Kit (Chicago Blaze 8)

Kit: Tell your nipples to text me later, after my game.

Grinning like an idiot at my phone screen, I resist the urge to write back. Instead, I power my phone down and turn to face my computer screen.

It’s time to write this story. I have about thirty column inches to summarize Kit Carter, who doesn’t just make me want to bend my rules about never trusting a man again, but bust them into pieces and never look back.

Chapter Fourteen

Kit

* * *

“You’re on a streak,” our team owner Olivier Durand says to me, looking pleased.

I smile back. “Yeah, it’s been a good run.”

“Keep it up.” He nods and walks back to the table of men he’s sitting with for today’s lunch, most of them wearing cowboy hats.

We’re playing in Austin, Texas tonight, and a friend of Durand’s is hosting a big lunch for us at his ranch. The food is incredible—beef brisket so tender I can cut it with a fork, pulled pork with a sweet locally made barbeque sauce and contest-winning ribs.

There are also more side dishes than I could even try—macaroni and cheese, slaw, cornbread pudding, baked potatoes and baked beans.

“Not a fucking vegetable in sight,” Anton mutters as he sits down with his second plate full of food. “We’re gonna be slow as shit tonight.”

Our coaches agree. For Durand’s sake, they’re all eating and chatting it up with the rancher and his friends. But on the plane we took here this morning, they told us not to overdo it on the food today, because our game tonight will suffer if we do.

“I’m gonna need bigger pants for the game,” Victor says as he sits down with a huge plate of peach cobbler.

“You shouldn’t be eating that,” Anton tells him shaking his head.

“I’m not insulting the cook that way,” Vic says as he scoops a forkful of dessert into his mouth.

Jonah checks his phone for the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, frowning when he doesn’t find any messages.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

“Rey’s doing a thing today and I’m worried about her.”

“A work thing?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

His girlfriend Rey is an FBI agent who works with the Chicago Police Department somehow. I don’t know what she does exactly, and Jonah isn’t allowed to talk about it much. The two of them got together when Rey posed as his girlfriend for an undercover assignment and their feelings became real. The local press loves taking pictures of the two of them, even if they’re just walking down the sidewalk together.

“She’ll text back when she can,” I say. “She’s probably just busy.”

“I know.” He pushes his empty plate back a few inches and turns his phone over on the table. “So how’s Molly?”

“She’s good. But that sleazy alderman she wrote about is talking shit about her and I really want to go introduce myself to him.”

“Probably not the best idea,” Jonah says wryly. “Is she upset about it?”

“No, and that’s another thing.” I toss my napkin onto my plate, feeling a rise of irritation. “She didn’t even say anything to me about it. At the airport, I was reading the story she wrote about the douchebag that came out today and that’s how I found out he’s trying to get her fired.”

“She must not be too worried about it.”

“Or she’s just dismissing something she needs to take seriously. In Chicago, you never know what a corrupt politician will do for revenge.”

Jonah considers the situation before giving his two cents. “Do her bosses know about it?”

“Yeah, because there was a story in the fucking paper about it. This guy says Molly is out to further ruin his reputation and he’s trying to get businesses to pull their advertising from the newspaper.”

“Is that gonna work, though? Didn’t Molly have proof he used a city credit card at that strip club?”

“Yeah, he’s not disputing the story. He just wants to bring her down with him.”

He shrugs. “She’s probably dealt with stuff like this before, man. It’s part of the job.”

“Says the guy who’s worried about his girlfriend doing her job at this exact moment.”

“It’s a completely different situation,” Jonah says, scoffing. “Molly’s life isn’t in danger.”

Vic leans over and butts in, looking right at me. “And she’s not your girlfriend, is she?”

I scowl at him. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“I’m gonna get some more ribs,” he says as he finishes off the cobbler.

“The fuck you are,” Anton says. “We’re leaving here in five minutes for the arena.”

“Maybe I can get a to-go box of ribs,” Vic suggests.

“You’re not getting a to-go box, asshole. You already ate way too much.”

Vic gestures at the buffet on the other side of the large outdoor patio we’re seated at. “There’s a lot more food over there.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to eat it.” Anton’s glare is murderous.

“You know, there are starving kids in Africa who would love to have those ribs,” Vic says.