Page 57 of Playoff

“There are scientific reasons why. For one thing, almost all of them devote their formative years to developing their physical abilities, so they don’t have the interpersonal skills necessary for a good marriage. In addition, the travel can be brutal, both forthe athlete and the spouse left behind. It can be lonely, and there are always willing women. And finally, a lot of these guys start making a ridiculous amount of money at a very young age. It can be hard to manage, and they often get taken advantage of by women who aren’t interested in anything else. So it’s not entirely the athletes’ fault, but seriously, seventy percent. Why would I want to set myself up for those kinds of odds?”

I grimace.

Why, indeed.

“Jesus. I never thought about it like that.”

“Look for a nice, handsome chiropractor. Statistically, they’re a great choice in husband.”

A chiropractor?

I stare at her.

She stares back.

Then we both giggle.

“Dr. Feinstein?” I whisper, referring to the team’s middle-aged chiropractor. “Even if he was single…no.”

“You have to find them either in college or right after. They get scooped up quick.” She slowly opens her laptop again. “Forget about athletes, Rowan. It just leads to heartbreak.”

And then she goes back to tap-tapping on her computer.

Great.

Now I feel even worse.

I don’t think she knows anything happened with Blake and me, but she knows he’s the reason I asked her about dating. I saw it in her eyes.

And if she figured it out, other people who know me well will too.

The flightto Alaska is long, and by the time we get to the hotel, I’m tired. A group of guys are going to dinner, and they invite me, but I’m just going to hole up in my room with room service and a movie.

“Hey.” And of course, Blake winds up on the elevator with me.

“Hi.” I try to keep my voice friendly, but I probably sound as stilted and weird as I feel.

“You’re not okay.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer.

Hell, I don’t even look at him.

“Ro?” He gently turns me by the shoulders. “Why won’t you look at me? Are you upset about last night? Did I do something wrong?”

“Last night was incredible,” I say quietly, “but it can’t happen again.”

“We already talked about that—so why are you acting weird? Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad—I’m worried about my job!” I snap. Then I sigh. “Sorry. It’s just… no one says anything to you about who you can fuck. But my entire career could be on the line because I can’t control my hormones.”

The jerk actually chuckles. “I think you control them just fine. But this thing between us still burns hot. It’s hard to ignore.”

“But we have to,” I protest, my eyes snapping to his.

“I know.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “It’s just hard not to think about how good it was.”

“That’s the problem. That’sexactlywhy I’m being weird.”

“Babe, this thing between us isn’t going to go away just because you want it to or because we’re focused on the playoffs or any other excuse we come up with.”

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