Fall Into Me (5 page)

He’d screwed up, again. Considering his track record, that in itself wasn’t surprising. Troy Lee bounced the basketball off the free throw line, set his mark and shot. The net swished and he loped to retrieve the ball.

The whole “just for a good time” angle with Angel? Massive miscalculation. The caveat, while he was pretty sure it had been what had ultimately induced her to say yes, provided her with no incentive to see him as more. However, since she obviously regarded him as too young to be seriously worth her time…well, that only exponentially compounded the problem.

He shot from the sideline, the net swishing again.

“Not bad for a white guy.” The gravelly voice, only recently deepened, held equal notes of friendly mockery and admiration. Devonte Richardson stood at the opposite sideline, dribbling the ball from one hand to the other in a “V” formation.

“Yeah? Last weekend, it was not bad for an old guy.” Troy Lee held up his hands for the ball. Devonte ignored him and floated the orb toward the hoop with the effortless grace and power that had college scouts crawling over themselves to sign the seventeen-year-old senior.

Troy Lee retrieved the ball, already feeling the flow of anticipation and competition. Weekend pick-up games of one-on-one had been a ritual for the pair since Troy Lee had first moved into the tiny one-bedroom apartment next door to the mirror-image unit Devonte shared with his grandmother.

“Not bad for a snot-nosed kid.”

“Snot-nosed kid’s going to whip your old, white po-po ass.” Devonte moved in to block him, gliding, arms spread wide as his smirk.

Troy Lee quelled his own grin. “Better not let Miss Francie hear you talking like that. She’ll have your hide.”

“Yeah? Hide this.” With a swift, practiced lunge, Devonte stole the ball in mid-dribble and took it to the goal in a beautiful lay-up.

The move set the tone for the aggressive game, and a half hour later, Troy Lee collapsed against the chain-link fence, an arm over his midriff. He bent double a moment, staring at the glittering shards of a broken beer bottle. His chest heaved, his heart trying to thud out of his ribcage and sweat dripping from his slick skin. Playing ball with this kid was almost like running hills.

“Whatsa matter, dawg?” Grinning and completely unwinded, Devonte moved the ball in the classic “V” once more. “Too old to take it?”

“Something like that.” Troy Lee straightened and grabbed his discarded T-shirt to wipe his face. He looped it around his neck. “Heard FSU’s assistant coach was at your last game.”

“Yeah, dawg. Cool, huh?”

“Very.” Damn, his abs hurt now—not that it had anything to do with Devonte’s elbow slamming into them as Troy Lee had gone up for a shot. Off the high school court, with no refs around, the kid played ball by the rules of the hood. College though…college would be good for him, good for Miss Francie, would give him an opportunity a lot of the local kids never got. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘dawg’?”

Devonte’s only answer was a shrug and another wide smirk. Troy Lee shook his head and rubbed a hand over his chest. The heartburn was acting up again, and while he’d like to blame it on that elbow to the gut, he knew it had more to do with worrying over where he stood with Angel.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go clean up and get ready to play tonight. Say hey to your grandma for me.”

Devonte performed a flawless hook shot. “Man, when you gonna learn to play some
real
music?”

Funny, his high school music teacher, the one who’d pushed so hard for him to apply to Julliard had often asked the same thing. With a wave, Troy Lee ambled back to the long, low brick building that made up one leg of the aging low-income housing project. The heavy smell of frying chicken and simmering greens wafted from Miss Francie’s open window. In his own apartment, after popping a couple of Tums, he dropped the sweat-damp shirt in the hamper and eyed his torso in the mirror over the tiny vanity. He ran a hand across the mark at the top of his belly, centered between his ribs. Yep, that was gonna bruise.

After a shower, he donned jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed his guitar and headed for the Jeep. He paused while stowing the instrument case and frowned at the sight that greeted him. On the side street, Devonte climbed into the rear passenger seat of a late-model, still-bearing-the-dealer-tags Ford F-150.

