Overtime For Love. Synithia Williams

no. Chanel is only looking for a good time. That’s all I’m good for.” Before Isaiah could comment on the grim tone of his friend’s admission, Kevin got a knowing look in his gray eyes. “Are you going to the club?”

      Isaiah grunted and shook his head. “Nah. What for?”

      Kevin just grinned. He’d teased Isaiah about Angel for a week after the team celebrated at Sweethearts. Teased him and called him a damn fool for not getting her number. According to Will Hampton, another friend and teammate, her not giving him her number was unlikely. Perks of being a professional athlete, he’d said, but Will was the type of guy not many women said no to.

      Isaiah wasn’t going to bring Angel back into the conversation. Bad enough her sexy laugh and beautiful smile still popped up in his dreams. “You’ll be back from Hawaii in time for camp?” He stood and looked at the pictures on the wall.

      “Just going for a weekend. I’ll be back,” Kevin said.

      One of the pictures on the wall caught Isaiah’s attention. He walked over for a closer look. The five curved lines arranged in a star shape reminded him of the tattoo Angel had on her wrist. The African symbol for strength.

      A reminder that I can handle anything that comes my way. I’m strong enough to take care of me.

      Her voice had held a trace of some lingering pain. He’d wanted to know what it was so he could wipe it clean away. But he’d changed the subject. Teased that he would get a shark tattoo because it was his favorite animal. She’d laughed and he’d fallen into her spell.

      Too bad life wasn’t just about going with instinct, the way a shark did. Instinct would have him back at the club tonight. There were consequences to consider. Plans to be made. Plans that didn’t involve falling for a bartender with a beautiful smile after already asking the “perfect” woman to move to his town and talk about their future.

       Chapter 3

      Angela fought to keep the professional smile on her face as she listened to the volunteer sitting across from her desk give another excuse for not visiting the child she was assigned to this month. Olivia Parker was a decent lady. She was retired from the school system, had friendly brown eyes and a matronly appearance. She’d heard about the need for advocates when Angela’s supervisor was interviewed by the local news six months ago and immediately came in to volunteer. Except she always had an excuse for why she couldn’t put in the time.

      Everyone in the office was assigned a group of volunteers to organize and ensure the kids they represented had someone to check in on them. Angela’s volunteers rarely missed visits because she was constantly touching base with them. Ms. Parker was her coworker Jerry’s volunteer. He’d asked her to deal with Ms. Parker because he “couldn’t be mean to someone who reminded him of his grandmother.” The real excuse: he didn’t know how to manage his volunteers.

      “You understand, Angela, why I didn’t make it this month. Between my husband getting sick, the drama with my sister and Pickle’s surgery, it just slipped my mind,” Olivia said in a pleading voice.

      Angela took a deep breath. Pickle was Ms. Parker’s miniature schnauzer. “I do understand, but it is also very important that our volunteers personally see their assigned child every month. That’s the only way we can ensure they’re adapting to their new foster home and are making any scheduled court appearances or visits with their parents. I’ll work with Jerry to cover your visit tomorrow, but please let Jerry know ahead of time if you can’t make next month’s visit.”

      Olivia bobbed her head up and down. “No. No. I’ll go first thing in the morning. I understand and I promise I won’t miss next month. I’ll be sure to visit not just once, but—”

      “Twice.” Angela forced her smile to remain. “I know.” She glanced at the clock and stood. This meeting with Ms. Parker had gone past five o’clock. Angela needed to be out of the office and on the road right at five to dodge the worst of the traffic before picking up Cory and getting him back to her apartment, where her neighbor, Nate, watched him while she worked nights at Sweethearts.

      Angela stood, which prompted Ms. Parker to do so, as well. Ms. Parker liked to talk and she would easily go on for another thirty minutes about her dog and husband if Angela didn’t end the conversation. “Thanks again for your service, Ms. Parker. We can’t look out for the kids without the dedication of volunteers like you.”

      Ms. Parker blushed and nodded and said again how sorry she was as Angela ushered her out of the office. Why people like Ms. Parker would go through the rigorous training and background checks necessary to volunteer with the child advocacy office only to flake out on responsibilities every other month didn’t make much sense to Angela. It was a constant source of frustration. The kids were the ones who suffered; things were missed when there wasn’t consistent contact with them. Angela knew because she’d lived it. If she’d had someone looking out for her after her parents died, maybe her aunt wouldn’t have found it so easy to steal her inheritance. That was the reason she’d gone into social work. She wanted to make sure no other kid was taken advantage of by the people who were supposed to protect them.

      She poked her head into Jerry’s office, which was next to hers, but he wasn’t there. A quick check with the admin assistant and she learned Jerry was gone for the day.

      “He did tell me to thank you for handling Ms. Parker,” Martha said.

      Angela bit back her annoyance and took a deep breath. At least Ms. Parker had been reprimanded, and hopefully wouldn’t neglect her duties next month. Angela went back to her office, powered down her computer and scooped up her purse. Ten after five. Maybe enough time to hit the road and get to Cory before the activity center charged her for being late picking him up. It was his first week of basketball camp. She didn’t want to be late the first day and start off as “that parent.”

      Somebody in heaven liked her because Angela arrived at the activity center at exactly five-twenty-nine. She jumped out of the car and raced into the building. The young guy working the front desk smiled and didn’t charge her for being two minutes late by their clock, then directed her to the gym, where Cory was waiting. She thanked the guy, glanced at her watch and hurried to the gym. Okay, pick up Cory, drive like a maniac back home, thank Nate again for being an awesome neighbor and get to second job.

      Angela grabbed the door to the gym and pulled. Someone shoved the door from the other side and she stumbled back. Her heels slipped on the floor. A large hand wrapped around her wrist and prevented her from impersonating a flipped pancake.

      Awareness prickled up her arm from the strong hand around her wrist. Her gaze lifted all the way up to a pair of dark, sexy eyes. Her heart stumbled worse than her feet and air sprinted from her lungs like an Olympic runner. Isaiah Reynolds.

      He was wearing a sleeveless red athletic shirt, so the lean muscles of his arms were bared. Basketball shorts partially covered sculpted legs long enough to make a redwood jealous. If a tree could get jealous. The spice of sweat and his own masculine scent swirled through her senses and made her knees wobbly. Recognition brightened his warm brown eyes. For a split second, he seemed happy and surprised, then his brow furrowed and his lips, the lower one fuller and so damn kissable, twisted into a frown.

      “Angel?” he said in a tone that was as smooth as silk and ran over her just as seductively.

      Angela swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heat spreading through her body. She wanted him, which meant she had to avoid him at all costs for the remainder of the camp. Otherwise he’d have her with a crook of his finger and a smile.

      * * *

      Isaiah’s fingers tightened around Angel’s small wrist. He’d recognized her instantly. Gone were the sparkly white angel wings she wore behind the bar at Sweethearts. A tasteful gray button-up shirt replaced the white tank top he’d last seen her in, although the garment still hugged her perfectly rounded breasts. A fitted black pencil skirt silhouetted