Page 33 of Necessary Roughness

Kyan let out a laugh. “There will be no towel snapping.” They moved into the bathroom as Tanner headed to the toilet. “In the interest of full disclosure, there’s something you should know about me.”

“What’s that?”

Kyan locked eyes with him. “I’m gay. Is it going to be an issue for you?”

The three men came to a halt and stared at each other for a few seconds. Tanner nodded at Kyan, who nodded back.

“Nope,” Tanner said.

“Good. Let’s take care of things in here, we’ll get you dressed for your day, and go from there.”

***

TWO HOURS LATER, Tanner was sitting on his deck with a book, his cell phone, and a glass of iced tea. He needed some rest. Jordan had left for the office without supervising his workout, which was mostly his fault. He knew what time she was around, and he’d slept through his alarm. She’d suggested some time in the gym later.

Maybe another buddy wanted to stop by and they could grill up some steaks or something later today. He needed to see someone besides doctors, Harrison, and Jordan. Then again, he didn’t need a buddy. Maybe he should call one of the women he’d seen a few times before his surgeries. They’d skip the steak and go right to dessert, in his room and behind a locked door. The longer he considered this option, the more he liked it. It would solve his most immediate problem. He wouldn’t think about Jordan so much if he was actually seeing someone else. She could continue working with him. Everything would be great.

He scrolled through his contact list like a three-year-old who’d chugged Mountain Dew while he muttered to himself. “No. No. No. Shit, no. Why do I still have her number?” He clicked Delete next to the name and contact info for a woman who’d made it clear she was in the market for a baby daddy (and a nice monthly check for the next eighteen years) the last time he saw her. He hadn’t even taken his pants off. To say that he hit her front door at a full run would be an understatement.

He scrolled through a few more names. “No. No. No.” He stopped on a woman who’d sent him a get-well card a month or so ago that his former team sent on to him. She was a possibility. He knew she lived in Seattle, she was a former Seattle Sharks cheerleader, and she was single. It was time to give her a call.

The woman who answered was breathing hard. “This is Tabitha,” she said.

“Hey. It’s Tanner Cole. Is it a bad time? Would you like me to call you later?”

“No, no,” she gasped. “I just finished my spin class. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, but I haven’t had a date in a while,” he said. She let out a wheezing laugh.

“What did you have in mind?” she said.

“I know it’s short notice, but are you busy tonight?”

“I don’t have plans yet. What are you up to?”

Six foot four and hard as a rock, he thought. “Would you like to come over and have some dinner with me? I’m still recovering, but I’d enjoy a visit.” He’d enjoy a lot more than that. He had no interest in ending up on that cheesy show depicting people who’d ended up in the ER due to their sexual misadventures, for instance. Maybe he should take it easy.

“I’d love to,” she said.

“That’s great. I’ll text you my address. How about seven?”

“Perfect,” she said.

“I’ll see you then,” he said.

He wasn’t going to think about Jordan all night.

***

JORDAN PULLED TO a stop in front of Tanner’s garage shortly before seven PM that night. She could see his car through the windows in the garage door. It wasn’t like he was going for a spin on Lake Washington Boulevard with his knee. He was here. Dammit. All she had to do was get through the house without being seen. She could hide out in her room for the night. She knew she was a chicken for not talking to him about that kiss, but she needed a change of clothes and some wine before tackling that.

She reached out to grab her purse and threw herself out of the car, only to see a late-model Kia pulling into the driveway. Maybe Tanner ordered another pizza or something. The driver parked behind her and got out of the car, and Jordan tried not to stare.

The woman wasn’t a pizza delivery driver unless one of the local pizza places was hiring supermodels. Delivery drivers didn’t usually wear skin-tight shorts and cleavage, either. High-heeled leather booties and aggressively teased long blonde hair completed her ensemble. Jordan had never actually seen a woman look like she’d walked off the front cover of Vogue in nothing but tinted moisturizer and mascara before.

Maybe she was Tanner’s new chef.

She gave Jordan a confident smile. “Hey. This is Tanner’s place, right?”

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