Page 8 of The Billionaire's Catch

She spun around, her brilliant green eyes flashing. “You followed me?” She flushed, casting her auburn hair to vibrant brilliance in the stark locker room lights. She was powerful and attractive and far more appealing than he’d ever admit.

He gave in to the urge to step closer. “I was worried about you. Downtown is dangerous at night.”

“It’s not that bad.” Yet a catch in her voice belied the light response. “I can take care of myself.”

No doubt. He shouldn’t be bothered by her decisions, shouldn’t even care, for this woman whose acquaintance was measured in days. And yet he did. “I was curious about you. I haven’t had a conversation like that in a long time.”

For a moment, something akin to satisfaction lit her features; in the next, a neutral façade smoothed to nonchalance. “It didn’t mean anything.”

He crossed his arms, rocked back on his feet. “We don’t know each other, yet you seem to have a very low opinion of me. Has something happened to make you dislike me?”

She clamped her mouth shut, proving he’d guessed accurately. “I have a fine opinion of you. You’re a baseball star. Everyone loves you.” She crooked the corner of her mouth, yet it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They used to love him. Some – many – still did, but some disliked him. Some felt far stronger. As for how he regarded himself…

He cleared his throat. Despite her animosity, a connection lurked between them, uncommon and unnamable yet strong. It sparked at the club, and was no less powerful for the calmer surroundings. By her averted gaze, she felt it, too. “Why were you at the club?”

She started at the question, looked away. “Would you believe a coincidence?”

“Would you?”

Her grimace said no. “I wanted to see how you behaved. I’m here to fix the team image, especially in light of… of…” She exhaled. “I wanted to see the true Jason Sterling.”

Tense muscles tightened. “I am the true Jason Sterling. I would have acted exactly the same, because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with how I act.” Not anymore. “I socialize, go out and have fun like most people. I’m photographed constantly, and people transform innocent encounters into scandalous happenings. I’m not apologizing for my life, and I’m not changing.”

Emerald eyes flashed fire. “This isn’t a joke,” she hissed. “Just last week, you almost got arrested for fighting with your friend’s jealous boyfriend. Anyone else would’ve spent the night in jail. Care to explain?”

“Why bother?” he snapped. “You already judged and sentenced me, and nothing is going to sway you.”

“I’m just doing my job,” she defended. “Fixing the team’s image.”

“There’s nothing to fix, especially me, so save yourself the time and effort and give up now.” He leveled his gaze, the same one he used on opposing players as they barreled into home.

“You say there’s nothing to fix, but because of you, Alan is–” She stopped abruptly, brought her hands to her lips as if to physically stop the words from emerging. Yet the unspoken ending burned through his veins, tightening his chest with pure regret. There it was, the true reason behind her anger. She wasn’t mad at him for partying too hard, or even for having one too many, but at what she thought he did – encouraged a man to drink and drive, resulting in tragedy. Fury rose in him, but not at her. No, as always, it was directed solely inwards.

Because she was right. He was responsible.

She paled. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve said that. It was unprofessional, and I didn’t mean it.”

But she did mean it, he could tell. She continued in a softer voice, “In light of the accident, we’re concerned about the team image. Alan might have been the only one to get hurt – and arrested – but the scandal spread to the rest of the team. They’re blaming everything on the Dragons’ party team image and on–”

“Me.” Jason finished. His car. His friend. His fault.

“They’re scrutinizing everything,” she continued softly. “When you visit nightclubs every night, get into fights and nearly get arrested, it sends a message.”

He stood up tall. “Unless you were there, you can’t judge my actions. I’m trying to keep this light so I don’t tell you what I really think of your attempts to run my life.”

“I’m not trying to run your life.” Her voice rose in volume again, but with exasperation, not anger. “You don’t have to change your life, just how it looks. Tone it down a little.”

The truth was he had toned it down, a lot, after the accident. It was not an unreasonable request, but he would not let her dictate his actions. “You’re telling me what to do with my free time, how to act and who to hang out with. I’m paid to deliver for the team, and I’ve more than done that. Two World Series, .350 batting average.”

“Actually, .352,” she corrected. A whisper of pink graced her cheeks. “I was rounding. No one is disputing your performance on the field. You’re an outstanding player.”

“But when I’m not playing you want me to stay at home feeding my cats and watching Internet videos of dancing goats.”

“They don’t have to be goats,” she returned. “They could be cats, or armadillos. Maybe even dancing carrots.” Her lips twitched.

So did his. “Wait a minute. Was that… were you actually making a joke?”

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