Page 35 of The Long Game

With pressure seeming to be coming at me from all sides, I’ve been running a lot lately. I used to run a few times a week, but now it’s a morning routine I need to help me destress before the day begins. Ever since I bought my first home within runningdistance of my parents’ house, it’s the highlight of my run to zip past my childhood home.

I had an early morning conference call I decided to take at my home office. This delayed my usual six am run. As my watch reads eight-thirty, I’m just now stepping out of my front door to start my run. Just about at the half mile mark, I turn the corner to the street my parents live on. I notice a newer, lifted grey chevy pickup truck.

It’s not a vehicle I’ve seen parked outside of their house before. Yet my father, occasionally, has meetings with contractors at his house. This has been happening in higher frequency since he’s been working towards retirement. However, this truck looks like it hasn’t hauled a single bag of concrete or a two-by-four in its short life.

As I run past the house, I’m immediately aware that the person coming to see my dad must have just arrived, because he’s standing at the front of the door, still waiting for my parents to answer.

The hulk of a man is wearing a backwards hat, which seems slightly juvenile for the age I’m guessing he must be. But in his defense, I’m only seeing his backside – an extraordinary backside, might I add.

Still running but at a slightly slower pace to get a closer look at the incredibly fit company my dad has invited over, I quickly sense I’ve seen this body standing at the exact height at the door frame before.

He’s standing the way I swear I’ve seen him stand there for most of my life.

A panic starts to set in. My stomach hits my throat. I’ve almost ran completely past my parents’ home to where visibility of the house guest would be out of sight. I stop and turn around, dumb founded with an almost out-of-body experience. It’s not longbefore the Greek God of a man feels my eyes on him and turns around.

At first, he’s obviously curious about the runner stopping mid stride to gawk at him. His face turns into a familiar smile. A smile that only Tucker Evans can pull off. Cocky but sincere. The picture of a man you can trust but also a face you should know is about to get you in a whole lot of trouble.

His eyes brighten and his smile turns to pure delight. How could he possibly be happy to see me after I just about ended his career? One thing’s for sure, my traitorous nipples are also happy to see him as they harden under his watch.

He turns and takes a few steps back towards the street, to the wrought iron staircase, gripping it and leaning over to get a better look at the confused, heavily panting, sweaty woman in running gear staring back at him. I can only imagine what I must look like.

“Lexi!” He calls out with a wide smile.

I don’t answer back. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing at this point.

He starts to scan me quickly, taking an extra second to stop at my breasts and then hips. He grips the railing a little tighter while he takes me in, causing his biceps and forearms to flex and twitch.

The large vein along his forearm is bulging and even though I know I’m wet from sweating, there’s an area between my legs that is suddenly wet for a different reason. His eyes reach me again and his smile turns warm and sexy.

“You look…” he tries to finish but the front door starts to open and as soon as Tucker looks back towards the door, I’m gone.

No way am I getting caught by my dad standing out front of his house. He would have asked me to join them, I’m sure of it. And there is no way for him to have known that my awkwardness to standing in the same room as Tucker Evans would be dueto the last ten years of sex-fueled confusion between us. Not to mention the accident last year where Tucker’s knee went toe-to-toe with the bumper of a Toyota Camry, sending him to the hospital and potentially ending his career.

No way they are getting me in that house. They’d have to catch me first. And being that Tucker is the fastest NFL running back in the league, he could probably do just that. Better give myself a head start – just in case.

My impromptu run in with Evans is unsettling. I decide to take the longer route back home to avoid another scenario. I wouldn’t put it past Tucker to wait for me. I take a cold shower to shock myself out of spending the rest of the day thinking about him. Hopefully it works because I have so much riding on this merger.

Burning the midnight oil at both ends, with my workload and renovating my house, caffeine has become my best friend. It's half past ten, and I need a caffeine boost. I walk into the coffee shop at the bottom level of my building. A voice starts up behind me but I’m sure I’ve never heard the deep husky, almost sexy voice behind me. I glance back almost expecting the man to be talking to someone else. But he’s not…he’s talking to me.

"Nice to finally see you exist outside of your office." He smiles at me and offers his hand to shake. "Sebastian Clark…the guys from the office across the courtyard."

It finally clicks where I know this gorgeous face from.

"Oh my god! Hi!" I shake his hand.

"Sort of thought at this point we were never going to meet. Which would have been a shame because you are even more beautiful up close. I didn’t think it was possible."

"What a compliment," I say, tucking my loose hair behind my ear. I’m used to compliments but not regularly from guys that look like him. He’s drop dead gorgeous. Incredible jawline line and perfect cheekbones, full lips, six-foot plus, and a body that suggests he puts in work at the gym regularly.

I don’t miss the pretty brunette that just walks by with her coffee in hand, scanning him like a construction worker eyeing a pretty girl walking down the street. I’m half surprised she doesn’t cat-call as she passes.

"Lexi Benson," I introduce. "I’m a bit surprised we haven’t run into each other before this, myself."

I step up to order my drink. Coffee with cream and a shot of vanilla. He speaks over my shoulder and asks for the same, handing the barista cash for both. I smile and thank him.

As we head to the other side for our drinks, we fill each other in quickly about our line of work. He’s an Intellectual Property Lawyer for a huge Law Office that represents big corporate companies. His dealings are with domestic and international affairs, which makes sense for his long days as he works with all different time zones.

I tell him about my line of work, and he has several follow-up questions. He seems genuinely curious about what I do.

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