Ty found few things as soothing as the thrum of a ball bouncing off hardwood. Eyes locked on the rim, he bent his knees and sent the ball arcing through the air. The previous year, their team trainer told him he figured Ty to be somewhere between fifty and five hundred jump shots away from total knee replacement. From that day on, Ty stayed well within the arc, and he made damn sure his feet never left the floor.
Palming the ball, he tucked it firmly against his hip and trudged to the foul line. He was on number forty-three of the hundred free throws he’d assigned himself.
His day had been chock-full. Wall-to-wall meetings, videos to review, phone calls, and a particularly excruciating staff meeting that included the public relations director, who’d been avoiding him for days. For a woman who prided herself on being conspicuous, she had a maddening way of disappearing each time she happened to catch sight of him.
Practice seemed to drag. The season was about to start, and the team was still off tempo. His assistant coaches were short-tempered, the players in turns petulant and belligerent. Fifteen minutes into a forty-minute scrimmage, his head throbbed from the cacophony of squeaking shoes, screeching whistles, and shouts from the sidelines.
Smooth as silk. Smooth as silk.
The mantra had started as a playground brag back in middle school, became his lucky bit of braggadocio in high school, then an integral part of his ritual with his introduction to Division I ball. Smooth as silk.
The words ran through his mind as he cocked his arm.
Smooth as silk.
Bend. Extend. Release. The ball sailed through the still air. Number forty-three’s trajectory appeared to be spot-on.
Retrieving the ball, he dribbled as he walked back to the line. How many nights had he spent shooting hoops rather than going home to Mari? Too many. Especially at the end. He’d been stupid enough to think things would even out in his life with Mari gone. He hadn’t counted on Hurricane Millie blowing through.
Placing his finger over the tiny valve hole on the ball, he stared down at the gleaming hardwood. He didn’t want to think about Millie now. He wanted to clear his head. A twisted part of him wished his love life had been this crappy back in his playing days, because his free throw average had never been higher.
Smooth as silk. Bounce, bounce, bounce.
Smooth as silk. Spin and settle.
Smooth as silk. Sight the shot.
Smooth as silk. Bend, extend, release.
“Forty-four.”
He stiffened as her throaty voice filled the small practice gym. Snagging the ball, he propped it against his hip. Without looking toward the door, he sauntered back to the foul line to prepare for number forty-five. “How long have you been watching?”
“Since I saw everyone leave but you.”
He nodded but kept his eyes locked on the goal. “Getting a few in.”
“Looking good.”
The click of her heels echoed off cinder-block walls. He didn’t dare look, but in his mind, he saw the shiny, red stiletto she’d swung off the tip of her toes through the whole damn meeting. The very stilettos he’d been fantasizing about all evening.
He ran through his ritual without missing a dribble. His mantra bounced around in his head, but this time, the words had little to do with tossing a ball through a hoop.
Smooth as silk.
Smooth as silk.
Smooth as silk.
He growled long and loud when he overshot. The ball hit the back of the rim with a sickening thud, then caromed toward the foldaway bleachers. Millie sat on the lowest row, her long legs crossed, that damn shoe dangling off the end of her foot again.
“What do you want?” Ty cringed even as the words left his mouth, but goddamn, the woman was making him crazy. One minute, she was hiding from him; the next, she was invading his sacred space. If he couldn’t escape her here, then no place was safe.
“I want you to make the next one.”
He slid her a side-eye known to make guys who stood more than six foot six tremble, but she only gave him the kind of encouraging smile one saved for toddlers refusing to eat peas. Collecting the ball, he stalked over to her.
“I don’t get the game, Millie.”
She looked taken aback for a moment, then lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, I don’t pretend to know all the nuances, but I think you have five people on each team, and they run up and down the court bouncing a ball and throw it into the basket thingy.” She waved a hand at the goal like some kind of game show hostess. “Whoever has the most points at the end of playtime wins.”
He fought the urge to smile at her blatant oversimplification of the sport he’d built his life around. “Funny.”
She sent him a look so wide-eyed and guileless he momentarily doubted his skepticism. “Did I not get it right? I get this one mixed up with the kicking one all the time.”
But he wasn’t buying. “The game with you and me, Millie. I don’t get this…whatever we’re doing.”
