Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“Natalie.”

We shook hands.

“Ms. Sullivan? You can go in now.”

Both of us turned at the receptionist’s voice, which sounded much warmer than he had earlier. My stomach unclenched a bit. Maybe O’Connor had sounded pleased to see me.

“Just go straight down that hall—it’s the third door on the left.”

I practically leaped out of my seat, before remembering to pause and smile at Rachael. “It was nice to meet you.”

She lifted a hand. “See you around.”

* * *

I stood in front of the door, my finger tapping a rapid beat against my thigh. Okay. Fine. So he was an incredibly talented running back and gorgeous to boot. What did I care? I shouldn’t even notice the brilliant auburn hair that formed into loose curls, or eyes the color of streaming coffee, dark in shade, glinting mahogany in the light. Or by the fame and worship garnered by young heroes. No. I was not some young, foolish undergrad. I listened to NPR and paid for my own utilities and thought really hard about getting my own health insurance.

It was just that my parents’ insurance covered me until I was twenty-six.

At least it was O’Connor, not one of the other Leopards. He was the charming one. His modus operandi ran to bright grins and genuine laughter, and he was more likely to be in a Got Milk? or St. Jude’s commercial than one with fast cars and women. I’d watched six interviews before coming in, and he came across as genuine and good-natured in all of them, even the cell-phone video taken by a slightly obnoxious sixteen-year-old fan.

I’d just negotiate the contract with my usual aplomb and waltz out. And, you know, maybe he’d be super impressed by how bad-ass I was, because, well, archaeology. He’d say, “You’re an archaeologist? Really?” because that was what everyone said, and I’d smile—oh so coolly—and say, “That’s right, I just got back from a dig in Ecuador excavating Inka fortresses.”

I nodded briskly. I had this.

I straightened my back, imagining that a pole ran upward along my spine and kept my posture perfect. Then I rapped twice and pushed the door open.

Michael O’Connor stood framed in the window, sun highlighting the red-copper of his hair. A black athletic Leopards jacket clung to his broad shoulders, while work-out shorts hung down to his knees. Below them, the strong tendons on his calves were lightly tanned.

Now what? I didn’t even know how to address him. I couldn’t call him O’Connor, and Michael sounded too intimate, and Mr. O’Connor when he was only a few years older than me was ridiculous... “Michael O’Connor?”

He turned slowly and my heartbeat ratcheted up. For Pete’s sake, I had to get a hold of myself. I wasn’t interviewing for a job or trying to get funding. I wasn’t walking a survey across mountain cliffs or trying to chop down a tree with a blunted machete. I was just meeting a guy. A normal guy.

My lips parted, and I started to say you were great in the game against the Bears in December, and that drive where you practically front flipped into the end zone—I swear my heart stopped for two seconds—

And then I saw his face.

For a moment, I couldn’t place what was so strange. I thought it might be how the light haloed him, turning the moment into a ridiculously picturesque scene, with fire in his hair, light and dark and flame. But no, that wasn’t what sent shivers down my spine—it was how serious he looked. I’d never seen a picture of O’Connor without that effervescent grin, that twinkle in his eye, as though he was ready to sling an arm around a teammate or laugh with a reporter. Now, he looked deadly serious.

Unease washed through me.

“So. You must be Natalie Sullivan.”

?

??And you’re Michael O’Connor.”

Our hands clasped. His grip was warm and firm, but he applied more pressure than I expected. I raised my gaze to his and found him already looking at me. He regarded me with wary intelligence in his chestnut-colored eyes. I felt odd, and some of the butterflies woke up. I had to remind myself to breathe.

Then, so suddenly and smoothly I thought I’d imagined the wariness, he switched to a charming grin. He removed his hand and gestured at the seat before his desk as he dropped into a swivel chair behind it. “Please sit.”

I nodded and perched on the very edge. I shouldn’t be this nervous, but I’d never interacted with someone who I both admired and needed something from and was attracted to before. There were just too many feelings twisting up my gut.

Okay. I tried to order my thoughts. “First of all, I’m sorry about your loss.”

For half a heartbeat, his charming smile froze and his eyes flickered. “My loss?”

My finger ticked nervously against my thigh, and I quickly crushed it in the grip of my other hand. “Of your great uncle?”