Page 72 of Play for Keeps

She whirled back to face him, the box clutched in her hand. “No, because the second I do, you’ll drop that fine ass of yours into your sulking chair and try to drown your sorrows in a bottle.” Yanking open the refrigerator, she smirked at the nearly empty shelves, then shoved the box inside. “I can’t let you. People like you and me, we suck at sulking. Pouting leads to nasty hangovers, extra housework, and”—she let the door swing shut as she searched for one more consequence for rampant self-indulgence—“pimples.”

Dark brows rose. “Pimples?”

“Maybe only those of us who use chocolate as a crutch.”

He rewarded her with a weak smile. “But we’re not the type to sulk, you and me.”

Drawing a deep breath, she steeled her spine and crossed the room to stand right in front of him. “No. We’re the type to barrel right on through to the finish.”

“I need to look into how paternity tests work.”

She nodded and reached for one of his hands. He gave it to her willingly. “I think a test would be the first logical step.”

Ty looked up at her, his eyes dark and searching. “And if the baby is mine?”

“Then we figure out what to do next.”

He blinked slowly, his jaw set. “Yeah. We figure it out.”

“But first things first.” She gave his hand a hard squeeze to command his full attention. “Admit nothing. Agree to nothing. Don’t even talk to Mari.” She crouched down until they were eye to eye. “Block her calls if you have to.”

He started to say something, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “No. Call your attorney, and request the paternity test. I didn’t say anything about this before because I wasn’t sure if it was true or relevant, but the rumor mill has been saying she and Dante have been on the outs. If so, pregnant or not, she may be looking for a soft place to fall.”

“And I’m a big, old softy,” he said with more than a hint of bitterness.

Laying her hand along his jaw, she stroked the sharp slope of his cheekbone. “No. You are a good and honorable man.” Giving him a wobbly smile, she leaned in and kissed him tenderly. “And if Jane Austen taught the world anything, it’s that good and honorable men get screwed around a lot before they get their happy ending.”

“And you think I’ll get a happy ending?”

She forced a smile, but she knew the result was weak. “I know you deserve one.”

“People don’t always get what they deserve.”

“Not if they leave everything up to destiny.” She kissed him again, this time with gusto, but pulled back before he could wrap her up and pull her against him. “People make their own luck.”

Catching his forearms, she stepped out of the circle of his reach. A slick side step brought her back to the seat across from him. Plunging her hand into her bag, she groped until she got hold of her tablet, then yanked the pad free. “Call your lawyer,” she instructed. “I’m going to do a little research.”

Ty shifted his weight to one hip and dug in his shorts pocket for his phone. “What are you doing?”

Not looking up, Millie tapped an icon on the screen. “Doing what I do best—managing facts.”

She smiled as she scanned her files, but it wasn’t a happy smile. She’d come here tonight hopped up on Dutch courage and expecting to be in his bed by now. Instead, they’d bickered, played true confessions, and continued the crazy tango she’d hoped to end by scattering all her cards out on the dance floor. Then she’d barfed, and his phone rang, and the world went wonky. But now she had a mission: Protect Ty. Get Ty everything he wanted.

Replaying the events in her head, she tried not to react to the growing urgency in Ty’s deep voice as he dumped all the evening’s revelations into his attorney’s lap. She had her own mission. A swipe, two taps, and a little scrolling later, she had new ammunition. Thanks to Mari’s addiction to hashtagging every occasion in her life, Millie captured screenshots of a few less-than-flattering photos.

Under #MerryMari, she found several pictures of Ty’s ex-wife partying with men who were not her husband, some dating back as far as a year prior. They proved nothing, but one didn’t need proof to convict someone in the court of public opinion. All she needed was enough leverage to hold Mari in check until this mess could be settled one way or another.

She switched her search to the more incriminating #RecruitingTrip hashtag she’d stumbled across in the months before Ty’s marriage imploded. It didn’t take a genius to piece the string of events together. The Warriors’ season had ended before the tournament. Ty and his assistants had made a round of visits to shore up their relationships with players who’d already committed to Wolcott and possibly sway a few who may have been on the fence.

Mari Ransom had used the same opportunity to get in good with Ty’s star player. The pictures of Mari and Dante left little room for hoping their relationship was strictly platonic. Some had been dug up when the news of the affair went public. Mari had then deleted most of them, but Millie had grabbed screenshots before the posts disappeared. She’d started a file of them long before the story broke, just in case things got ugly. Uglier.

Tearing her gaze from the screen, she found Ty prowling the kitchen as he listened to his attorney. It boggled her mind to think any woman would choose an amped-up puppy like Dante Harris over Ty’s sleek, smooth grace. He moved like a big cat. A leopard or panther. Each step deliberate. The play of muscle under satiny skin mesmerizing. His focus compelling and utterly unwavering. As if sensing her stare, he turned. Their gazes met and held. Her stomach twisted into a knot, but then he smiled. A rough, grim attempt. Wary and weary. A bit ragged around the edges. But a smile nonetheless, and meant only for her.

Hell, maybe he’d already caught her and she didn’t realize. Or want to admit to being too far gone over him. Still murmuring yeses and nos into the phone, he closed the distance between them. His long toes bumped her shoes, then he covered her foot lightly with his, holding her in place as he bent to brush a bone-melting kiss to the top of her head. She put a hand on his chest, not quite sure if she meant to hold him or push him away. Either way, she had to touch him.

Straightening, he mumbled, “Yeah, she says three months,” as her hand trailed oh-so-innocently over his abs. She curled her fingers into a small fist when she hit the waistband of his shorts but allowed her knuckles to graze his crotch when her hand fell away. Ty raised his eyebrows, his face a mask of mild shock. But the light in his eyes said her playful advances were always welcome.

“Right, I know,” he said into the phone. He closed his eyes, snapping the connection between them like a thread. “I want to get started on whatever I need to do, so I can figure out where to go from here.”

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