She took the time to uncross her legs, wiggle her shoe back onto her foot, then restart the entire process with the other leg topping and the other shoe dangling. “We’re having a torrid affair,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Complete with hot sex and various forms of takeout foods.”
“Yeah, well, not tonight. I have a headache.” No lie. The pounding was back with a vengeance. And so was the need to finish taking his foul shots.
He’d lined up number forty-six and chanted through two rounds of “smooth as silk” before he heard the click of her heels again. But instead of retreating, she was coming closer. Gripping the ball so hard, his fingers dimpled the rubber, he glanced over his shoulder to find her standing on the three-point line.
“No hard-soled shoes on the court,” he snapped.
Without taking her eyes off him, Millie stepped out of the sky-high heels. Her toes were polished the purple of grape jelly. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then covered the insole of her left foot with her right. He met her disconcertingly direct gaze and blew out a long breath. She obviously wasn’t going anywhere until she was damn good and ready. “What?” he prompted.
“I like my life, Ty. I live exactly the way I want to.”
“Good for you.”
She ignored his snide commentary. “I like my house, my stuff, my friends, my time.” She paused, searching for words. “I have no plans to change anytime soon.”
“Did I ask you to change anything?”
Millie gave him a small, sad smile. “No, you’d never ask me to, but they would change. I’m not sure I want them to.”
“So…” He groped for comprehension, but it remained inches out of reach. Giving his head a shake, he held up a hand in defeat. “Yeah, I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying I need to do this in my own way. In my own time,” she said quietly. “But I like you. Did I mention that?”
The weight inside him lifted, but he approached her confession with caution. “No. I don’t think you did.”
“I do.” She spoke firmly enough to chase his doubts away. At least for the moment.
“I’m glad. I like you too.”
She smiled, then bent to scoop up her shoes. “I’m happy we got that settled.” Jerking her head toward the bleachers, she quirked an eyebrow. “Mind if I watch? I’m kind of a team sports voyeur.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t really have a team out here.”
Her smile spread wide enough to light her eyes with mischief. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re really the only one I like watching.”
* * *
She woke up in his bed. Millie tried not to think of her presence there as anything more than an inevitable outcome fulfilled. As she suspected, once she got comfortable in his place, she didn’t want to leave. After the night they spent tearing up the sheets, she’d claimed she was too exhausted to be roused for breakfast. He’d insisted they share the most important meal of the day. They compromised by eating in bed. She knew she would spend the rest of the day thinking about how incredibly hot Ty Ransom looked when he was hand-feeding her bits of buttered toast.
They’d lolled around naked all morning, leaving a sprinkle of crumbs to add to the torn condom wrappers on his nightstand. Three wrappers. By her calculations, he had maybe five or six. That is if he’d started off with a new box. A half dozen in his arsenal, exactly eleven in hers. She figured at this rate of consumption, they had approximately five more nights together. Longer, if she could come up with more creative delay tactics. Or if Avery happened to make another commando run on health services.
Minutes before noon, he’d kissed her on the mouth, slapped her on the ass, and rolled out of bed. “Up. Up.”
Millie sighed and groaned, muscles she’d forgotten she had protesting as she flipped over. “Smack my ass again, and I might bite you.”
“Gotta get up,” he said, leveling a stern look at her. “We’ll play your kinky games later.”
She snorted. “If you’re lucky.”
“Gotten lucky once already this morning. If you hurry, we can take an extra lucky shower together.”
Millie bit her lip, genuinely torn. She wanted nothing more than to slip into his big glassed-in shower and lather him up, but water play might lead to the use of condom number four, and she wasn’t sure about stretching her game plan yet.
“You go ahead. I’ll laze around here, then shower when I get home.”
Ty scowled, displeased by her answer. “You sure?”
She nodded, then treated him to her slyest smile. “While you’re getting all hot and sweaty in a not-so-fun way, I may take a bubble bath and read my naughty book.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You know, you have a cruel streak a mile wide.”
“I know.” She rolled over as he rose, immediately claiming the spot warmed by his body heat. “It’s one of the things you like about me.”
Completely unselfconscious, he strolled to his dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs. “You know, I thought you were making the story thing up.”
“Nope.” She chuckled to cover the low internal purr the sight of his taut ass spurred. “Maybe one day I’ll loan you my book.”
He cocked an eyebrow as he stepped into the adjoining bath. “I like it better when you read to me.”
