"That would be correct."
"But—probably a lot happened to him while . . . you were gone." His brooding gaze on her, she turned her attention to the placemat. "And maybe . . . you didn't respect that. Four years is a long time. By then, Curt was probably used to making his own decisions. What you thought of as guidance, he perceived as you shoving your opinions down his throat."
For a long time, Travis sat there, frozen to the chair. Caught in the churning despair he was so obviously holding back, MaryJo was at a loss what to do. This was not the sort of pain that went away with comforting words. "Travis—I'm sorry. I don't know any of the details. I shouldn't have spoken when I don't-"
"How would you fix it?' The monotone voice grew husky, perhaps with a glimmer of hope.
"Without knowing what happened . . . I still think I would start over fresh. If your—issues are a result of the accident—then that was years ago. Enough time has passed." His beautiful eyes heated, staring at her intently. For a moment, she lost her train of thought. "Treat him as an equal. Ask for his advice."
"On what?" His voice held curiosity.
"Anything." She shrugged. "His jump shot."
That provoked a smile. "Mine's better."
"How about electrical stuff," she suggested. "That might be a good place to start. Ask him for advice on new light fixtures. Or-" She reached for his hand. "Treat him as a professional. Have him . . . build you a security system."
"I have one."
She smiled over his logic. "Couldn't it be improved?"
His expression suggested doubt. "It's a pretty good one-"
"Travis—stop being so practical. Let Curt be the expert on something. Let him experience you needing him for something-"
"He's my brother. Of course I need him-"
"Let him impress you," she suggested. "Let him feel valuable to you—for a skill you don't have. Have him . . . rig up some exterior lighting." An image flashed, making her smile, despite her nerves. "Ask him to light up your backyard, so the next time—you'll be able to see the crazy neighbor hanging from your tree without having to stumble around in the rain."
His mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile that flooded her heart with warmth. "As it turns out, I’m damn glad it was you I found hanging there."
"WHERE'S MY COFFEE," MaryJo mumbled as she stifled a yawn. At only eight-fifteen on Saturday morning, the downtown YMCA was bustling with crazy, devoted people already working out. Not that she didn't aspire to be like them, she just aspired to do it a little later in the day. Like noon.
Eyes bright and appearing curiously refreshed, Curt handed her a Styrofoam cup. "I got you a large, just in case." Glancing over his shoulder, he turned back. "Don't spill it on the court. They kick you out for stuff like that."
"Bless you." Sipping it gratefully, she set her gym bag on the closest bleacher. "Where's my donut?"
Cracking a smile, Curt nodded. "You thought I forgot, right? It's on the front seat of my car. But you really can't eat that in here or they'll get pissed off and throw us out."
Travis' brother was seriously likeable. Unlike the previous night, he seemed free of tension this morning. Despite a slight limp, his loose-limbed build and sandy blond hair left more of an impression of carefree, surfer dude than tired, wary electrician. "I'm just teasing. I already ate."
Tossing her the ball, he nodded for her to take it down the court. "Let's see what you've got while we wait for the others to get here. If you're any good, I want first crack at you."
"I'll try not to disappoint." Smirking, she caught the ball easily, taking it down the court for a few warm-up shots. Easily dodging his block, she went in for an easy layup. After getting off two more shots unchallenged, she protested. "Are you even trying to block my shot?" Ball in hand, she directed him to the key. "C'mon, cowboy up," she ordered. "Get in my space. Confront me."
Curt cracked up. "I was trying to respect the fact that you're a girl. You want me to throw a punch?"
"I want you to fight for the ball." For the next few minutes, she ordered him around, directing him left and then right, stopping him when he revealed his tells. "There—your eyes just showed me where you were going next. Either fake it, or keep it to yourself."
"You've obviously played before." His gaze registered appreciation. "I want you on my team."
"Not in a while," she admitted. "I played in high school and then a bit in college."
"That explains a lot." Recognition dawned in his eyes. "You played college ball? Hell, yeah—you're definitely on my team."
