Page 50 of Playoff

“I’d be out here a lot if I lived here,” he says, staring out at the view.

“I am,” I say. “It was one of two reasons I leased the place.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Well, there were several reasons, but I love having the balcony and the fireplace. There’s also a gym, I have my own parking spot, and it’s very safe.”

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe,” he says quietly, finally looking at me. “I know you can take care of yourself, but any woman who lives alone needs a modicum of security. The world can be a scary place.”

“That it can.” I relax into the chair, the adrenaline from the game finally starting to drain out of me.

“What’s the real reason you’re single, Ro?” he asks out of nowhere. “I’m not being a jerk, I’m really curious. There has to be more to it than just being busy and career-focused. You’re beautiful, educated, have a good job, and you seem as sweet as you always were.”

That’s a hard question to answer.

For so many reasons.

“I guess it’s a lot of things,” I admit. “Guys in L.A. can be so pretentious. Everyone is an aspiring something. Actor, model,producer, screenwriter, musician. No one is just…an accountant. Or a teacher. I mean, I’m sure they exist, but I haven’t met any. And the rest of it is that I am genuinely and truly busy. I travel with the team. On game days I work sixteen to eighteen hours. On regular days it’s at least an eight-hour day, longer if there are meetings.”

“And you’ve never met a guy on the team? This team or the baseball team you worked for?”

I grimace. “When I was working for the baseball team, I was young and trying to prove myself. I didn’t need to get a rep for dating players. And here on the Phantoms, the no fraternization clause in my contract makes it kind of moot.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Ms. Barrowman ismarriedto Gabe.”

“Yeah, it probably doesn’t apply to the person who makes the rules. Hell, we probably shouldn’t befraternizingnow either.” I give him an impish grin.

“I don’t think that means you can’t have friends.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” I take another sip of my drink and realize it’s almost empty. “Ready for another?”

“Absolutely.”

We make two more drinks together and then go back outside.

“You know, if we take into account that whole thing about getting married before we were thirty,” he says, chuckling, “we’re almost out of time.”

“Wellll…” I make a playful face. “I couldn’t marry a guy with a micro-penis.”

He laughs. “Now, you of all people, know that’s not true.”

“Oh, please. I was sixteen when we started sleeping together. I didn’t know a micro-peen from a microchip.”

We both dissolve into laughter. “You may need a reminder, sweetheart.”

I swallow, suddenly stone-cold sober.

That’s the last thing I need.

And yet, my body is on alert, as if it remembers all the things about Blake I’ve tried so hard to forget.

His strong, muscular body.

Deep, passionate kisses that were never sloppy, not even at fifteen.

The look in his eyes every time he was inside me.

Sweet Jesus, this has to stop.

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