“Right. You glanced.”
“Admit it, Tate. Omitting the truth is still lying.”
He chuckles and a comfortable silence falls between us. “That was a very nice thing you did for Darcy.”
The way he’s looking at me, it’s like he sees right through me. I shift with discomfort. “I might as well make a positive impact while I’m here.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. He didn’t shave this morning and his stubble looks like it would feel gritty under my fingertips.
His eyes move to my hair. “Your hair’s down today.”
“Oh, yeah.” I frown. “I couldn’t find a hair tie this morning. I think Phoebe’s stealing them. Maybe she’s using them to make a voodoo doll of me or something.”
His eyes move over me, that warm look in his eyes. “It looks nice.”
My stomach dips in that pleasant, twinging way.
“Thank you for the treat you left on my desk yesterday,” he adds.
A pack of Dunkaroos. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I see him working so hard, taking nothing for himself, and I think about that sound he made and the way his lips felt against my fingers.
Before I can think of anything to say, he gives me a quick wink, like he knows I’m flustered.
“See you at practice, Jordan,” he says as he heads into his office.
CHAPTER 50
JORDAN
A few evenings later,a text pops up on my phone.
It’s a picture of my panties, dangling from Tate’s big hand and strong fingers. These are navy blue with white lace flowers—and I know exactly who brought them to him.
I whirl around, where the evil cat lounges on my bed like it’s hers, wheezing. “Demon!”
Her tail flicks, the perfectI don’t give a fuckbartender stare on her smushed face. I should take notes.
I lean back to peer out the windows, up at Tate’s bedroom, and a laugh slips out of me.
There’s a flickering light in his bedroom. Hesohas a TV.
In our text chat, a typing bubble pops up and then disappears. Is he watching a game? I check the time—it has to be New Jersey and Calgary. Most of the other games are over by this time of night.
My phone buzzes with another text.You won’t believe what Meyersjust did.
A player for Calgary. Something flutters in my chest. He’s baiting me and maybe flirting with me and my heart is racing and I have the worst, most inappropriate urge to?—
I slip my shoes on and because I’ve completely lost control of my impulses, I’m striding to his house.
All I’m going to do is prove he has a TV so I can yellHA,BUSTED!and feel smug about it, and then I’m going to leave. Go back to my guesthouse, I mean. His guesthouse. Whatever.
And I should probably retrieve my panties, too.
His bedroom door is open, and I candefinitelyhear the sound of a game. I was right, I wassoright, and that propels me forward, not the idea of seeing him?—
He’s lying on one side of his bed, against the headboard, strewn out, all long, strong limbs. His left arm tucked behind his head, biceps toned. Is that the navy of my underwear clenched in his fist still? That soft dark gray t-shirt fits him perfectly across his flat stomach, a sliver of skin visible between the hem and his worn brown leather belt. Bare feet. His other hand clutches his phone at his side, his eyes on the TV but a little smirk on his mouth.
The images sear into my mind, sizzling through me. He’s so hot like this, all relaxed and comfy and at ease. He’s hot all the time, but especially like this.
