second ring, she asked herself what she was doing. She was the one who’d sent him packing the week before. She was the one who had promised to be mature about this whole thing, to be the adult. With the third ring, she thought about burying the phone beneath the couch cushions, drowning out the ringtone so she could pretend she’d never heard the call.
She answered before the fourth ring. “Hey,” she said.
“Emily?” He sounded surprised. There was a lot of noise behind him, the shouts of men, the bustle, she assumed, of the locker room after the game.
“Um, yeah.” She squinched up her eyes, regretting her impetuous text now more than ever.
“How did you get this number?” His voice had turned hard. Angry.
“From the paperwork,” she said. “The forms you filled out with the court.”
“Dammit,” he muttered. “Just a second.” As she winced at his exasperation, the chaos around him dropped out. He must have found some private office, closed some door. “Sorry,” he said. “I really hate texting. I figured I’d return your call instead.”
“I just wanted to congratulate you on a great game,” she said. “I won’t keep you.”
“I don’t mind being kept.” Did he have any idea what that little growl did to her? His tone—forget about his words!—tightened every muscle in her belly. She ran her fingers through her hair, grateful he couldn’t see the flush that heated her cheeks. “Where are you?” he asked. “What are you doing?”
She was sitting at her desk, blinking at a computer screen, wearing a ragged T-shirt and faded pajama bottoms. “I’m upstairs. In bed,” she said, surprising herself with the lie.
“I haven’t been upstairs.”
Well, what had she expected? Of course there was a teasing note in his voice. She’d practically announced she was wearing her best lingerie, sprawled across a dozen pillows, licking her lips as she prepared to tell him all the wicked things she’d do with him if he were there.
Which he wasn’t. And which she couldn’t do, even if he were.
She sat straight in her chair and cleared her throat. “You should get back to the team,” she said. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“You didn’t,” he reminded her, with enough insinuation that she caught her breath.
But she shook her head. “Nothing’s changed since Wednesday. This is still a bad idea.”
“Don’t I get a vote on that?”
“Maybe later. After you’re through with your service.”
“There are all sorts of services I can provide.”
God. With that tone thrumming through her, she had no problem imagining exactly what he meant. “Tyler…” she breathed. And then, because she knew she was right: “Please.”
He waited for nearly a minute, the silence stretching between them until it was a tangible thing. And then he said, “All right, beautiful. Have it your way. Goodnight.”
She swallowed hard, trying to wash away the sparkle of excitement his whisper raised down his spine. “Goodnight,” she said. And she hung up the phone before she could change her mind, before she could undo all her hard work with a single flirtatious phrase.
But that didn’t keep her from replaying the entire conversation in her head, over and over and over again. Beautiful . No one had ever called her that. Not like Tyler had. Not like Tyler meant. The word tickled inside her, making her smile, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous. She fell asleep wishing she’d made a very different decision.
* * *
He was slipping into the rhythms of the new team. He was starting to understand the unspoken language of the club—when Coach was swallowing anger, when he was merely being quiet. Tyler’d already figured out the bonds between most of the guys—who was always up for a few hands of poker to unwind after the game, who was going to order the first round of drinks in the hotel bar, who was going to slip away early, shrugging and saying he had to call his wife, talk to
She answered before the fourth ring. “Hey,” she said.
“Emily?” He sounded surprised. There was a lot of noise behind him, the shouts of men, the bustle, she assumed, of the locker room after the game.
“Um, yeah.” She squinched up her eyes, regretting her impetuous text now more than ever.
“How did you get this number?” His voice had turned hard. Angry.
“From the paperwork,” she said. “The forms you filled out with the court.”
“Dammit,” he muttered. “Just a second.” As she winced at his exasperation, the chaos around him dropped out. He must have found some private office, closed some door. “Sorry,” he said. “I really hate texting. I figured I’d return your call instead.”
“I just wanted to congratulate you on a great game,” she said. “I won’t keep you.”
“I don’t mind being kept.” Did he have any idea what that little growl did to her? His tone—forget about his words!—tightened every muscle in her belly. She ran her fingers through her hair, grateful he couldn’t see the flush that heated her cheeks. “Where are you?” he asked. “What are you doing?”
She was sitting at her desk, blinking at a computer screen, wearing a ragged T-shirt and faded pajama bottoms. “I’m upstairs. In bed,” she said, surprising herself with the lie.
“I haven’t been upstairs.”
Well, what had she expected? Of course there was a teasing note in his voice. She’d practically announced she was wearing her best lingerie, sprawled across a dozen pillows, licking her lips as she prepared to tell him all the wicked things she’d do with him if he were there.
Which he wasn’t. And which she couldn’t do, even if he were.
She sat straight in her chair and cleared her throat. “You should get back to the team,” she said. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“You didn’t,” he reminded her, with enough insinuation that she caught her breath.
But she shook her head. “Nothing’s changed since Wednesday. This is still a bad idea.”
“Don’t I get a vote on that?”
“Maybe later. After you’re through with your service.”
“There are all sorts of services I can provide.”
God. With that tone thrumming through her, she had no problem imagining exactly what he meant. “Tyler…” she breathed. And then, because she knew she was right: “Please.”
He waited for nearly a minute, the silence stretching between them until it was a tangible thing. And then he said, “All right, beautiful. Have it your way. Goodnight.”
She swallowed hard, trying to wash away the sparkle of excitement his whisper raised down his spine. “Goodnight,” she said. And she hung up the phone before she could change her mind, before she could undo all her hard work with a single flirtatious phrase.
But that didn’t keep her from replaying the entire conversation in her head, over and over and over again. Beautiful . No one had ever called her that. Not like Tyler had. Not like Tyler meant. The word tickled inside her, making her smile, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous. She fell asleep wishing she’d made a very different decision.
* * *
He was slipping into the rhythms of the new team. He was starting to understand the unspoken language of the club—when Coach was swallowing anger, when he was merely being quiet. Tyler’d already figured out the bonds between most of the guys—who was always up for a few hands of poker to unwind after the game, who was going to order the first round of drinks in the hotel bar, who was going to slip away early, shrugging and saying he had to call his wife, talk to
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