“Okay, but next time, no going off the rails,” she called after him.
He leaned back enough to poke his head around the doorframe and flashed a wicked grin “Going off the rails is the best part.”
Seconds later, she heard the rush of water spraying from the shower jets and fell back against the flattened pillows. He had a practice to run. The last Saturday practice before the tournaments leading into the regular season began. The one and only Saturday morning Millie might get to spend with him. And it had been perfect. Damn him.
He wasn’t going to go for the phone sex thing anymore. She got that. She admitted it was a little weird, considering they weren’t thousands of miles apart now. But maybe he’d go for sexting. Fun and flirty, and sexting wouldn’t cost any condoms.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, his cell began to vibrate. Millie watched the phone skitter along the top of the nightstand but made no move to answer the call. Ty had silenced more than one since he’d kidnapped her the night before. This one could wait as well. She wasn’t his secretary.
Sighing, Millie fixated on a spot on the ceiling and let her vision grow fuzzy as she tried to make heads or tails of her situation. They’d had too much time and distance at first, and now she couldn’t get enough. Ty was pushing, and he was pushing hard. Admittedly, a part of her liked his persistence. But the other part, the one she relied on more than her mutinous heart, was wary.
He’d swooped before she could escape the previous night and blown right through her token resistance. She’d managed to buy a little time when Danny McMillan caught them in the hall and invited them to join him and Kate for dinner. All Millie could do was smother her smile as she watched Ty weigh the pros and cons of declining the invitation. In the end, he accepted on their behalf but made up for lost time when he got her alone. In truth, she hadn’t been any better than he was at hiding his impatience. The second they were ensconced in his car, she practically climbed into his lap.
Millie was still mentally recapping some of the highlights of the previous evening when he appeared a scant few minutes later.
“So I figure I’ll come by about six to pick you up,” he announced, strolling into the room in boxer briefs molded to every contour of his narrow ass and thick thighs. “I’m in the mood for a steak. All this strenuous activity makes me crave red meat.”
His presumptuousness inflamed her. It also made her stomach do a squiggly dance that left her feeling weak and vaguely ashamed. She wanted a steak too, but if she didn’t hold out at least enough to make him ask her properly, she’d be hearing Avery’s lecture on feminine self-determination in her head for the rest of the night.
“I don’t recall agreeing to have dinner tonight.”
“You’ll probably get hungry at some point. I’m good with toast, but buttered bread isn’t going to hold you.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to have dinner with you tonight,” she reiterated.
He shrugged and pulled a pair of dark-green nylon track pants from a hanger. “I think we should have dinner together tonight. If steak doesn’t appeal to you, I’m open to negotiation.” Undeterred, he carried his fistfuls of clothing back to the bed. “Maybe we can rent a movie or something. I see the kids getting DVDs out of those box things all the time.”
His phone began to buzz again, but he paid it no mind as he patiently waited for her response.
She glanced at the screen, saw Mari’s face, then eyeballed him. He stood in the middle of the room wearing nothing but briefs that left little to the imagination, holding the pants as if he needed her say-so to put them on. Looking past him, she spotted a dozen pairs exactly like them hanging in an orderly row in the closet. A flash flood of feminine resentment rose in her.
Life seemed so easy for them. I’m a man. I don’t have to think about what to wear, but I do think I want a steak. I’m picking you up at six. We’ll have dinner, then sex. Lots of sex. So much sex you won’t be able to walk right or think right or keep a decent stash of rubbers on hand.
He might as well have said, I’m going to pick you up, fill you up, use you up, and then I’ll shrug and hike up my pants and go on home to my freaking McMansion and watch sports and drink scotch.
Then I’ll make you fall in love with me.
And in the end, I’ll leave you when someone shinier comes along.
“No, thanks,” she answered tersely, barely aware the last bit of conversation had taken place entirely in her head. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she started to gather the clothes she’d discarded with such fervor the night before.
Like an animal scenting danger, Ty stood stock-still before starting a cautious approach. “No thanks to the steak?”
“To all of it. I’m busy tonight,” she said, stepping into the pale-peach panties he hadn’t even bothered to admire.
“Busy.”
