Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella by Lisa B. Kamps Read Free Book Online Page B

that is." He leaned a little closer and reached out with his hand, thinking he could stroke her arm or maybe even take her hand in his.
    But Bridget stepped away. And she didn’t just step away—she laughed. A light musical sound that echoed from the bare pipes and concrete ceiling above them, then bounced off the cold floor beneath their feet. She shook her head and stepped around him, jabbing the key into the door and unlocking it. Her lips curved into a smile, a wide bright smile that made the air rush from his lungs.
    "Nice one." She tossed the backpack onto the passenger seat then grabbed the door frame and eased herself into the driver's seat. She looked up at him, that wide beautiful smile still on her face. "No wonder they call you the playmaker."
    "But—"
    "I'll see you around, Derek." She slammed the door closed and started the car, the engine belching with a loud rumble before smoothing out. She backed the car out of the space, gave him a small wave, then pulled away.
    What the fuck? Derek stared after her, wondering what the hell had just happened.
    And wondering why the hell the dismissal—and the comment—left him feeling like he had just been slammed into the boards without wearing any gear.

Chapter Seven
     
    He didn't stop to think, didn't want to think. If he did, he would walk back to the car and drive away.
    That wasn't an option.
    Derek fisted his hand and brought it against the heavy wood door. Once, twice. Would anyone even hear it? He tried to remember the details from the last time he was here, two weeks ago.
    Too bad the only details he could remember were of Bridget. Her body warm in his arms as he carried her upstairs, her body flush and supple beneath him as he pounded into her—
    Yeah, he needed to stop remembering those details. Why couldn't he stop remembering?
    He didn't want to know the answer to that. Hell, he didn't even want to know why he was asking the damn question. This wasn't like him, to be so focused on one woman. Especially not a woman he'd already had.
    He banged on the door again then stepped back and looked around. Stately old rowhomes lined the street, their stone facades weathered but maintained, many with ivy climbing the fronts. Rich wood gleamed from the different doorways, reflections from a different time. This neighborhood off St. Paul Street was old, dating back to a more luxurious era from the turn of the century. He had never paid attention before, not that he really ever visited this part of town.
    It was a residential neighborhood, settled and permanent, inviting. No foot traffic, but plenty of cars lining both sides of the narrow one-way street. He looked around, searching for an old red sedan. It should stand out among the other vehicles, all of them newer, a little more expensive.
    Derek didn't see it. That didn't mean she wasn't home. For all he knew, she could be parked the next street over. Or out back. She had to be home. It was late on a Sunday morning, where else would she be?
    He turned back to the door, finally noticing the buzzer discreetly tucked to the side. Muttering under his breath, he pushed the button, holding it in longer than necessary.
    Another minute went by. He was ready to turn around and leave, ready to give up, when the wide door finally opened. And shit, he hadn't been expecting another man to open it.
    Derek stood a little straighter, studying the man with a quick once-over. He was tall, just over six feet. Hell, maybe an inch or two taller than himself. Probably in his early-to-mid thirties, trim and fit, nicely dressed in dark trousers and a button down shirt. Jet black hair, square jaw, dark eyes. Those dark eyes narrowed just the slightest bit and Derek had the feeling that he was being studied as well.
    "May I help you?" The voice was deep, cultured and refined, with the slightest hint of an accent. Derek straightened and met the man's eyes straight on.
    "I'm looking for Bridget." Was it his imagination, or did the man's eyes