For another long moment, he stares at me, and alarm spears through me. And the urge to round the desk, charge over to him, and cup his face is so strong I grip the edge of the desk. In the time we’ve been friends, I’ve always been able to read him, tell what he’s thinking.Those amazing sky-blue eyes have hidden nothing from me. I didn’t think they—or he—were capable of it.
Now, though? Peering into eyes that have gone shuttered?
I’m rethinking that belief. And it scares me a little.
Is the man I’m closest to—a man I’ve let inside me—a stranger?
“Of course I’m happy.” He returns his attention to me, and it’s with a smile. A smile that’s so wide, so familiar, it almost dispels the twist of unease in my belly. Almost. “And thank you. Now I owe you.”
“Right.” Here’s where I say I don’t need him to be in my debt. But the conciliatory words don’t emerge. Because a dark part of me wants him to be beholden to me. In a base way, it links us. And I like that. “Well, mission accomplished. Now if you don’t mind, get out. I’m about to leave for the day.”
He cocks his head, a smirk riding the corners of his mouth. And that quick, we’re back on familiar ground. The teasing, laid-back, harmless player. My bestie.
My sarcasm game is strong tonight.
“I thought we were going to dinner. My treat.”
“Sorry, but if you’d called before you dropped by to guilt me into dating your friend, I could’ve told you I had plans.” I add a smile with my lie.
Well, not necessarily a lie. My plans include leftover pizza, Netflix, and more Ravaged Lands.
He nods, taking a step back from my desk, but he stops. Doesn’t turn for the door. Instead, he remains so still only his electric-blue gaze moves as it roams my face before meeting my eyes once more.
“Say no,” he says, voice low, almost a rumble in his wide chest.
What is he talking about? I frown, shaking my head, confusion swamping me.
“To what? My plans?”
He stares at me for another moment, then pivots and heads for the office door. Hand on the knob, he twists and pulls it open, throwing me his trademark cocky grin over his shoulder.
“Your loss, Marilyn. It was going to be some damn good sushi.”
With that, he’s gone, and the room seems smaller, the air in here staler.
I’m less ... charged. Energized.
Giving my head a hard shake, I return my focus to shutting down my computer and gathering my things. I have cold pepperoni-and-onion pizza to get home to and a graphic novel to finish.
Enigmatic basketball players are above my pay grade.
CHAPTER FIVE
JORDAN
“Honor. Integrity. They are not choices. But being a dick? Well, that’s simply a pleasure.”
—North the Woodsman, Ravaged Lands
I’m sure when those old pastors preached about hell and fire and brimstone, they weren’t referring to a three-million-dollar home in a Colorado gated community.
But hey.
Right now, sitting on the couch in the great room with a wall of glass granting a gorgeous view of a star-studded dark sky and acres of wide-open space, I’m definitely in hell.
Because my team is losing, and I’m sitting on my ass on the aforementioned couch and can’t do a fucking thing about it.
“Rebound, dammit,” I snarl under my breath, even though there’s no one in the house to hear me. Marlon Lester races back down the court after having allowed the Celtics forward to box him out and recover the ball Linc had shot and missed. “What the fuck are we doing?”
