Page 64 of Play for Keeps

The fact that he had such an easy time ignoring the girl he’d married but couldn’t trust himself not to prostrate himself at Millie’s feet spoke volumes. He didn’t allow himself to drive past Millie’s house, even if the little bungalow was sort of on his way home.

She’d set up pick after pick, using one lame excuse after another to stop their relationship from progressing past square one. Fine. He’d wait her out. Riding a big, fat pile of mad, he showered, changed into a pair of the baggy shorts Millie hated so much, and went to the fridge to rustle up something to eat.

The only things he found were cartons of leftover Thai food.

Letting the door slam shut, he dug his phone from the pocket of his shorts, powered up, and ignored the series of alerts flashing across the screen. Barely paying attention, he scrolled to the number for his favorite pizza joint. Thanks to the magic of caller ID, his pal Mickey was making up a large coach’s special before Ty disconnected.

Almost immediately, the damn thing rang. Blowing out a sigh, he stared at Mari’s smiling face. The phone buzzed and bleated, but he didn’t take the call. A few seconds later, the persistent noise stopped. Eyes locked on the Warrior logo on his wallpaper, he waited for a voicemail alert. The chime never came. Neither did a text, which was odd. If Mari was truly intent on speaking to him, she’d have no compunction about pulling out all the stops. When they were married, she’d had no problem upgrading a toilet paper run into the mobile equivalent of an all-points bulletin.

Restless and reluctant to stray too close to the wet bar, he stayed in the kitchen. He hopped up on the counter, because he had no woman around to tell him not to. To pass the time, he scrolled through the headlines on his tablet. He’d worked his way down to the entertainment section and resorted to tapping on a quiz designed to reveal whichFull Housecharacter he was when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, thank God.” He hopped down, grabbed his wallet, and beat a path toward the front door. “Man, you have no idea how close I came to being Uncle Jes—”

He stopped when he found Millie standing on his welcome mat. Sadly, without a pizza. Gripping the edge of the door, he took a half step back before he caught himself. His ears burned, but he tried to pretend he answered the door shirtless every damn day.

“Hey.”

“So here’s the thing,” she said, pushing past him without further preamble. “I’m not a ‘we’ kind of person. I don’t like other people making plans for me. I don’t…function as a unit.” She spun on her heel, lost her balance, but corrected before he could even get the door closed. “This is not a long-term thing for either of us. I like you. You like me. I’d like us to still like each other after all this is done.” She waved a hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “We probably won’t like each other much if we let things get all messy and emotional, so here’s what I’m proposing…”

She paused, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyes gleamed in the light from the chandelier. “Are you with me so far?”

“I’m riveted.”

And he was. No power in heaven or on earth could distract him from hearing this mysterious “proposal” of hers. Not even the roar of a muffler-less motor pulling to a stop in his driveway. He made an impatient gesture for her to continue.

“How many condoms do you have?” she asked.

Within seconds of showing up, she threw him completely off his game. Letting his arms fall to his sides, he moved toward her right as the doorbell rang. “What?”

Millie glanced from him to the door, then back again. “Oh. You had plans.” Holding up both hands as if to indicate a foul, she tried to shrug the strap of her bag back up to her shoulder. When she started for the door, he shifted to block her path. “Ah! Right. Sorry.” She swung around and took off into the house. “I’ll go out through the back. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He caught her arm. “That’s the pizza guy.”

She looked up, her eyes wide but brightening. “Pizza guy?”

Ty was ninety-nine percent sure that if she could see the flash of hope in her own face, she’d have bolted for the door and never come back. The woman had no idea how much she gave away by working so hard to conceal even the smallest hint of emotion.

“Pizza guy,” he repeated as the bell rang again. “Stay. We’ll have pizza—” A mulish frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and he backpedaled. “I’llhave pizza, and you can tell me all about your proposed safe-sex campaign.” She huffed a laugh, and he gently unfurled his hand, relaxing his hold on her millimeter by millimeter. “Okay?”

His phone started blaring. He cast an exasperated look at his pocket as the delivery driver resorted to pounding on the door with his fist.

Millie took pity on him and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Frazzled and more than a little cranky, he groped through the fabric of his shorts for the mute button as he rushed for the door. The delivery man was two steps down the front walk and spewing a string of obscenities into his own cell by the time Ty flew out the door calling, “Sorry, man. Sorry.”

He gave the frizzy-haired Dungeons and Dragons–type a conciliatory pat on the arm as he caught up to him. The kid ended his call without another word, his jaw falling slack as he tilted his head farther back to look him in the eye.

“No problem,” he mumbled.

Flipping open his wallet, Ty extracted two twenties and extended them. “Here. Keep the change.”

“Oh. Well, cool. Thanks.” He almost tore the Velcro flap off the thermal bag in his haste to exchange his burden for a hefty tip. “Have a good night,” he called as he headed for the beater parked in the drive.

Ty nodded to the kid’s back and muttered, “Yeah, could go either way,” under his breath as he returned to the house.

He found Millie perched on one of the tall bar stools lined up at the island. Ty gave his head a shake, then nodded toward the farmhouse table in what Mari liked to call the breakfast nook. “Let’s go to the table. You can lay it all out for me.”

He tucked a roll of paper towels under his arm and carried everything over to the table. Millie hadn’t budged from the stool. Raising a challenging eyebrow, he gestured to the refrigerator. “Help yourself to whatever you want. I’m gonna grab a shirt.”

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