Before she had time to respond, Reese shut the door into the bathroom.
Sydney flopped down on the bed forcefully, groaning into the mattress. “Get it together,” she said into the pillow she’d found and shoved under her head, not that she deserved the extra comfort.
With Reese safely ensconced in the bathroom, those what-ifs had time to flit through Sydney’s mind again.
Probably. What didprobablymean?
Probably, as in things would have gotten weird if they’d kept going? Or probably, as in it would change everything, and maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?
Either way, that ‘probably’ signaled possibility, something that Sydney was already deep in her awareness of in the last few days.
A year ago, Sydney wouldn’t have thought twice about going after what she wanted. Not in the relationship sense, since she and Grant were still together, but if there was something she wanted to achieve, she’d been unrelenting in her pursuit of it.
Three years ago, she’d gotten her parents the house they loved, even though it hadn’t been on the market. Two years ago, she’d snagged one of the top coaches in Florida, intent on improving her game and making her name in the Grand Slam finals a common occurrence. Early last year, she’d won two smaller tournaments in the first three months of the tour, solidifying herself as a contender to be reckoned with.
It was like there was a massive line cleaved straight down the middle of her life, before and after she’d discovered Grant’s infidelity. Now, she didn’t know who—or what—to trust, especially not when her own judgment was concerned.
Sydney was attracted to Reese; that was just a statement of fact. And she felt more like herself whenever they spent time together. Alight. Curious. Playful.
But given her track record for the last year, she wasn’t the best one to push anything between them. Reese was the one with complicated family dynamics on her side, and it wasn’t fair for Sydney to muddle their agreement when any ensuing fallout would land more heavily on Reese’s shoulders.
Which was a lot easier to convince herself of until Reese stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in boyshorts and a soft, almost threadbare T-shirt with the Stanford logo on it.
Sydney felt her pulse low in her stomach, a dull ache at the sight of her.
“All done?” she practically squeaked as she hopped up from the bed.
Reese nodded, and Sydney slipped quickly into the bathroom.
Just like they had in the bedroom, Sydney’s thoughts warred within her, and it wasn’t until she looked at her watch that she realized she’d been hiding out over the sink for almost half an hour.
After changing, brushing her teeth, and washing her face, she’d spent the other, oh, twenty-two minutes in various states of distress.
“Ugh. She’s going to think I’m having a meltdown in here.” Which wasn’t that far from the truth.
Also, when had Sydney started talking to herself so much? She really needed to call Hallie, but at least she’d see her tomorrow to work through everything.
But she knew, if Hallie was here, she’d tell her to buck up and get her ass out there. Nothing good ever happened from sitting on the bench.
With that in mind, she opened the door and tried to summon courage she didn’t feel to get into bed next to Reese and pretend like she wasn’t a complete tongue-tied loser.
Reese, again, wasn’t making it easy for her, lying as she was under the covers with her pillows propped behind her as she read a book.
Was being aroused from someone else looking comfortable a thing? It seemed plausible, if Sydney’s bodily response was any indication.
“What are you reading?” she asked, slipping under the covers as unobtrusively as she could manage.
Reese rested the book on her stomach, and Sydney made sure not to think about how she’d touched that skin only hours ago. “A management book on best practices for integrating yourself with new teams.”
“Very… specific.” Sydney took a chance and snuggled a little farther under the covers. Stan and Margie had great taste in bedding.
“It’s boring as all hell,” Reese admitted with a wry grin, “but I’m committed to doing things right at The Stone’s Throw.”
And things like that! Why did Reese have to be genuinely kind and want to do a great job at her work, even if she was the owner and, in reality, could do whatever she wanted?
But instead of Reese picking her book back up and leaving the conversation there, she rubbed at the corner of it, staring at Sydney intently.
“What’s on your mind?” Sydney finally asked, the not-knowing worse than whatever Reese would say. Probably.