"I was mostly on the practice squad during college," she hastened to correct his delusion. Already out of breath, the last thing she needed was for him to think she was some sort of ringer.
"Where'd you play?" Curt lunged left, intent on getting around her. Familiarity setting in, she matched him easily, predicting his moves, blocking his attempt to get to the net.
"The University." Her gaze never leaving his, she anticipated his dodge right and slapped the ball from his hand. Together, they watched it dribble away, until it was scooped up by a newcomer.
Curt turned to stare at her. "Holy shit—that's Division One. If you were good enough for practice squad there, you're gonna kick ass in this tournament. You are so on my team."
"For the low, low price of a donut, we have a deal." Grinning, they shook hands before strolling back to the bleachers to meet the gathering players.
WATCHING THEM FROM the sidelines, Travis had discovered two things in ten minutes. Arriving early, he'd hung back, enjoying watching his brother and MaryJo goofing around on the court. It had taken only three minutes to learn MaryJo was damn good at basketball and far too modest about her ability. Smothering his chuckle when she ordered Curt to play tougher, he was more interested in his brother's reaction. Hearing Curt laugh sent a warm burst of pleasure through his chest. Edgy, bleak, hollowed-out Curtis—was cracking jokes with her as she pushed him around. Despite his limp, a remnant of the crushed leg he'd received in the crash, his brother was getting his game on.
Smiling as he walked toward him, Curt pointedly glanced at his wrist. "Way to be late, bro."
"I promise it won't happen again." To MaryJo, he nodded. "Good morning." Her cheeks already flushed pink, her amazing eyes sparkling, she smiled.
"Curtis remembered my donut."
A strange sense of happiness stealing over him—for once, Travis didn't question it. He didn't analyze whether enjoying MaryJo's company was a sign of weakness. Leaning in, he whispered. "If that's all it takes to make you smile, I'll stop by every morning with one."
"Let me introduce everyone." Again surprising Travis, his brother made the introductions to the dozen or so guys who'd showed up to help him with the charity event. Curtis kept the explanations brief about why they were there—the Marshall Family Charitable Foundation. He'd found himself holding his breath, waiting for Curt to mention the crash—afraid it might wipe the rare smile from his face. But he steered clear of the accident, sticking to the foundation and their literacy mission. For ten minutes, he watched his brother lay out the details of the tournament he'd created. The teams involved. The money being raised. The corporate sponsorships he'd managed to nail down.
Fielding questions from the guys, he succeeded in soliciting help for tournament day. As Curt revealed his plans, several guys ended up agreeing to coerce wives and girlfriends and kids to volunteer with snack booths; publicity; admissions and a whole host of details Travis never realized would be necessary for a basketball tournament. To say he was impressed by Curtis wouldn't have done it justice. He was floored by what his brother had accomplished in such a short time. As the huddle broke up, he drifted closer to his brother.
"This is amazing, Curt. You've done a great job."
Slapping him on the shoulder as the guys headed for the court, Curt nodded. "Let's play some ball. I call dibs on MaryJo."
THREE HOURS LATER, MaryJo remembered why she'd been happy to give up basketball. Panting as she collaps
ed on the bleachers, she unearthed a water bottle from her duffel. Mopping perspiration from her forehead, she turned to scowl at Curtis when he dropped down next to her. "Next time you plan this event, I need at least two months to get in shape for it."
"I'll give you a week and a half." Grinning, he fist-bumped her shoulder. "You're going to be our secret weapon. I want you lookin' all girlie when you show up for the tournament."
"You want me playing in pearls?" Shaking her head, she questioned his sanity.
"Hell, no." Travis' voice held disgust as he joined them. She'd had trouble focusing when he was in the vicinity. Looking incredibly hot in his basketball shorts, his intensity in the game was also a turn-on. MaryJo had found herself wishing she could be sitting on the sidelines, just watching him. Drooling over him in peace. He'd caught her staring at least three times. Now—she was a sweaty mess, sitting between two hot brothers—talking sports. God—what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be normal?
