Page 53 of Hard to Score

“Did you need something?” she asks.

“No. I just . . . I don’t know.” I chuckle and feel like a complete idiot. “When can we see each other again?”

“I like the way your mind thinks.”

“You do, huh?”

“I do. In fact, I was sitting here looking out of my office window thinking way too much about the other night.”

And I can picture her in some high-rise building with her heels on, her long legs crossed at the knee, and her hair pulled up off her neck.

“Hopefully they were all good thoughts.”

“Mm-hmm. More along the lines of want to do it again thoughts.”

“Is that so?” I ask as my body hums at the prospect.

“It is.”

“When can I see you again?” I ask. “I get back into town on Monday morning.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that?”

“Why?”

“I leave Monday morning for the Midwest for meetings.”

“Can you tell those corn-fed Midwest boys you have other plans?”

“This time it’s a female gymnast, but I can tell her.”

I laugh and even when the sound dissipates, my smile remains.

That’s what she does to me.

“When do you come back?” I ask, clearly desperate to see her again.

“Friday morning,” she says and I groan. “Let me guess, you fly out Friday?”

“Yep. Miami.”

She sighs. “Is this where I say good things come to those who wait and then we both pretend like we’re okay with waiting?”

“I’m not okay with it,” I deadpan.

Her laughter fills the line. “That makes two of us.”

“Good to know.”

“Sunday night when you get home from Miami then.”

“Such the planner.”

“Always.” She laughs. “So, tell me about your day.”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” I tease.

“Long version. I like to hear your voice,” she murmurs and wins over another piece of me.