He repeated the word as if the syllables were entirely new to his vocabulary. In all fairness, rejection was probably an unfamiliar concept. After all, he’d been married for a few years, and she’d bet he hadn’t struck out often on the dating scene when he was single. But she wasn’t the kind of woman who invited assumptions on her time or her person. If he wanted to spend time with her, the man was going to have to figure that out sooner rather than later. She spotted her bra half-hidden under the bench at the foot of the giant bed and stooped to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry. Did something happen?” Ty took another step in her direction but stopped when she popped up, the expensive bits of lace and satin crushed in her hand. He cocked his head, a look of baffled bewilderment overtaking his expression. “Are you mad at me?”
“Nope.”
He blew out a breath. “Well, that was convincing.”
Shrugging into the bra, she avoided his gaze as she untwisted the straps. “We’ve had the conversation about presumptions before. You don’t dictate my time, Ty. You don’t get to assume I want to have dinner with you tonight.”
He let loose with another exasperated breath. “Sorry.”
He bit the word off. The fixer in her wanted to stop him before he went a word further and point out all the tactical errors he was making, but the woman in her wasn’t about to buy the man a clue if he didn’t already own one. A teeny part of her felt sorry for the oblivious creature when he went on in a manner several shades short of placating.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, Millicent?”
“No. Thank you.” She added the last bit with a saccharine-sweet smile. “I have other plans.”
“Other plans to do what?” he persisted.
All shreds of sympathy gone, she pulled on her blouse and started buttoning. “Well, first I plan to make a list of all the things I do that are none of your damn business.”
He was beside her in three long strides. His hand closed around her elbow, stilling her motions.
Her gaze flew to his. “Okay, so presumption, sarcasm, and effrontery haven’t been effective tools. Are we resorting to physical intimidation now?”
As expected, he released her before she could draw her next breath, but he didn’t step away. Millie added a point to the deficit he’d been running. She admired a man who stood his ground.
“I’m not trying to intimidate you, nor do I mean to make presumptions.”
“God, it’s sexy when you look all muscly jock guy, but then you use your fifty-cent words,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way that could only be construed as mocking.
“They were your vocabulary words, Mil. I was only trying to explain myself,” he retorted.
“And doing a really crappy job.”
“I don’t know why I have to explain at all,” he cried. Throwing his hands in the air, he spun away from her and stalked to the dresser. “All I wanted to do was have dinner with you.”
She watched as he yanked a gray athletic department T-shirt from the drawer and shook the wrinkles from the fabric. “Are you afraid of being alone or something?” she asked.
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
Millie shrugged, then bent to grab her pants from the floor. Without pausing to give the wrinkles a second thought, she plunged one foot into a twisted leg opening. Beyond caring about how graceless she might look, she stumbled around until she got the other leg lined up and then gave a couple of good hops to yank them into place.
“Look at you. You’ve been divorced less than a week, and you’re trying to line up a date for every night.”
“I’m not lining up dates. I’m trying to be with you.”
“Right, because I am the date du jour,” she said, fastening the waistband.
He paused, the sleeves wrapped around his thick biceps but the body of the shirt suspended above his head. He blinked, then gave his head a dismissive shake before he pulled the shirt down over his head. “Christ, you must really have a low opinion of yourself.”
The commentary was muffled, but his meaning was unmistakable. Millie smirked at the implication. Fully clothed, she felt more prepared to see this battle through to its inevitable end. She opened her mouth to blast him, and his phone went off again. Annoyed, she crossed her arms over her chest and jerked her chin toward the nightstand. “Your ex-wife is calling again. Why don’t you answer? Maybe you can get her to go for a nice, juicy steak with you.”
He spared the phone a quick glance, then grimaced. “No.”
His too-quick answer made her realize he knew exactly who was calling. She kept the smirk firmly in place as she strolled toward the bedroom door where her shoes lay cast aside, but only because she was worried her chin might wobble if she didn’t. “Ah, been there, done that?”
“Got the divorce papers as a souvenir.”
Millie blinked in surprise, then frowned at the phone. “Why is Mari calling you?”
“Damned if I know.” He stepped into the track pants and settled the waistband low on his hips. “She’s been calling for the last couple of days.”
“What does she want?”
He let one shoulder rise and fall as he pulled a pair of athletic socks from a drawer. “No idea.”
“You aren’t answering?”
He shook his head. “Don’t see the point. Mari and I are done. So done,” he added, dropping onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “Papers are signed, she got the settlement she wanted but didn’t deserve, and I have nothing else to say.”
