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Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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rapmobile open for her, then climbed in at her side. The driver moved up the passenger seat for more legroom before he turned to check her out.
The driver was big and terrifyingly buff. Tattoos decorated a massive set of arms and the wrist he’d draped over the steering wheel. With his shaved head, wise-guy eyes, and crooked smile, he had a Bruce Willis’s evil twin thing going that was sexy in a very scary sort of way. “Where we off to?” he asked.
“Elmhurst,” Heath said. “Crenshaw wants me to see his new house.”
As a Stars fan, Annabelle recognized the name of the team’s running back.
“The Sox are up two-one,” the driver said. “You want to listen in the back?”
“Yeah, but unfortunately I have some business I promised to take care of. Annabelle, this is Bodie Gray, the best linebacker who never played for Kansas City.”
“Second-round draft pick out of Arizona State,” Bodie said as he pulled the SUV into the traffic. “Played two years for the Steelers. My right leg was crushed in a motorcycle accident the day I got traded to the Chiefs.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“You win some, you lose some, right, boss?”
“He calls me that to piss me off.”
Bodie studied her in the rearview mirror. “So you’re the matchmaker?”
“Marriage facilitator.” Heath swiped her mocha Frappuccino.
“Hey!”
He took a drag on the straw, and Bodie chuckled. “Marriage facilitator, huh? You got your work cut out for you with the boss, Annabelle. He has a long history of lovin’ and leavin’.” He made a left on LaSalle. “But here’s what’s ironic …The last woman he was interested in—some pooh-bah in the mayor’s office—dumped him. How’s that for a laugh?”
Heath yawned and stretched his legs. Despite his pricey wardrobe, she could easily imagine him in jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and scuffed-up work boots.
Bodie turned onto Congress. “She dumped him because of the way he screwed around on her.”
Annabelle’s stomach sank. “He was unfaithful?”
“Big-time.” Bodie made a lane change. “He kept humpin’ his cell phone.”
Heath took another swig of the Frappuccino. “He’s bitter because I’m successful, and he’s screwed up for life.”
No response from the front seat. What sort of weird relationship was this?
A cell rang. Not the same cell Heath had been talking on a few minutes earlier. This one came from the pocket of his sports coat. Apparently, he was ambi-phonorous.
“Champion.”
Annabelle took advantage of the distraction to reclaim her Frappuccino. As she closed her lips around the straw, she had the depressing thought that this would probably be as close as she’d get to swapping spit with a multimillionaire hunk.
“The restaurant business is littered with the dead bodies of great athletes, Rafe. It’s your money, so I can only advise you, but…”
The downside of being a matchmaker meant that she might never have another date. When she met attractive single men, she had to turn them into clients, and she couldn’t let her personal life complicate that. Not a problem in this particular case…She gazed at Heath. Just being near so much unbridled macho made her want to break out in hives. He even smelled sexy, like expensive sheets, good soap, and musky pheromones. The Frappuccino sliding down her throat didn’t do much to cool her hot thoughts, and she faced the sad truth that she was sex starved. Two miserable years since she’d broken her engagement to Rob …Way too long to sleep alone.
The opening bars of the William Tell Overture intruded. Heath had the gall to frown as she retrieved her phone. “Hello.”
“Annabelle, it’s your mother.”
She sank back into the seat, cursing herself for not remembering to turn the thing off.
Heath took advantage of her distraction to reclaim the Frappuccino while he continued his own conversation. “…it’s all a matter of setting financial priorities. Once your family’s
The driver was big and terrifyingly buff. Tattoos decorated a massive set of arms and the wrist he’d draped over the steering wheel. With his shaved head, wise-guy eyes, and crooked smile, he had a Bruce Willis’s evil twin thing going that was sexy in a very scary sort of way. “Where we off to?” he asked.
“Elmhurst,” Heath said. “Crenshaw wants me to see his new house.”
As a Stars fan, Annabelle recognized the name of the team’s running back.
“The Sox are up two-one,” the driver said. “You want to listen in the back?”
“Yeah, but unfortunately I have some business I promised to take care of. Annabelle, this is Bodie Gray, the best linebacker who never played for Kansas City.”
“Second-round draft pick out of Arizona State,” Bodie said as he pulled the SUV into the traffic. “Played two years for the Steelers. My right leg was crushed in a motorcycle accident the day I got traded to the Chiefs.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“You win some, you lose some, right, boss?”
“He calls me that to piss me off.”
Bodie studied her in the rearview mirror. “So you’re the matchmaker?”
“Marriage facilitator.” Heath swiped her mocha Frappuccino.
“Hey!”
He took a drag on the straw, and Bodie chuckled. “Marriage facilitator, huh? You got your work cut out for you with the boss, Annabelle. He has a long history of lovin’ and leavin’.” He made a left on LaSalle. “But here’s what’s ironic …The last woman he was interested in—some pooh-bah in the mayor’s office—dumped him. How’s that for a laugh?”
Heath yawned and stretched his legs. Despite his pricey wardrobe, she could easily imagine him in jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and scuffed-up work boots.
Bodie turned onto Congress. “She dumped him because of the way he screwed around on her.”
Annabelle’s stomach sank. “He was unfaithful?”
“Big-time.” Bodie made a lane change. “He kept humpin’ his cell phone.”
Heath took another swig of the Frappuccino. “He’s bitter because I’m successful, and he’s screwed up for life.”
No response from the front seat. What sort of weird relationship was this?
A cell rang. Not the same cell Heath had been talking on a few minutes earlier. This one came from the pocket of his sports coat. Apparently, he was ambi-phonorous.
“Champion.”
Annabelle took advantage of the distraction to reclaim her Frappuccino. As she closed her lips around the straw, she had the depressing thought that this would probably be as close as she’d get to swapping spit with a multimillionaire hunk.
“The restaurant business is littered with the dead bodies of great athletes, Rafe. It’s your money, so I can only advise you, but…”
The downside of being a matchmaker meant that she might never have another date. When she met attractive single men, she had to turn them into clients, and she couldn’t let her personal life complicate that. Not a problem in this particular case…She gazed at Heath. Just being near so much unbridled macho made her want to break out in hives. He even smelled sexy, like expensive sheets, good soap, and musky pheromones. The Frappuccino sliding down her throat didn’t do much to cool her hot thoughts, and she faced the sad truth that she was sex starved. Two miserable years since she’d broken her engagement to Rob …Way too long to sleep alone.
The opening bars of the William Tell Overture intruded. Heath had the gall to frown as she retrieved her phone. “Hello.”
“Annabelle, it’s your mother.”
She sank back into the seat, cursing herself for not remembering to turn the thing off.
Heath took advantage of her distraction to reclaim the Frappuccino while he continued his own conversation. “…it’s all a matter of setting financial priorities. Once your family’s
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