Glancing around, she discovered a row full of women who'd quietly shown up for the latter half of practice. Cute women. Sexy women. Non-stinky, non-sweaty, well-dressed women. Carefully sipping lattes, likely snickering at her behind well-manicured fingers. Waiting for their guys to finish practice so they could catch their brunch reservation. Suddenly, MaryJo saw herself through their eyes. The sporty friend. The woman who tried too hard—who had tons of guy friends, but never one of her own. Her face suffused with heat. Was this her destiny? She was thirty-one. And alone.
"We're thinking spandex." Unaware of her depressing epiphany, Travis and Curt were engrossed in a debate over how she could prove to be distracting to their opponents. Making it worse, several of the new guys chimed in.
"A sports bra," one suggested.
"Dude—yoga pants. That would be killer." Several nodded. "Maybe a bikini top."
Despite her painful awareness of the women watching them, she forced a chuckle as the brothers nodded in agreement. "I think you've got the wrong woman for the 'sex bomb' diversion," she reminded.
Heat flooded her face as she caught the admiring glance that passed between Travis and his brother. Okay—that was sort of nice. It was hard to feel attractive with sweat trickling down her back, but maybe they saw things differently. Growing more self-conscious by the second, she picked up her duffel, avoiding the eyes she sensed judging her in the stands. "Once you decide on my uniform, just let me know." Forcing a smile, she headed for the showers. Suddenly deflated after the fun banter of the practice, she tried not to think about the things in her life that were missing. Like flirting over brunch with an attractive man. Lingering glances over mimosas. Wandering a flea market. Or spending the day in bed with him- MaryJo released a gusting sigh. A beautiful Saturday and she was going home to her cats. Alone.
"DUDE—SOMETHING JUST happened." Curt thumped his arm as Travis searched for his towel.
"What?" His mind was currently fully occupied with visions of MaryJo in the shower. Unable to remove his gaze from her after they'd left the court, Travis had finally taken a few steps back. Maybe physical distance would work on his over-active imagination. Tousled, out-of-breath, her cheeks pink from exertion—and all he could think about was how hot she was. Her maddening scent. How much he would have liked to strip her from her clothes and join her in the shower-
His brother thumped him again. The naked MaryJo image dissolved. With a flash of annoyance, he sighed. "What are you talking about?"
"I think MaryJo might be upset—about us talking about her." Curt's expression was worried. "We need her for the game, Trav. She's too good to lose."
"Where do you get that?" Stumped, he tried to recall the conversation. Oh, yeah. Yoga pants and bikini tops. Hell—he'd been too busy envisioning her in them to notice her expression.
"She got this weird look on her face. Like she was upset—but she was trying not to show it."
Travis paused, unsure whether he was more surprised Curt could pick up on a subtlety like that, or that he might actually be right. "I'm sure she's fine," he dismissed. "MaryJo loves sports. That's one of the coolest things about her."
"Trav—don't blow this with her. For once, she seems like a girl you could actually live with."
Curt's words stopped him cold. "What the hell are you talking about? Live with? I've known her two weeks."
"You know what I mean. And—you like her-"
"Yeah—I like her." Cutting him off, he felt the sudden urge to set his brother straight. "That's it."
Curt huffed out a laugh. "We haven't played ball in like—six months, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Dude—you sucked today. And you know why you sucked?" Curt didn't wait for his response. "You were watching her," he accused. "Every second. And when any other guy got close to her, you were all over them."
"It's called guarding." Hearing the defensiveness in his tone, Travis forced a smile. "Perhaps you've heard of it." His brother was starting to piss him off. Yeah—he liked MaryJo. He wanted to have sex with her. Insinuating there was anything more was just dead wrong.
Not backing down, Curt grinned. "I don't know about you, but when I guard someone, my face doesn't look like I'm about to beat the hell out of my opponent." Jerking his sweaty shirt over his head, his laughter muffled in the fabric. "I'm just sayin'—if I'd passed to you, it would've ricocheted off your fat head because your eyes were glued to MaryJo's ass."
