Page 57 of Play for Keeps

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.”

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