Free Out of Left Field by Morgan Kearns Page A

relaxed, totally-in-control in his expression. And failed.
    “ I’m just worried about him. That’s all.”
    He cocked his head to the side and smirked.
    She put her hands on her hips. “His physical well-being. Nothing more.”
    He shrugged and laughed, the deep rumble diffusing the tension. “You go right on lying to both of us then.”
    “ I’m not—”
    His hand shot up. “No offense, Frank, but talking about your boyfriend—”
    “ He’s not—”
    “— isn’t my idea of a good time.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and we’ll go catch a movie.”
    “ I can’t. I have to get over to Xavier’s.”
    Christian’s blue eyes flashed. His sandy blond dusted head shook. “You seem to choose him over me. If I didn’t know better, I’d get a complex.”
     
    ***
     
    Christian was her rock. His calm strength grounded her better than anything else. She hadn’t meant to completely lose it, but wrapped in his arms, held tightly against his chest, feeling protected, the dam broke.
    As she walked up to Xavier’s front door, she was glad she’d released some of her worry. Falling apart within Christian’s embrace beat the hell out of doing it in Xavier’s. In fact, a breakdown the likes of what she’d plagued Chris with would probably freak X out and send him running for the hills. Or send him into hysterics while he laughed and pointed.
    She knocked and wasn’t surprised when the door didn’t open. Another knock didn’t cause the door to magically swing open either. She bent over and picked up the rock to retrieve the key and slipped it into the lock.
    As soon as she opened the door, she cringed. The television screamed at her from the other room. She only barely resisted the need to clamp her hands over her ears. She definitely didn’t want to hear the theme song for SpongeBob SquarePants any louder, but she headed in the direction of the whiney music anyway.
    Xavier’s living room epitomized masculinity, decorated in brown leather, electronics up the wazoo, cup holders within the cushions of the recliners, and—Frankie shook her head.—a guy wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, staring dumbly at the television, his back facing the archway where she stood.
    “ Hello.” When he didn’t acknowledge her presence, she raised her voice. “Hello!” No reaction. “Xavier!” Nothing.
    She watched him for a moment, wondering if he could possibly sleep through the blaring noise coming from the television. Then he laughed, and she got good and pissed.
    She stomped around to stand in front of the recliner, feet braced apart, hands on hips, prepared for battle.
    He stared through her. “Move.”
    “ No.”
    His eyes narrowed, tiny wrinkles crinkling in the corners. Menace sparked in his gaze when it flipped up to clash with hers. “I said, move , Doc.” His deep growl rumbled like a growing thunder. She waited for the crash signaling the lightning.
    “ I’m not going anywhere.” She reached out and snatched the remote control, pointing to toward the TV and turning it off.
    A loud pop! accompanied the closure of his recliner and was the only warning she got before his hand seized her wrist. He whirled her around and got right in her face.
    “ Get out of my way!”
    “ No.” Miraculously she managed to keep the nervous shake running through her blood out of her voice. “I’m here to hel—”
    “ I don’t want you here. I don’t need your help.” Breath raced in and out his lungs, his chest expanding and contracting with the puffs. “Get the hell out of my house. Now!”
    She wasn’t sure where she got the courage to stand there toe-to-toe with two-hundred pounds of seriously pissed off, but she didn’t feel truly threatened. Maybe she’d lost her mind.
    “ Matthias, you need me.”
    His nostrils flared. His teeth ground together. “I don’t need anybody .” His low, no-nonsense tone didn’t allow for argument.
    Not that it