Still no Meg, but he spied an open pool table. “Want to shoot some pool?”
“Sure.” Dave jumped up right away.
He must be as bored as I am, Matt thought as the three of them went to stake a claim on the table. Greg racked the balls while Dave went in search of some cues. He came back a minute later with three of them, and the game was on.
Ten minutes later, Matt was so engrossed in their game of nine ball, which he was winning, that he almost missed Meg and some other girl approaching their table. He spotted her just in time to whip the Condors cap off his head and shove it in his back pocket.
It was almost as if he’d conjured her up himself, just by hoping she’d arrive.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered as he excused himself and met Meg in the middle of the room. No way did he want her to talk to the jokers he was with. One of them, likely Greg, would be sure to mention the team.
“Hey, Meg. What brings you out on a Sunday night?”
When she smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkled. “I was just asking myself the same question. Stephanie here decided she’d die if she didn’t shoot a few games of pool, and I agreed to come with her so she’d have someone to play with. How about you?”
“Just hanging out with the guys.” He paused. How could he avoid the question he was sure she’d ask next? “It’s pretty busy here tonight. All the pool tables are taken.”
“Didn’t we see you playing when we came in?”
The question came not from Meg, but from her friend. He glanced back at Dave and Greg, who both watched him with interest. “Yeah.”
“Well, why can’t we join you?”
He tried not to scowl at the pushy girl. However, it seemed introducing Meg to Dave and Greg was now unavoidable. “Let me see if my buddies mind.”
Without waiting for her to agree, he returned to the pool table.
Greg nudged him. “Lucky. How come you know all the cute ones?”
“The one on the left is my friend Meg. But I need a favor.”
“Sure, man.” Dave said. “You know we’ll always have your back.”
“Don’t let on that we play for the Condors.”
Greg was outraged. “What? The job is a great way to pick up babes!”
“Not this babe.” He’d never explained his tendency to Greg, who’d only been with the team for a year, but Dave had an inkling of how Matt felt about “baseball babes.” He’d taken to complaining about the same thing himself toward the end of their time with the Condors.
Sure enough, Dave chuckled. “Just for tonight, pretend you’re an engineer.”
“A nerd?”
“Think of it as a challenge,” Dave suggested. “If you can pick up girls when they think you’re an engineer, you can call yourself a master pickup artist.”
Greg’s face brightened. “Good point.”
Sure they wouldn’t blow his cover, Matt flashed his teammates a grin. “So I’ll ask them to join us. Just remember, we’re not ballplayers.”
Greg saluted. “Just call me Dexter.”
****
Meg again studied Matt’s friend, Dex, who was chatting up Stephanie. Blond, tall, tan and muscular, he didn’t look like any engineer she knew. The engineering majors at her university were pale, scrawny guys who wore glasses.
Come to think of it, Matt didn’t look much like an engineer, either. His toned arms and flat abs were not typical of a desk jockey. The short brown hair fit—
She stopped herself mid-thought. She was stereotyping again. Unlike flying reindeer, hot engineers were more than a figment of someone’s overactive imagination. Best to put away her preconceived notions and try to have some fun.
She still couldn’t believe she’d let Steph talk her into hitting the Crazy-I on a Sunday night. What about setting a good example for the little one?
Meg shrugged to herself. At this point, her baby had no idea what was going on. A little time in a bar, shooting pool and sipping 7Up, wouldn’t do any lasting damage, especially in a smoke-free bar. One of the many things she loved about Flagstaff was it was virtually impossible to smoke indoors.
She knew exactly why she’d agreed. She’d been hoping to run into Matt again. Even though common sense told her she was crazy to consider getting involved so soon after Tim, her heart sang a different verse. As a result, he was never far from her thoughts, awake or asleep.
She watched him line up a shot. He drew back the pool cue and propelled it forward. The nine-ball glided across the table and dropped effortlessly into a corner pocket, so Matt set up to take another shot. Without thinking, Meg’s gaze zeroed in on his denim-clad butt.
Cute. A split-second later, she admonished herself. She shouldn’t think of a friend that way.
Then again, they’d crossed the friend threshold when he kissed her Friday night—and she admitted she wanted to do it again. Not smart. She and the Pea weren’t interested in a rebound fling.
“Crazy,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head to clear it of temptation.
“So, crazy girl, are you taking your shot or not?”
Meg jumped. It was Matt’s other friend, Dave, who’d spoken.
“Sorry. My head wasn’t in the game.”
Dave moved closer to whisper, “I see where your head was—and I say ‘go for it.’” He winked. “Matt’s a stand-up guy.”
Meg felt heat rush to her cheeks. “That’s good to know.”
“Just trying to help.” Dave winked again.
Meg missed her shot. It wasn’t surprising, since she wasn’t the greatest pool player under the best of circumstances. Her flashes of competence with a pool cue were few and far between.
After the game, Matt approached her, grinning. “Looks like the guys are better pool players.”
Meg feigned outrage. “It’s easy to win when you distract the competition.”
“Distraction? Who’s a distraction?”