A new Ford F-150 with a hopped-up performance package engine and Paul Bostick behind the wheel. The truck rumbled off in a blast of loud music. Shaking his head, Troy Lee settled in the driver’s seat. He didn’t get some parents. Reward the kid for causing what could have easily been a fatal wreck by buying him a forty-thousand-dollar pickup.

He backed out of his parking space and headed in the direction of the Cue Club, trying to quell the anxiety jumping in his stomach and making the acid burn into his chest all over again. Somehow, he had to find a way to convince Angel he had what it took to be something more than her “just a good time”.

A cramp stabbed at Angel’s left arch and she leaned on the bar, lifting that foot behind her. Patrons packed the club and she’d been hustling all night, trying to help Julie stay caught up at the bar. Julie had hollered out last call ten minutes before and the band was winding down with their traditional final number, but no one seemed willing to straggle out yet.

A regular ambled up and passed over his credit card to settle his tab. Angel took it with a smile and returned the aching foot to the floor with ginger caution.

“Thank you. Good night!” Troy Lee’s voice, amplified by the sound system, rumbled over her. He grinned, mouth close to the mike, and lifted a hand. “Y’all go home.”

How many times had she heard him close a set with those words? Tonight she wasn’t sure if she was glad to hear them or not. Her feet hurt and she was tired, so going home sounded good on that accord. However, closing down probably meant seeing him for a few minutes, something that made her inexplicably nervous. The morning had gone well, even with that weirdness at the beginning of breakfast, so no reason existed why she should be anxious about talking to him.

Wasn’t like they were serious or anything.

“Thanks, Hugh.” Angel passed the credit card and receipt over. Shoot, even her face hurt from pasting on so many smiles tonight. Not that she was complaining, mind you. She loved when business was good. She was just bone-deep tired.

Julie nudged her and tilted her chin toward the stage. “These girls are crazy-stupid over that boy.”

Following the direction of Julie’s gaze, Angel watched as Troy Lee and Clark Dempsey, the EMT who played drums for the small group, were waylaid by a little blonde and a willowy brunette, both in their very early twenties. The blonde giggled and held out a permanent marker in Troy Lee’s direction. While he uncapped it, she tugged down the already low vee of her T-shirt, exposing the rounded curve of her upper breast and the edge of a lacy red bra.

“Oh my God.” Julie laughed, a puffing, choked titter. “Did he just sign her boob?”

“He sure did.” To Angel’s relief, her voice came out normal after fighting its way past the tsunami of possessive pique swamping her. The blonde graced Clark with the opportunity to autograph her other breast and the brunette touched Troy Lee’s arm, rubbing her palm over his biceps as she flirted. With a smile, he extricated himself from the contact.

Angel swallowed hard. Darn it, this whole scenario shouldn’t kick her in the chest the way it did. They were friends and she didn’t own him. Besides, she knew what it was like to be passed over in favor of a younger, more desirable woman.

The brunette snagged the marker from Clark as he finished his signature with a flourish. With a sultry flutter of her lashes, she passed it to Troy Lee and turned her back on him, hitching the waistline of her hip-riding jeans down just a bit to provide him room to sign the small of her back. The thin pink strand of a rhinestone-dusted thong rested across her hip above the faded denim. Eyebrows raised, Troy Lee exchanged a look with Clark but bent to scrawl his name across the smooth skin just the same.

Angel pulled her gaze from the tableau. As the club’s patrons trickled out, she buried herself closing out tabs, tallying receipts and disbursing charged tips to servers.

Behind her, wood clattered on the polished bar. “Hey.”

She tensed at Troy Lee’s voice, the rich tones sliding over her like caressing fingers. She schooled her features and turned to face him. “Hey yourself.”

She laid her paperwork out on the bar and tried not to look at him. His hair stood up in damp spikes and his shirt clung, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. Lord help her, she could smell him, a blend of spicy deodorant, male sweat and musky warmth that kicked off images of hard sweaty sex and writhing bodies. Ooh, her hands wrapped around her footboard while he pumped into her from behind… Her belly clenched on a fluttering of arousal.

