Plain Jane's Secret Life. Cathy Thacker Gillen

what was this? Dylan wondered, stepping back out of sight of the office door and into the restroom. Some type of con job? Last night he’d thought it was Cal pushing Hannah to do something she didn’t want to do. This morning it sounded as if it was the other way around.

      The office door opened. Cal walked out briskly and headed right down the hall. Dylan waited until his brother had disappeared from view then stepped around the corner and into the office. Hannah was in the process of booting up her computer. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink when she saw him, but that could have been as much from the memory of the kisses they’d shared the evening before as anything. Certainly, she didn’t look as though she knew he had been spying on her.

      “What brings you here?” she asked.

      Easy, he thought, glad for the excuse. “Your house key.”

      DYLAN WAS DOING IT AGAIN, looking at her almost suspiciously, as if he knew what she was up to with his brother. But that was impossible. No one but she and Cal knew about the transaction they were trying so hard to pull off.

      “Oh yeah.” Hannah fished the spare out of her desk and handed it to him. “Don’t lose it.”

      “I won’t,” Dylan promised.

      Their hands brushed. Their gazes meshed. And in that instant, Hannah knew Dylan had slept lightly, if at all, the previous night. Not that she could blame him. Losing your job, especially when your work meant as much to you as Dylan’s did to him, had to be devastating. She would have lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling, too. Wanting to help him, she said, “You ever thought about announcing instead of sportscasting?”

      Dylan made a face. “Different talent.”

      “Yes, but if you had the chance, would you do it?” Hannah persisted.

      He shrugged his broad shoulders amiably. “Sure.”

      “What do you know that I don’t?” he asked, studying her face.

      Delighted to be able to deliver some good news, she said, “One of the Storm’s announcers just quit. They’re filling the position by week’s end.”

      HANNAH WENT HOME PROMPTLY at six that evening. Dylan wasn’t there. Nor was there any note for her, or any way of knowing if he would even be back that evening. No painting or drywalling had been done, but there was plenty of evidence of his job search in the neat stacks of paper all over her bed.

      Feeling glum, she had rushed to get home to see how his day had gone to no avail, Hannah dropped her grimy clothes in the hamper and stepped into the shower to scrub off the day. Mindful of the steamy August heat, she put on a dark green V-necked T-shirt and denim shorts, and was still combing out the tangles in her hair when she heard the front door open and close.

      She walked down the stairs from the loft just as Dylan walked in to the open downstairs area. He was wearing the same suit and tie he’d had on the previous day at the airport. One hand held two large carry-out sacks from the root-beer stand they had been at the evening before; in the other was a cardboard carrying tray containing two large drinks.

      “What’s all this?” Hannah asked as the delicious aroma of chili, cheese and onion rings filled the air.

      “The rain check on the dinner I owe you—one of everything on the menu plus some extra chili dogs with cheese and onion in case you’re still as wild about them as I am. Are you?”

      Hannah nodded. There was nothing like it, in her estimation, as far as junk food went. Funny he would think so, too, when in every other way they were so different. Usually guys wanted to buy her very hip or gourmet food—when they even asked her—and that was usually as payment for taking a look under the hood of their car or diagnosing a particularly perplexing electrical or mechanical problem with their vehicle. Nobody ever just bought her dinner for the sake of it, or went out of their way to spend time with her, one on one. Which begged the question. Why was Dylan suddenly so eager to spend time with her? Why was he suddenly hanging around, when he could just as easily have avoided her, the way he had at Janey’s wedding reception?

      Was it because he wanted to continue to use her house as a temporary office while she was at work? Or was there something more going on here? Something that had to do with those series of kisses last night?

      Dylan tilted his head at her, as if wondering what was on her mind. “I hope you haven’t eaten,” he said.

      As if on cue, Hannah’s stomach growled. “Ah, no, I haven’t,” she said, embarrassed.

      “Good.” He looked around them with a bemused grin. “Although where we’re going to eat is a good question. Where is your furniture?”

      “I sold everything in a tag sale, to make more money to spend on the interior. I figure when it’s all done, I’ll just buy some new stuff that will fit the space.”

      “Makes sense. In the meantime, where do you usually eat?”

      “Perched on one of the sawhorses. Or upstairs, on my bed,” Hannah continued. “Sort of depends on what I’m eating.”

      He nodded at her, considering. “So where are we going to do this?”

      It was so hot outside. The mosquitoes were fierce this time of year. “My bedroom, I guess,” Hannah allowed finally. “You can sit at my desk. I’ll sit on the floor.”

      He arched his eyebrow. “Not the bed?”

      Hannah smiled wryly. “Somehow, eating chili dogs on a white bedspread doesn’t seem like a good idea. And speaking of chili dogs.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really going to eat this dressed in a suit?”

      Dylan shrugged, unperturbed. “Unless you want me to strip down to my skivvies again.”

      “Uh, no,” Hannah said hastily. She held up a hand in stop-sign fashion. “Once was enough.”

      He grinned again, in an appreciative male way that made Hannah think he was considering making love to her then and there. Which was silly. Except for the kisses the night before, there had never been anything between them. And since he was leaving at the end of the week, off to Chicago or parts unknown again, there never would be. Unless…

      “So. How’s the job search going?” Hannah asked after they made their way upstairs to her bedroom. She settled picnic style on the rug in front of her walk-in closet and was surprised when Dylan bypassed the chair she had offered him and sat cross-legged opposite her. “Did you check out the announcing job for the Carolina Storm hockey team?”

      Dylan took off his jacket and tie and tossed them onto her bed. “That’s where I was this afternoon. I went over and auditioned.”

      Hannah watched as he undid the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his cuffs. “Already?”

      He nodded, looking a lot more relaxed as he leaned against the wall and they divvied up the food. “Yeah. They were already vetting résumés and doing preliminary interviews, and anyone who passed muster was then eligible to get in line and go into a taping room. Basically, they handed us roster lists for both teams on the tape, as well as specific information they wanted worked into the broadcast. We all ‘called’—or announced—the first twenty-minute period. Then we were taken into another room to videotape a mock interview with one of the public relations staff, who was pretending to be either a player or a coach, and that was it. They’re going to review all the applicants by week’s end and have a decision no later than Monday.”