Page 16 of Play for Keeps

Greg’s expression was so solemn; Ty could only assume this was his version of a mocking face. For one wild and woolly moment, Ty fantasized about letting his snark off the leash.

He could smash Greg Chambers like a bug, expose him as a bitter wannabe. Ty was tempted. So tempted. Then he caught a flash of firecracker-red out of the corner of his eye and squashed the thought. He wouldn’t.

Doing so would only be a Band-Aid slapped on his wounded pride. It certainly wouldn’t help the university or his program. And going off half-cocked would only hurt Millie.

Poor Millie. Spinning this mess was an impossible task. Like the guy from Greek mythology who had to keep pushing a boulder up a hill. Did the chancellor and the AD appreciate how hard her job must be? She was one slick, savvy woman charged with wrangling more than a half dozen superjock–sized egos. Hell, he knew guys twice her size who’d crumble under the weight she shouldered. But not Millie.

His Millie.

Well, maybe not his yet, but she would be. Once he got this mess pushed to the back burner and his divorce was a done deal. The minute all the pieces fell into place, he’d be making his play. Resolved, he straightened his already straight tie as he focused his attention on Greg Chambers.

“Yes, well, I’m sure we’ll work things out to everyone’s satisfaction. As for Dante Harris, any mantle he has to carry was put on him by the people who sit and talk, not by the people who are actually working with these young athletes.” He drew a deep breath and ran his hand the length of his tie. “The problem is, you all forget that fact. They areyoungathletes. Sure, they have God-given talent. Those who play at the collegiate level are both built to excel and driven to succeed, but they are still young enough to need and seek direction.”

Pausing to collect his thoughts, he slid his damp palms over his thighs. “If anything, I’ve learned we fail as coaches when we allow these athletes to start believing their own press. I didn’t shield Dante Harris from you and every other media mouthpiece who’d crowned him king before the season had even ended. Every coach has to put forth the effort to reach a player who seems to be unreachable. Because of my personal situation…the suspicions I had about my marriage, I couldn’t see beyond my own admittedly healthy ego. I didn’t do everything I could do as a coach and as a mentor to help him review all his options before he put the play into motion.”

Ty nodded, almost to himself. “I failed him.” But before Chambers could launch his celebration dance, Ty beat him to the punch. “So, yeah. As you pointed out earlier, my career as a professional player was a bust, and I think we all know I pretty much tanked as a husband too. Maybe I’ll turn out to be a failure as a coach. We’ll see. But I believe only one thing makes a person a true success—conquering the fear of failure.”

He smiled wanly for the camera.

“Someone once said success was going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm, and I can tell you I am every bit as enthusiastic about the Wolcott Warrior basketball program as I was the day I started the job. And I can guarantee you I will be every bit as enthusiastic about the game of basketball tomorrow as I am today. These past few weeks have been a setback both personally and professionally, but that’s all failure is—a temporary state before we try again.”

Having said what he needed to say, he nodded to Greg, then began to unhook his microphone. Holding the tiny clip pinched between his fingers, he paused to speak directly into the mic. “Thanks for letting me have the chance to talk to you here tonight, but I have to keep on schedule. Always a treat to see you, Greg.”

Chapter 5

Temptation, thy name is Acqua Di Giò. Millie slid closer to the door of the town car. The distance wasn’t nearly enough. Ty seemed to take up every single cubic inch of space. She knew it wasn’t a purposeful thing. The guy was more than six and a half feet tall and, according to the crazy basketball junkie website she’d bookmarked, boasted a wingspan measuring seven feet across. He also wore a size sixteen shoe—the kind of stat she couldn’t help but memorize.

“I think the interview went well.”

She shook off the haze of attraction and looked directly at him for the first time since the driver closed the door. Bad idea. Meticulously groomed to be camera ready, the man looked even better than he smelled. “Yes. Very well, until you cut it short at the end.”

“Not too short,” he argued. “Just enough to reduce the risk of me punching the guy on national TV.”

Needing to shift the balance of power and keep his mood light, she swung her legs toward him, knocking her knees into the side of his thigh. “What’s the deal with you and Greg Chambers?”

Ty looked out the window. The neon lights of Times Square danced across his face, highlighting the smooth curve of his high forehead and a jaw chiseled enough to make a statue jealous. “No deal. He’s a jerk-off, and I’m a failure.” He curled his index finger over his upper lip, but a tiny muscle jumped in his jaw. “No breaking news here. I just wish we could stop rehashing it.”

“So what’s the old news?” she asked. He blew out a breath, and her suspicions were confirmed. Ty and Chambers had a history. A past that might prove to be more dangerous than a few insults mumbled to a small-time reporter. Knotting her fingers together, she kept her gaze steady, refusing to be shut down by his non-answer. “Tell me the story.”

Without so much as a glance, he waved her off. “Nothing.” A beat passed. “Everything.”

He shrugged those wide shoulders, and Millie grabbed hold of the armrest to keep from launching herself across the car at him. A week of intermittent bouts of sexual tension was one thing. Six straight hours of sizzle was enough to frazzle a nun. And she’d never been a particularly religious woman. Though at the moment, hearing Ty’s confession seemed to be the best way to keep her mind off the fact that this too-small town car was heading for her hotel, and if the itinerary SaraAnn had printed for her wasn’t lying, she had a king-sized bed in her room. “Tell me what ‘everything’ is.”

At last, he looked at her. “It’s stupid. Kid stuff someone never outgrew.”

“After you tell me what’s behind this grudge match, we’ll mock him mercilessly. Now, go,” she prompted with a nod. He heaved another one of those whole-body sighs, and her hormones kicked into overdrive. Pressing her fingernails into the soft leather of the armrest, she forced a fake smile. “Unless you’re the one who never outgrew it.”

He rolled his eyes at her tactics but gave in with grace. “We played against each other a few times in school. I won. We both declared for the draft. I got picked; he didn’t. I had the chance he thought he should have had, and I couldn’t deliver. Plain and simple.”

“Doesn’t look plain and simple.”

“You’d think at some point he’d let it go.” He shook his head and made a show of studying the blur of lights whizzing past his window. “It’s been twenty years. Why can’t he find another yardstick?”

She had no answer and didn’t feel inclined to make one up. As far as she was concerned, it was better to let these testosterone-fueled flares burn themselves out. No sense in getting scorched when they got their drawers in a twist over the stupidest things. The male ego was a strange, indecipherable mystery, one she had given up trying to sort out years ago. So she changed the subject.

“When do you leave for Reno?”

He twisted his wrist and pulled back his cuff to check the time. She liked the way the chunky wristwatch looked on him. Usually, he wore a utilitarian sports watch, but this was one of those sleek stainless-steel deals that probably cost more than her first car. Hell, maybe even her current car. “Eleven forty. Plenty of time.”

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