“Terrifying and high-maintenance. You’re doing great,” I deadpanned.
“No”—his smile softened—“you’re just…not what I expected is all.”
Neither are you.
Before I could reply, a voice cut through the hum of the bar. “Oi, Jordan!”
We both turned to see a man at the entrance tapping his watch like a disappointed dad. Jordan sighed.
“That’s my coach…apparently I’m late.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
He hesitated, his body refusing to turn away quite yet. “It was really nice meeting you, Kate.” He held out a hand. “I’m Jordan.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Jordan.”
His hand was warm and rough. Confident. The kind of handshake you felt all the way up your arm. His gaze lingered, just for a second, on my mouth. “Hope I see you again.”
The heat in my cheeks flared before I could stop it. “Me too.”
He walked away. But not before glancing back once and giving me a reluctant smile.
Right on cue, Gwen reappeared at my side, smirking like she’d been eavesdropping on my inner thoughts.
Which, let’s face it, she probably had been.
“So…” she sang.
“Don’t even start.”
Chapter Four
Kate
We’d barely kickedoff our shoes before Tom, Gwen’s husband, appeared in the hallway holding a beer and wearing the frazzled expression of a man who’d just survived bedtime with a six-year-old. He still had the bulk and authority of a military man, but fatherhood, particularly girl-dad life, had softened him in the best way.
“How was it?” he asked in a stage whisper. “Managed not to get kicked out of Wimbledon?”
“Only barely,” Gwen replied, hanging up her jacket. “Kate pulled a flirty racket boy at the Clubhouse.”
I groaned. “Please never say that sentence again.”
Tom grinned and raised his brows. “Was he hot?” he asked, slipping into his best high-pitched girlfriend voice.
“She practically choked on her whiskey when he smiled at her,” Gwen added smugly.
I gave her an exasperated look. Tom tipped his beer in my direction. “Good on you, Ashford. Who knew the Clubhouse was the new Tinder?”
“Right. I’m going upstairs before you gang up on me further,” I muttered, heading for the stairs.
My dress was digging in to me, and my head was vibrating withthoughts I hadn’t expected. I needed to get whatever this feeling wasoff. When I changed into my usual post-social uniform of leggings, an oversized hoodie, and my hair twisted into a high bun, I finally exhaled. After a long day of walking, overpriced strawberries, Pimm’s, and exchanging far too many glances with a man who looked like temptation wrapped up in tennis whites, I needed soft clothes and tea. Preferably in that order.
When I came back down, Gwen was curled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, grinning like a fool.
I narrowed my eyes. “What now?”
She flashed her phone screen. “Got a text.”