She eyed him as she wriggled her toes into her shoes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
At last, Ty looked up and met her gaze. “No. Not at all.”
“I hear she and Dante may be on the downhill slide.”
“I don’t care,” he replied stubbornly.
“You just cut her out of your life? Easy as that?”
Bending over, he slipped a sock over his toes. “I didn’t cut her out. She left.”
“Right, but you’re not even a little curious about what she wants?”
He turned his attention to the other foot. “No. I’m really not.” He snorted softly. “But maybe later on, when I’m all alone and so scared, I might be tempted.”
Millie frowned as she tried to puzzle the last part out. “Was that some kind of threat or something?”
“No, it was more of that sarcasm you like so much,” he said, placing both feet square on the floor before looking up at her again. “But if threats work for you, I might be able to muster one.”
“No, they don’t.”
He nodded as if digesting the information, then pressed his hands to his knees and stood. “Well, then. I should get you home so I can get to practice and you can start on that list of yours.” He slid his sock-clad feet into a pair of athletic sandals, snatched up a duffel bag he had packed and waiting beside the dresser, and swung the strap over his shoulder. “Later on, I’ll try to get some practice in on being alone. But, Millie, there are only certain games I like to play. Don’t tempt me into proving your theory about not being alone.
“Now, that was a threat,” he added as he sauntered past her, the bag bumping against his hip with each step. Pausing outside the bedroom door, he looked back at her. “How’d I do?”
* * *
Though she wasn’t quite done being indignant, Millie also knew Ty had every right to be pissy with her. She was disgusted with herself. She, Millie Jensen, was spewing so much unmitigated bullshit in the poor man’s direction, she was half-amazed he hadn’t bolted already. This wasn’t like her. She was a woman who prided herself on living a life of no spin. And now, she was spiraling out of control.
She drummed her fingernails on the sticky bar top and waited as a blond bartender dressed in short shorts and a Warriors basketball tank top chopped off below her perky breasts mixed her daiquiri. Avery sat at a tall table in the corner, holding their spot and grimacing into her scotch. Kate was running her own practice tonight, so she was unavailable for the intervention Millie called for herself. Her lips thinned into a straight line as she watched the bartender add a skewer of fruit to the tall glass. This was an emergency. Avery and her new age BS would have to do.
A couple of beery undergrads jostled for position behind her. One of them caught her on the arm as she was pushing away from the bar, drink in hand. Sticky, icy sludge sloshed over her knuckles. She gave the culprit her best “drop dead” look. The kid straightened up fast, swallowed hard, and mumbled a gruff, “Sorry, ma’am.”
Millie huffed as she pushed past them, her sights set on the tiny table. When had she gotten used to being called ma’am? Why was she such an ungodly mess these days? Wasn’t sex supposed to make a person feel all upbeat and whistle-y? Where the hell did Avery find those god-awful patchwork skirts?
Millie voiced the last question, and Avery treated her to a surprisingly sharp-edged smile. “I’d say you need to get laid, but the sex doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, then placed it carefully on the cardboard coaster without taking a sip. “What’s the matter? Ty not living up to his hype?”
“No,” Millie snapped, instantly defensive. “Ty’s great.” In the next second, Avery’s choice of words sank in. “Hype? You’ve heard hype about how good Ty is in bed?”
“Should I have?”
“You said it,” Millie pointed out.
They both paused, and Millie could see Avery playing the exchange back in her head. Finally, Avery shrugged. “A turn of phrase.”
Millie eyed her friend closely. Creative phrasing was a possibility. As an associate professor in the English department, Avery loved words and wordplay. Therefore, word choice was important to her. She wouldn’t have said hype unless she’d heard some hint of hype. Taking a sip of her drink, Millie pondered the possible outlets for said hype. Media? Whispers in the student body? Were faculty members speculating about Ty’s member?
“What hype, Avery?”
Pushing her wild curls back from her face, Avery settled a startlingly direct gaze on her. “The hype you built up in your head.”
“My head?”
“The guy was gone for six weeks. First, the two of you were burning up the mobile minutes, then not talking at all. I have to tell you, this is the weirdest game of cat and mouse I’ve ever seen.” She paused long enough to lift her glass in a mocking salute. “Including in cartoons.”
“Ha-ha.”