Meg nodded toward Dex, who continued to give Stephanie a full-court press. “If he succeeds, maybe she’ll forget about this guy at work who doesn’t know she’s alive.”
“I can vouch for—” Matt paused to clear his throat— “Dex. He may be a little immature, but he has a good heart.”
“You three stick together, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Dave said something similar about you.” Meg wasn’t going to share why Dave had said it. Matt didn’t need to know she’d been checking out his butt.
Her sudden silence didn’t keep Matt from raising an eyebrow in inquiry. “Oh?”
“He said you’re a great guy.”
Matt chuckled. “He’s right, you know. I am a great guy.”
“Oh yeah? If you’re such a fantastic catch, why hasn’t some other girl reeled you in?” Immediately, she wished she hadn’t offered such a quick comeback. What was it about this guy that made her speak first and think later?
But Matt didn’t look offended; he was merely amused. “Maybe because no one has dangled the right bait.”
Meg opened her mouth to reply and then clamped it shut. She wasn’t going to ask what bait he was waiting for, because that would imply she cared. And since she wasn’t in the market for a new man—great kisser or not—she didn’t.
Instead, she sipped her nearly empty soda. He noticed. “Can I get you another?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“What are you having?” When Meg told him, he said, “Soda again? You don’t drink much, do you?”
Meg shook her head. He didn’t need to know why. “I don’t like the taste.”
It wasn’t an outright lie. She didn’t, for the most part. She preferred mixed drinks made with coconut rum or amaretto—all too expensive to order regularly at a bar.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Matt said with a shrug. Then he grinned. “But it does seem odd for a girl who doesn’t drink much to be hanging out at a bar so often.”
Meg returned his smile. “Thank my
friends for that. They’re all booze hounds.”
“Good. Then Steph and Dex have something in common.”
Chapter Four
“Meg, hurry up! We’re going to be late.”
Meg scowled at Stephanie’s reminder. The last thing she wanted to do first thing on a Monday morning was sit through yet another meeting. Yet here she stood in the break room, grabbing a bottle of milk from the vending machine so she’d have something healthy to drink while everyone else sipped their coffee. Decaf didn’t work for her—and she really needed to cut back on the soda.
With her drink in hand, she hustled toward the conference room. She was about thirty seconds behind Steph, though she didn’t know why her friend was in such a rush to get there. They had at least ten minutes before the meeting’s scheduled start, and the building wasn’t that big. She could get from one end to the other in ninety seconds—less when she sprinted for the bathroom.
As she neared its door, it swung open and Stephanie poked her head through. “Just as I thought: They sprang for donuts. Stake your claim before the good ones are gone.”
Meg shook her head as her friend disappeared again. She should have known Steph was thinking of her stomach. That girl could eat more than a linebacker at training camp and still look like a model.
Life wasn’t fair. If Meg so much as looked at a donut, she gained five pounds. Even so, and even though the donut wouldn’t taste nearly as good as the ones she made, she planned to indulge this time. If she was being forced to sit through another boring meeting, she darn well wanted a fringe benefit. Besides, she was eating for two now. Maybe the Pea wanted a donut.
When Meg pushed open the door, the scent of sugary fried dough hit her full force. On its heels came a wave of nausea so violent she almost lost her breakfast on the spot.
She ducked back into the hallway to suck in some “fresh” air and settle her stomach.
“I guess that answers that,” she muttered under her breath once she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up. The Pea definitely did not want a donut.
That was too bad, because she did. Oh well. She’d make it up to herself later. At least if she made her own, she’d know they were fresh. Knowing the penny-pinching brass at Tooley, Hamilton & Smith, the ones on the conference room table were day-old.
And thinking about saving the company money, Meg needed to get back in there. The bigwigs hated it when meetings didn’t start on time—even though they were often the ones running behind.
She took one more gulp of doughnut-free air, hoping it would be enough to keep her from losing her breakfast. Then she opened the door and walked back into the conference room. She slid into the seat Stephanie had been saving for her. Now why did her friend look so disgruntled when she had her favorite French cruller in hand?
Then she glanced across the table and Steph’s sour expression made sense. Matt sat on the other side of the room, chatting with Dave and Dex.
“You!”
Three heads, wearing identical Arizona Condors baseball caps, turned to look at her. In an instant, Matt’s expression went from relaxed and smiling to tense.
She battled another wave of nausea. “What are you doing here?”
****
Matt’s gaze locked with Meg’s, and shock jolted through him. He opened his mouth and closed it again before coming up with a response. “Meg! You work here?”
His question sounded stupid, sure. But he needed to buy time to either figure a way out or come clean with Meg about what he did for a living.
When she just nodded, Matt glanced from Dave, who shrugged, to Greg, who grinned and mouthed, “the jig’s up.” Matt scowled at his oh-so-helpful teammates. What good were hours of mindless male bonding if his so-called best buds left him hanging out to dry?
He looked back at Meg and offered her his biggest, brightest smile. “Of course you work here. Why else would you be here?”
She appeared unmoved by the grin one of his exes once described as “panty-peeling.” “You, however, do not work here.” Her voice was tight. “So I repeat, what are you doing here?”