Heat flooding his face, he reined in his temper, if only to prove his brother wrong. "Leave her ass out of this."
"If you say so." Still smiling, Curt headed for the showers.
"Good." Relieved, Travis should have known he wouldn't be immune to a parting shot.
"You gotta admit though, it's a stupendous ass."
"YO—MARYJO-"
Shivering in her lightweight parka, MaryJo realized it probably would've been smarter to dry her hair before heading out into the cold. She'd just tossed her duffel in the backseat when she heard her name being called. Turning, she discovered Curtis sprinting across the parking lot, his limp more pronounced when he was in a hurry. She wondered whether it pained him. "Did I forget something?"
His scent arrived a few seconds before he did. Damn. Make that two brothers who smelled great. It must be a family trait. "No. Just wanted to remind you I'm holding a practice on Thursday night. Do you think you can make it?"
Scrolling through the calendar in her head, she slowly nodded. "Yeah—that should work. Same place?" Patting her pockets distractedly, she discovered her keys.
"Yeah. Seven o'clock." His gaze followed her movement. "You were great today. I just wanted to thank you again for agreeing to help with this. I know I sort of—roped you into it, but it really means a lot to me."
Forgetting her earlier discomfort, she smiled. She could endure a little embarrassment for a good cause. "I'm happy to help. I'd like to know more about the foundation." As soon as the words left her lips, Curt's expression shuttered.
Damn. Damn. Damn. She'd hit a nerve. She could talk to practically anyone. So—why did she have so much trouble with Travis—and now his brother? Conversations with them were laden with landmines. The animation lighting his eyes flickered out, leaving them as bleak as they'd been the previous night. Hell—it must be related to his accident. Now she'd gone and made him feel uncomfortable. Way to go, MaryJo. Misery swamping her, she impulsively reached for his hand. "I'm so sorry, Curt. I—don't know what happened, but I can see I've upset you."
Visibly shaking it off, he forced a smile. "No—it's okay. It's a valid question. I just have to learn not to be so sensitive about it."
Closing her eyes to the pain shimmering in his, MaryJo gave in to the helpless feeling overtaking her. All she wanted was to go home and bury her head under a pillow. Acknowledging she was a failure as a woman was hard enough. Now—she couldn't even manage friendship without screwing it up. Giving his fingers a squeeze, she apologized again. "You know what—I'm just gonna . . . go, okay? Before I make things worse." D
ropping his hand, she opened the car door, defeat hanging over her like a cloud. "Bye, Curt."
"Wait." His hand shot out before she could close the door. "Would you—maybe . . . like to grab lunch?"
Reading the confusion in his expression, she sensed Curtis waging an internal battle. She just couldn't figure out who was winning. "Sure. I'd . . . like that."
"I actually wouldn't mind—you know . . . talking to someone about it." The hope in his eyes eased the knot in her stomach. Though she doubted her ability to help, MaryJo couldn't find it in her heart to deny him the opportunity. Maybe talking about it—whatever it was—would help him move beyond it. "How about we meet at Charlie's," she suggested. "You know where it is?"
Curt's fleeting smile reminded her of Travis. Biting back a sigh, she forced him from her head. One problem at a time, MaryJo. One problem at a time.
Chapter 9
"So—how much of this story do you already know?" Curt's expression turned sober after their initial lunch conversation about basketball and jobs and a brief debate over the Celtics chances of finishing their season above five hundred. Content with the conversational ebb and flow, MaryJo figured he'd eventually summon his nerve to bring up what he actually wanted to talk about.
"If you're referring to the accident, I know you were in one several years ago." Setting her fork down, she thought about her words carefully. "Travis told me you were severely injured and that he was terrified you would die."
"It was bad," he acknowledged.
"He said it’s the reason why he volunteers as an EMT." She hesitated. "I think he feels responsible."
For several seconds, Curtis stared at her, his sandwich forgotten. "Travis feels responsible for everyone. The accident had nothing to do with him. It was entirely my fault."
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