Avery took a sip of the scotch, grimaced, then set the glass down. “Seriously. I’m not sure which of you is the cat and which the mouse. I figure I’ll wait to see which one gets the anvil dropped on their head.” She sat back, her smile making it clear she was pleased with her deductive reasoning. “Usually happens to the cat.”
“I think you’re confusing a cat with a coyote.”
Avery shrugged. “Whatever.” She leaned in. “Tell Dr. Preston why you invited her here tonight.”
“I need to talk to you about those hideous skirts of yours.”
“Millie.”
Regardless of her opinions on Avery’s style choices, the woman could switch on the stern-professor stare when she needed to. And Millie felt compelled to tap her inner adolescent. “What?”
“Stop talking about my clothes, and tell me what crawled up your ass.” Avery frowned. “Or maybe the problem isn’t something has, but rather someone hasn’t?” Before Millie could confirm or deny her friend’s theorizing, Avery plowed ahead. “Has he cut you off?” She stared at Millie in wide-eyed wonder. “I mean, we assumed after he tossed you over his shoulder and took you back to his man cave you two were doing it like minks, but maybe not. Is that the trouble? You’re not doing it?”
“First of all, stop saying ‘doing it’ like you’re fifteen or something. Second, yes, we are.”
Avery pounced. “But the trouble is sex.” She leaned in closer. “Am I right?”
Millie didn’t answer. Instead, she stoppered the end of her straw with her fingertip, trapping some of the icy concoction in a vacuum seal.
“Don’t make me take your slushie away from you,” Avery warned.
“The sex is fine. Good. Great,” Millie amended, pulling the straw from the drink. “More than great. It’s sex like I haven’t sexed in…well, ever.” She moved her finger, and the contents of the straw slithered back into the glass.
“I’m sensing a big ‘but’ here.” Avery held up a hand to stave off any rejoinder. “Not that you or Ty have big butts. As a matter of fact, I think we could safely say you make one of the most tight-assed couples ever.”
Millie smirked, amused by her friend’s wordplay. “Thanks.”
“What’s the issue?”
Sucking in a breath, Millie tried to compose her jangled nerves before she answered. “Me.”
Avery snorted. “Oh, well, yeah. Shocker.”
She smiled as she lifted her drink, but it was a grim smile of acknowledgment. “I just… He’s all over me.”
“The horror!”
Her friend’s shocked gasp made Millie chuckle, but there was no stopping her now that the wheels were in motion. “He wants to go to dinner. Stay the night. Sit on the couch and watch movies in sweatpants, for cripes’ sake,” she complained.
“The bastard. How can a monster like this be running loose out in the world?”
“And he’s all presumptuous about us. Like I’m supposed to be waiting around until I can see him.”
“Well, you know I don’t approve of the waiting on a man thing, but in all honesty, Mil, it’s not like you’ve got something else going on right now.”
Avery’s switch from mockery to logic revved Millie’s indignation. “He probably only has about five condoms left. Six tops. Add those to my eleven, and at the rate we’re going, we’re going to burn through them all by next week, and everything will be over!”
The barroom hubbub hummed all around them, but in the few seconds following her outburst, Millie could only hear the low whoosh of her own blood in her ears.
Clearly taken aback, Avery sat up straighter on her stool. She tipped her head to the side like an inquisitive bird. “Pardon me?”
Mortified, Millie snatched her glass from the table and took a long, brain-numbing hit of the frozen concoction. “Never mind,” she rasped, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead to quell the ache in her frontal lobe.
“Millie, are you trying to play by those idiotic dating rules or something? Because if you are, I think you messed up one of the crucial bits when you fucked him.”
Blinking her way through the ebb of the brain freeze, Millie gave her head a subtle shake. “I’m not playing any stupid games.”
“But you are keeping track of the number of condoms you’ve used?” When Millie didn’t answer, Avery searched her face as if she might find the answer to all Millie’s anxieties in her pores. But rather than teasing her, Avery pitched her voice low and soft. “If you’re worried about exhausting your supply, I could always lift a couple dozen on my next run through the health services building.”
To her horror, Millie nearly burst into tears at the offer. Though she managed to hold back, she did reach across the table to give Avery’s hand a squeeze. On the surface, they were as similar as chalk and cheese, but a good friend was a good friend. And a great friend was one who was willing to steal government-subsidized rubbers for you without batting an eyelash.