It was a fair question, he had to admit. Perhaps it was time for him to come clean—especially since he had no viable alternative. But not with an audience. Matt gestured to the door. “Can we talk out there?”
She checked her watch. “If we make it quick.”
She followed him into the hallway and stood in front of him with her arms crossed. “I’m waiting.”
Matt took off his baseball cap, the same one he’d been wearing the night they met, and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he sighed. “Well, I’m not an engineer.”
She didn’t reply, but her look screamed Tell me something I don’t already know.
“I’d love to explain, but—” He paused to look around the office. The audience in the conference room was no longer a problem, but he saw heads popping up above gray cubicle partitions like prairie dogs surfacing from their dens. “—people are looking at us.”
“If you’re what I think you are, you should be used to having an audience.” Even with the sharp retort, she strode across the room to a closed door. Matt followed. Which of the dozen or so cubicles in the football field-sized room belonged to Meg? One that didn’t currently have an occupant straining to overhear them, no doubt. After fishing in her pocket, she produced a key and opened the door. “You’re just lucky I have the key to the supply closet this month.”
He didn’t feel lucky. Even though he’d asked for some privacy, he was reluctant to shut himself in a small space with an obviously angry Meg. He stepped through the door anyway, equally unwilling to let any of Meg’s nosy colleagues think he was a coward. She followed him, closing it behind them.
When he didn’t speak right away, trying to figure out how—and how much—to tell, she re-crossed her arms over her chest. “You said you’d explain.”
He took a deep breath. It was hard to concentrate in such close quarters. All he could think about was closing the small gap separating them. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and watch the ice in her eyes melt into warm, tropical pools. But he couldn’t do that, not while Meg was justifiably hostile. She deserved the explanation she’d demanded.
“I’m sure you’ve guessed I play for the Condors.” When she nodded, he continued. “I’ve been the team’s catcher for six years and I don’t want to sound conceited, but I’m pretty good.”
Meg snorted. “If you’re such a great ballplayer, why masquerade as an engineer?”
He thought he detected a slight shift in her attitude. She seemed less hostile and more curious. Or maybe he just imagined the thaw. Either way, he had nothing to lose.
“I’m so good at my job that women throw themselves at me.” She looked ready to object, so he rushed on. “Seriously. I’ve even had girls throw their panties at me, like I’m onstage at a rock concert. The thing is I can never tell if these women like me or if they’re just in love with the idea of dating an athlete. I suspect it’s the latter, because they’re not interested when I try to start an actual conversation.”
When her eyes began to thaw and she uncrossed her arms, Matt knew she was warming to his explanation. He wrapped up the story with more confidence.
“But when I was out at the bar the night I met you, I was just me. Just Matt Thatcher, regular guy with an interesting brother. I didn’t have to wonder if you were talking to me or to the Condors’ star catcher. And I liked that feeling. I didn’t want to let it go.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, Meg’s full-fledged, sunny smile had returned. Good. The emotional storm had passed. Better yet, he’d weathered it without tears.
“So Dex isn’t an engineer either?” When he shook his head, she laughed. “I bet his name isn’t even Dexter.”
Matt laughed, too, relieved by how okay she seemed to be with his deception. Doubt came hard on relief’s heels. Did that mean she, too, had a habit of lying?
He shoved the question aside, refusing to consid
er the possibility. From all he’d seen, Meg was open and honest. If she turned out to be a liar, he’d give up baseball. “Nope. It’s Greg. He’s our first baseman.”
“I knew he wasn’t an engineer! So the secret’s out.”
****
At the mention of secrets, Meg felt her smile dim. She was keeping one of her own, after all—and it wasn’t exactly a small one.
She shook her head to clear away the thought. She refused to heap blame on herself. Not this time. Matt was the one in the doghouse here. So why was she standing in a supply closet, smiling at the man she’d until now believed to be an engineer? She wiped away her smile and drew herself to her full height, hoping she looked at least a little menacing. “You lied to me.”
Success! He took a step backward, letting out an “oof” as a shelf met his back. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”
Matt reached out to lay a hand on her arm, but she swatted him away. He sighed and sank against the shelf again. But he didn’t need physical contact to pin her to the spot. His intense golden-brown gaze held her fast. “Think back to the night we met. I never said anything about what I did for a living. And if you’ll recall, last night it was Greg who introduced himself as an engineer. Not me.”
Meg looked away, seeking escape. Not yet ready to acknowledge that truth, she dismissed it with an impatient wave. “So you lied by omission. That’s still dishonesty at its finest, Mr. Big Shot Ballplayer.”
“I never said I was an engineer.” He aimed a finger at her. “You’re just upset because you leapt to the wrong conclusion.”
“If it quacks like a duck—”
His face contorted. “I didn’t quack!”
“Yeah, you did. Maybe not out loud, but by letting your friends say they were engineers, you knew I’d assume you were, too.”
“You know what happens when you assume.”
The comment—one of her father’s favorite sayings—hit Meg like a punch in the gut. The temperature plummeted in the until-now charged closet and she hugged herself, seeking warmth. “I sure as hell shouldn’t have assumed you’re a nice guy.”
“I—”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 177
