Something else was bothering her.
“You okay?” I asked, sliding into the seat across from her.
Zaila’s head snapped up, surprise and embarrassment flashing across her face. “I didn’t see you there.” She glanced around. “I thought everyone had left.”
“They did, congratulating themselves for getting Jeff to see reason.” I waited a beat. “Why didn’t you tell them you’d managed to get through to him?”
She sighed as she rolled her head, trying to loosen the tension in her neck. “Because who talked him out of the dumb situation doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. You deserve recognition,” I said. “You did well tonight.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, but it quickly faded. “Thanks, but I don’t care about recognition as much as I wanted to make sure he didn’t drive.” She blew out a long breath. “He really doesn’t get it, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said. “But I think for you, this was personal.”
She looked away. “My father was badly injured in a car accident. He died two years later because of complications. Technically, it was renal failure, but that started with lacerations sustained in the wreck.”
I covered her hand with mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Mom and I handle some days better than others. The idea of Jeff getting in a car, doing that to another family…”
“I understand,” I murmured. I knew what it was to lose someone you loved because of others’ negligence. My frustration with Jeff roared back to life.
For a moment, I considered telling Zaila about my brother, about that night twenty-five years ago when ignorance and hatred had taken him from me. But the words caught in my throat. Speaking about Karl was too personal, too raw, even after all this time—even to share with someone who’d understand.
Instead, I said, “I’ve seen what that kind of ignorance can do. It has no place on this team or anywhere else.”
Zaila nodded. I had an uncomfortable feeling she could see right through me. “I agree,” she murmured. “I just wish everyone else did, too.”
We sat in silence for a moment, unspoken words weighing down the space between us.
“Thank you for your efforts this evening, Zaila,” I said finally. “The team’s lucky to have you.”
She gave me a small smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
I stood to leave. “Need a ride?”
She shook her head. “I have my car. I’ll head out soon. Just…need to regain my composure.”
I hesitated, shifting from one foot to another. “If you ever need to talk...or stress-eat ice cream—my brother used to do that—my door’s always open.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open just enough for me to catch the soft pink of her tongue. My abdomen tightened again, but for a different reason.
Then she straightened, her professional mask sliding back into place. “I appreciate that,” she said, her tone polite but distant. She rose, smoothing her slacks over her nicely rounded hips. She gave me a polite, businesslike smile that I detested. “Have a good evening, Mr. Evaldson.”
“Gunnar,” I said. “Please call me Gunnar like everyone else.”
She paused and glanced over her shoulder. It could have been the light, or it could have been wishful thinking, but I could swear yearning flitted across Zaila’s expression, and desire darkened her eyes. She licked her lips. “‘Night, Gunnar.”
Her voice stroked my skin like a physical caress.
“Dream of me,” I murmured once I knew she couldn’t hear my quiet words. Still, I shouldn’t have said it. But I knew I’d dream of her, just like I did every night.
Chapter 9
Zaila
The Monday morning air thickened with tension, the kind that smothers thought and makes clothes stick, as the players slid into their seats in the large conference room on the top floor of the Wildcatters’ office building. I clutched my coffee mug as if it could protect me from the angry words and anxiety I worried were coming.
