Tomboy

Good. The last thing he needed in his life was some do-gooder—even if she did have a snarly disposition he could totally identify with and an ass that made his hands itch to squeeze—taking him on as a charity case.

He didn’t need help and he’d been a dumbass for letting Fallon in his house in the first place. Of course, watching her go full righteous fury on Shelly had been pretty fucking entertaining. It was kind of refreshing to be around someone who still thought they could shame someone out of behaving like a selfish ass. Too bad that couldn’t be done. It was a use or be used world, and if she didn’t know that already, it was beyond time she learned.

As if she could feel his gaze on her, Fallon finally opened her eyes and gave him another dirty look. At least he figured it was her version of a glare. He couldn’t count the number of times in his career that he’d stared down the I’m-gonna-tear-your-head-off fury of a guy skating straight toward him after Zach had delivered what may or may not have been a completely deserved hard check to some prima donna player. After years of that, Fallon’s little narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw didn’t make much of an impact.

She marched up the driveway, stopping at the bottom of the steps leading up to his porch, enough energy spiking off her to short out the city. “Are you going to just hide there on your porch or are you going to explain to me why you just pulled that shit.”

“What shit?” he asked, keeping the don’t-give-a-fuck attitude in his voice.

“Using your silence to confirm to that bloodsucker that we were sleeping together.”

Yeah. Once he got Fallon to leave, he was going to have to call Lucy, even though she was on vacation, and have her kill Marty’s story. Lucy was going to be thrilled he’d messed with her friend like that, even though there wasn’t a damn thing he could have done to have stopped it. His ass was about to be a few bite sizes lighter after Lucy got done, but there wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t going to put Fallon through the Harbor City media wringer when there wasn’t a good reason for it. Not that he’d admit that out loud.

He shrugged. “You told me not to speak for you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Yeah, he was, and it was best for all involved if she realized it now. “I never claimed otherwise.”

She let out a frustrated groan and started up the stairs, mumbling to herself, “Why did I even bother?”

Short answer? She shouldn’t have. He kept that little tidbit to himself, though, because as she brushed past him there was no missing the countdown-to-detonation vibe emanating from her. She might not be an enforcer with a mean right hook, but Fallon wasn’t to be fucked with, either. He could respect that. Really, he kinda admired it.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, because again, he was an asshole.

She didn’t slow her pace or look back at him. “Not soon enough.”

He followed her through the house, the sound of their steps echoing in the vast emptiness, staying outside in the hall when she stepped into the room she’d crashed in the previous night and stuffed her belongings into her overnight bag.

Zach watched, waiting for the feeling of satisfaction at shoving someone else out of his life to fill him. Two minutes later, when she was zipping her bag shut, he was still waiting.

“What if I start feeling sick again?” he asked, walking a few steps behind her as she strode through the bedroom door and down the hallway toward the front exit.

“Make sure you get to the bathroom in time.” She made it three more steps after that bit of advice, each one a little slower than the previous one before coming to a full and complete stop. She didn’t turn around, but there was no missing the way her shoulders rose and fell when she took a deep breath. “If your symptoms return, you should go to the closest urgent care to get checked out and make sure it’s not something more serious. And don’t forget to hydrate.”

Seemingly satisfied, she marched forward again, opening the front door, and walking out before jerking to a stop just on the other side.

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

The same place as his furniture, his paycheck after the delinquent debt payments, and his self-respect—nowhere. “I don’t drive.”

Turning to face him, she gave him a once-over, taking his measure in such a non-personal, professional way that it gave him the uncomfortable feeling of being back in juniors with the scouts in the stands. She must have decided he wasn’t about to keel over anymore because the clinical detachment melted away and her stink eye returned.

She held her hand out toward him. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” he asked even as he pulled it from his pocket, swiped his thumb across the screen to unlock it, and gave it to her.

“If you can’t get a ride to urgent care,” she said as her thumbs sped across his phone screen and then hit the call button. “Call me. I’ll get you there.”

The Ice Knights unofficial theme song sounded from her phone, stuffed in the outside pocket of the overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She ignored the noise, tapped a few more times on his screen, and gave him back his phone. Then, without another word, she turned, got into her car, and drove away, stopping only long enough to press the exit button for his security gate.

It wasn’t until Zach was back in the house that he looked down at his phone screen. In his contacts, she’d added herself under the name: Zach Ate More Tainted Muffins.

His laugh bounced off the unadorned walls in his foyer. Sure, the sound was more than a little rusty, but it slipped out of him anyway as he walked with a lighter step than usual back to the kitchen to watch game tape and prep for tomorrow night’s game.

He didn’t get any farther than his kitchen before his phone started pinging with notifications. He clicked on the first one.

The Most-Hated Man in Harbor City Has a New Honey, But Will She Make Him Any Sweeter?