She clamped down on the reactions by dragging up the picture of the brunette touching him, of his hand at her hip while he autographed her skin. He swiped a wrist over his damp forehead and she reached for his customary Corona. Silence stretched while she wrapped up the day’s reconciliation and he sipped at the beer.

Julie returned from supervising cleanup and patted Troy Lee’s shoulder. “Starting your own fan club?”

He grimaced and took a long pull. “I guess.”

Julie laughed and wandered into the kitchen. The picture of his touching the girl flashed in Angel’s head again, bringing that breath-stealing wave of jealousy with it. Angel separated ones into stacks of fifty, rubber banded them and stuck them in the bank bag. “You don’t have to hang around here, you know.”

He stopped with the bottle halfway to his lips. “I always stay to make sure y’all get out okay.”

“We’re fine.”

His brows lowered, eyes narrowed. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not.” The small laugh she produced held sufficient scoffing. “I just wasn’t sure if you had something to do or not.”

More like someone to do. The mean and so-not-like-her thought darted through her head. Darn it, the last month had done a real number on her.

His eyes constricted further, to glittering blue slits. “Jealous and bitchy really doesn’t work on you, Angel baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” The unreasonable annoyance prickled beneath her skin. She didn’t want his pet names, didn’t want to fall any further into him, when all that would happen would be his leaving and her getting hurt all over again. “And I am not jealous.”

Without answer, he simply watched her. She stacked the next set of fifty bills against the bar with a sharp smack. “I am not jealous, Troy Lee. If you wanted to go out with one of those girls, it’s nothing to do with me.”

His shoulders moved in an easy shrug. “If I wanted to be with one of them, then I wouldn’t be sitting here. So what does that tell you?”

She paused and met his gaze straight on. “You should be seeing someone your own age, Troy Lee.”

“Please don’t start that bullshit again. It’s not the issue and you know it.”

“Really. What, pray tell, is the issue?”

“We’ve been out one time and already you’re looking for me to cut and run.” He shook his head. “You’re doing it again. Speeding ahead, looking for where you think you’re going, instead of seeing what’s along the way. You gotta learn to slow down and enjoy the ride, Angel.”

How was she supposed to argue with that?

They lapsed into silence once more, although some of the tension had dissipated. She finished her closing while he nursed the Corona. Her girls, including Julie, drifted out in twos and threes, until only the two of them remained. She locked the deposit in the safe, grabbed her bag and flipped through her keys to the one that secured the front door.

Outside, the sultry promise of the sunny day had dipped into a damp chill and she was glad to have his warm presence at her back, blocking the slight breeze, while she locked the door.

Guitar case in hand, he strolled across the parking lot at her side to where his Jeep waited next to her Mustang. He tossed the case into the passenger seat and she eyed the Wrangler’s bikini top. “You’re going to freeze.”

He cast a quick glance at it. “Nah. It’ll be nice to cool off after being under the lights.”

She fiddled with her keys, turning them between her fingers. “Well, good night then. Thank you for walking me out.”

“You’re welcome.” His gaze lingered on her face. With a lazy movement, he rested a hand on the roof of her car, bringing his long body into her personal space and filling her with breathless intensity.

She should speak, should laugh, should do
something
. Instead, all she could do was stare into those lash-fringed baby blues and imagine all the wicked possibilities suddenly trembling between them.

He lifted his other hand and sifted the fingers through her hair at her temple, rubbing a couple of strands together. One corner of his mouth hitched up. “About that kissing thing.”

Oh, this was so not like her…hadn’t she always been a take-charge kind of girl? And here she was, her back pressed against the driver’s side door, keys clenched in one hand, watching those beautiful eyes draw closer as he took the initiative and leaned in.

She closed her eyes before his mouth touched hers. Oh please, don’t let it be any good. It would be so much easier to walk, to let him go if—