. But the moment he’d heard her voice, he’d just shut up like a clam. Maybe this wasn’t the time to let her know how he felt. Bring it out in the open. So he’d just listened to her angry voice until she hung up.
Taking a moment, he slipped into the men’s room, saw that it was empty and pulled his cell out of his pocket. He punched speed dial for the familiar number and listened while it rang. This was dangerous. He never called her when he knew she was with someone else. But seeing her and Ortiz in the same place after last night had his blood boiling. He needed to start letting her know who was boss.
He waited, watching for anyone else to enter, but the phone just rang and rang. He realized with a start it didn’t even go to voice mail. What the hell? He hung up and dialed again. Same result. He gave the instrument a hard look. What the fuck was going on? He nearly threw the phone against the wall in his anger but caught himself just in time. Instead he gripped it in his hand, clenching it tightly, and forcing a calm he was far from feeling. He could not afford to let anyone see him like this. Too many questions to answer.
Shit!
Work was calling. But as soon as he was free he’d send her a message that she better not fuck with him again. Even if he
