Janelle Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Your girlfriend?”
“My designer,” Psycho clarified. “Next question?”
“You’re both street smart and successful. Tell me about your childhood.”
He’d grown up tough. A punk with a load of attitude. Reporters liked to tap into his past. His growing up poor seemed to make them feel richer. “I grew up on the wrong side of Philly’s tracks. I was six when my old man went out for a job interview and never returned. My mom worked sixteen-hour days to feed our family. Two girls and three boys.
“Ketchup packets and warm water became tomato soup. We boiled macaroni noodles, but there was never any cheese.”
“Peanut butter became your steak.” Keely’s words drifted to him. He looked up, caught her deep in her own memories. “Your mother reused tea bags. You split a candy bar five ways to share with your brothers and sisters.”
Psycho’s jaw locked. Had his designer grown up equally poor? Had she known hard times as well?
Beside him, Janelle fidgeted with the tape recorder. She looked horrified by their comments. It appeared the reporter had never gone hungry, nor worried about having a roof over her head.
Clearing her throat, Janelle nodded to him to continue. He didn’t try to smooth the rough edges of his childhood. “There was no Little League or organized sports in my neighborhood. We used back lots. Stole hubcaps for bases. I played with a secondhand glove, wore tennis shoes without laces. I never had an official uniform until I hit high school.
“Baseball came naturally to me. I played hard. A scout from Florida State caught a few games. He offered me a sports scholarship if I graduated. My coach crammed chemistry and calculus down my throat, and somehow I passed the classes. The rest is history.”
Janelle sighed. “You’ve done exceptionally well for yourself.”
“So well, he bought a Colonial reminiscent of his old neighborhood,” Keely softly added.
Psycho shifted on the vinyl chair. Keely was far too observant. No one had ever guessed the rundown house was a daily reminder of growing up dirt poor. The fact that it stood in a gated community didn’t block his childhood memories from returning.
The house was as broken as his mother’s and father’s marriage. He’d been resistant to making repairs until Keely Douglas came into his life and wedged herself between his past and his future. He still wasn’t convinced he liked her there.
Janelle moved on. “You’re a dirt bike jumper.”
“I compete in Xtreme Sports during the off-season.”
“All against your team owner’s wishes,” Janelle said. “Guy Powers says you’re a daredevil with a death wish.”
“Adrenaline is my drug of choice.”
“You’ve a taste for trouble.” Janelle licked her lips. “Women like bad boys.”
“Not too smart on their part,” Keely muttered from the window.
Psycho silently agreed.
“Some believe you’re insane,” Janelle put in, probably hoping to get a rise out of him.
He shrugged. “Crazy comes with the territory.”
“Describe your special woman,” Janelle requested. “Date night.”
He finished off his sandwich and washed it down with two gulps of milk. He caught Keely’s look of interest as she waited along with the reporter for his reply.
“I don’t do special or long term,” he finally said. “My bar for dating is low. I call at the last minute. Don’t bring flowers. Most times it’s a surprise to the woman if I even show. I like afterhours bars, strip clubs. I once dated a woman for six weeks steady. She cried more when her plant died than when we broke up.”
“Bet it was an elephant ear,” Keely said. “I’d have cried too.”
“It was a philodendron,” he said to set Keely straight. “She left the plant on the porch in the sun and forgot to water it.”
“Wife and kids in your future?” Janelle asked.
“The Psycho gene dies with me.”
“Pity.”
“Not everyone feels that way.”
Janelle pursed her lips and looked at Keely. “I wonder what it would be like to date this man.”
Keely cocked her head contemplatively. “Dangerous,” she decided. “Like the first pulsepounding climb to the high diving board. The stomach-shifting ride of the Tilt-A-Whirl.”
Janelle nodded. “I see him as a shot of whiskey. The burn that goes straight to your stomach, then to your head. The buzz strips off your clothes and lands you in his bed.”
The women were talking about him as if he wasn’t in the room. Psycho didn’t like being invisible. “Next question,” he prodded.
“Your favorite nightcap after a game?” from Janelle.
“Body shots.”
“You feel sexiest when?”
“I’m hard.” Psycho caught Keely roll her eyes.
Janelle glanced at his towel. “Feeling sexy now?”
“Semisexy.”
Janelle’s recorder clicked off, and she quickly replaced the tape. “If you didn’t play baseball, you’d…?”
“Find a way to play baseball.”
“You’re intense and competitive.”
“I like to win.”
“You’re very restless,” Janelle noted. “Ever try yoga?”
“My life is a sport. Can’t score points in yoga.”
“A quote you live by?”
“Some days it doesn’t pay to gnaw through the leather restraints.”
“Favorite food?”
He looked at Keely. “Peanut butter, cream cheese, and sliced banana sandwiches.”
Keely blushed. A slow rise of color that was sexy as hell. He decided to tease her often.
“Favorite dessert?”
“I try to avoid sugar, but on occasion crave Rice Krispies treats. I make them myself.”
“What else do you crave, Psycho?”
That my suspension was over.
That the Rogues would win the World Series.
That the restoration of the Colonial will get the Daughters off my back for good.
That this interview would end.
Before he could answer, the grizzled old man he’d seen in the entry hall entered the living room, tape measure in hand. He crossed to Keely. “Ready to work?”