“No. Thank you,” she said, adding another squeeze of gratitude before taking her hand back. “The condom thing is just something I do.” She looked away, a little ashamed of what she was about to admit. “I don’t like to get too…involved. If I put a time limit on things or set up some kind of endgame—”
“The condom countdown is your out,” Avery concluded. “Out of condoms, and you’re out.”
“I don’t want to get too invested,” Millie said in a rush. The need to explain herself both peeved and overwhelmed her. “He’s younger than I am. He’s newly divorced. One day, he’s gonna want kids, and I can’t give them to him.” The justifications spilled out of her like milk from a tipped cup. “I see no point in either of us getting too attached—”
“In you getting too attached,” Avery interrupted. “You’re planning an out so you don’t risk actually, you know, falling in love with the guy.” She scoffed at the thought, then studied Millie narrowly. “I’ve got a thousand words to describe you, but I never thought ‘coward’ would be one of them.”
“I’m not a coward,” Millie retorted.
“Then be straight with the guy. Say, ‘Hey, Ty, I really like you, and the sex is super awesome, but I don’t want to have dinner with you because I’m scared you won’t like the way I chew. I can’t watch a movie with you because you might want to hold my hand. Oh, and mainly, I can’t fall in love with you because I don’t think I’m good enough for you.’”
“Bullshit.” The word fired out of her like a cannonball. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m good enough.”
“Then he’s not good enough for you?” Avery challenged.
“I’m not saying anyone is undeserving. We’re just two people at different places in their lives.”
“I’ll say.” Avery picked up the tumbler of scotch and tossed back its contents. “He’s in the dark, and you’re in denial.” She slid from the stool, plucked a wad of cash from a pocket hidden in the depth of her skirt, and tossed a few bills on the table. “You want my advice, Millie? Stop being a girl, and act like a woman. Tell the man what you are willing to give and what you want from him. If the two of you can’t come to some rational agreement without counting condoms and pretending you prefer Lean Cuisines to having dinner with the man, then end it now. Not only is ignoring his feelings a shitty thing to do to him and demeaning to yourself, it’s also an insult to everyone who is waiting for the chance at happiness you’re too chickenshit to take.”
Millie was struck by the flash of fury she saw in her friend’s eyes. She reached out and caught her arm. “Avery, wait—”
A sad shadow of a smile curved her friend’s lips. “We’re okay, Millie. Or we will be.” She pushed her wild mass of hair back with her free hand. “I just don’t know if I can listen to you throw away a chance at the thing some of us have been waiting for our whole lives.” She shook off Millie’s grip and ducked into the thick of the Saturday night crowd.
“Avery!” Millie called, but her voice was muffled by the crowd. It was futile.
Settling back to the table, she eyed her mostly untouched drink morosely. The daiquiri was red and thick and sickeningly sweet, the fruit skewer sticking out of the top unappetizing. She spotted Avery’s empty glass, and a coil of regret twisted inside her. Fishing a twenty from her wallet, she pursed her lips as she scanned the crowd for a likely looking lad. Spotting the boy who’d bumped into her earlier, she waved him over to the table.
The young man approached, his expression wary but disconcertingly hopeful. Stifling a sigh, Millie fixed him with a thoroughly patronizing smile. “Stand down, junior. I won’t be teaching you the ways of the world tonight.”
Hope and fear melted into utter confusion. “Ma’am.”
She held up the twenty. “If you get the nice lady a double Dewar’s straight up, you can keep the change for your piggy bank.”
The boy ran off with her cash, and she slumped the slightest bit. Avery was right. She needed to grow up and be honest with Ty about what she wanted from their relationship and what he might expect from her. When they were done, they’d be done. No reason she shouldn’t enjoy the ride until then.
She stared off into space, half wondering if Avery included herself in her statement about people waiting for a chance at happiness, and the other half worried her errand boy had made off with her twenty bucks, leaving her nothing but a fruity drink in which to drown her sorrows. She was reaching for the tall glass when someone slammed a highball down on the table beside her hand.
“Here you go!” her personal waiter exclaimed, clearly proud to have accomplished his mission.
“Thanks, sugar.” Taking the glass, she toasted him with it as he hurried back to his friends. Staring hard at the pungent liquor, she muttered, “Look me up when your beard fills in,” and downed the drink with a flick of her wrist.