“It’s not.” His lips tightened a moment. “Usually. It’s gotten worse since my brother’s shit happened. He got someone to post bail—a sports fan of mine—and now a new story has hit the blogs. He promised the fan they’d get to meet me, and you know how that went down. The woman is furious and blasting my name all over the gossip sites.”

His jaw had clenched. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and I heard the slight growl under his words.

This was the reason they’d come to our camp. This was the reason he’d needed to shoot hoops for hours on end that first night. His anger was back.

As Reese turned the steering wheel to exit, I glimpsed his bicep bulging through his sweatshirt. There was a rigidness there that hadn’t been present in Minnesota.

I reacted without thinking, catching his hand and pulling it to my lap.

He glanced over, but didn’t pull away or say anything.

I began to rub at the base of his thumb. It was rock hard.

He bit out a groan. “Jesus, that feels good.”

“That’s all stress.”

Another grunt. “Tell me about it.” His eyes fluttered a second, and he seemed to shake himself loose. “Wait. No. Tell me about it. Tell me about your flight. Your dinner. How’s the infamous Janet? Am I ever going to meet her?” He managed a crooked smile.

I filled him in: A caffeine buzz. Okay. Same. And no.

His laugh was a low baritone. “That’s it? You’re not going into any more detail?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My turn of being the center of attention was, like, five states ago. We’re in your territory now.” I kept rubbing over his thumb. “Fill me in on what’s going on with your brother.”

His hand jerked, but he kept it in mine. “It’s a shit show. That’s all I can say.”

“So tell me.”

He cursed, pulling his hand away and rubbing it over his jaw. “I don’t really want to talk about it, to be honest.”

I tried not to feel dejected. I was mostly failing. “I told you about my stuff.”

“And I told you mine.”

“You gave me the bulletproof version. The stuff that’s in the past and not affecting you.” I eyed his hand, but he switched his grip on the wheel, his left hand going to his leg now. “What’s affecting you now?” I murmured.

“Charlie.” He gentled his voice. “I don’t want to be a dick, but I spent all fucking evening on the phone with people about Roman. You’re here.” His hand covered mine again, squeezing. “And I didn’t kiss you at the airport.” He glanced over, his eyes darting to my mouth. “I’m more pissed about the camera guy now.”

He was lying.