Play for Keeps

by Maggie Wells

  “I’m not a coward,” Millie retorted.

  “Then be straight with the guy. Say, ‘Hey, Ty, I really like you, and the sex is super awesome, but I don’t want to have dinner with you because I’m scared you won’t like the way I chew. I can’t watch a movie with you because you might want to hold my hand. Oh, and mainly, I can’t fall in love with you because I don’t think I’m good enough for you.’”

  “Bullshit.” The word fired out of her like a cannonball. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m good enough.”

  “Then he’s not good enough for you?” Avery challenged.

  “I’m not saying anyone is undeserving. We’re just two people at different places in their lives.”

  “I’ll say.” Avery picked up the tumbler of scotch and tossed back its contents. “He’s in the dark, and you’re in denial.” She slid from the stool, plucked a wad of cash from a pocket hidden in the depth of her skirt, and tossed a few bills on the table. “You want my advice, Millie? Stop being a girl, and act like a woman. Tell the man what you are willing to give and what you want from him. If the two of you can’t come to some rational agreement without counting condoms and pretending you prefer Lean Cuisines to having dinner with the man, then end it now. Not only is ignoring his feelings a shitty thing to do to him and demeaning to yourself, it’s also an insult to everyone who is waiting for the chance at happiness you’re too chickenshit to take.”

  Millie was struck by the flash of fury she saw in her friend’s eyes. She reached out and caught her arm. “Avery, wait—”

  A sad shadow of a smile curved her friend’s lips. “We’re okay, Millie. Or we will be.” She pushed her wild mass of hair back with her free hand. “I just don’t know if I can listen to you throw away a chance at the thing some of us have been waiting for our whole lives.” She shook off Millie’s grip and ducked into the thick of the Saturday night crowd.

  “Avery!” Millie called, but her voice was muffled by the crowd. It was futile.

  Settling back to the table, she eyed her mostly untouched drink morosely. The daiquiri was red and thick and sickeningly sweet, the fruit skewer sticking out of the top unappetizing. She spotted Avery’s empty glass, and a coil of regret twisted inside her. Fishing a twenty from her wallet, she pursed her lips as she scanned the crowd for a likely looking lad. Spotting the boy who’d bumped into her earlier, she waved him over to the table.

  The young man approached, his expression wary but disconcertingly hopeful. Stifling a sigh, Millie fixed him with a thoroughly patronizing smile. “Stand down, junior. I won’t be teaching you the ways of the world tonight.”

  Hope and fear melted into utter confusion. “Ma’am.”

  She held up the twenty. “If you get the nice lady a double Dewar’s straight up, you can keep the change for your piggy bank.”

  The boy ran off with her cash, and she slumped the slightest bit. Avery was right. She needed to grow up and be honest with Ty about what she wanted from their relationship and what he might expect from her. When they were done, they’d be done. No reason she shouldn’t enjoy the ride until then.

  She stared off into space, half wondering if Avery included herself in her statement about people waiting for a chance at happiness, and the other half worried her errand boy had made off with her twenty bucks, leaving her nothing but a fruity drink in which to drown her sorrows. She was reaching for the tall glass when someone slammed a highball down on the table beside her hand.

  “Here you go!” her personal waiter exclaimed, clearly proud to have accomplished his mission.

  “Thanks, sugar.” Taking the glass, she toasted him with it as he hurried back to his friends. Staring hard at the pungent liquor, she muttered, “Look me up when your beard fills in,” and downed the drink with a flick of her wrist.

  Chapter 15

  Ty hadn’t called Millie. He didn’t text, or email, or send up a smoke signal. He’d switched his phone off, both to save himself from temptation and because his ex-wife kept calling but hanging up without leaving a message. As much as he wanted to call Millie, he felt absolutely no compulsion to call Mari back. They’d said everything they needed to say to each other weeks ago, and what they’d said had been pitifully little. If whatever she had to say was important, she’d eventually give him a hint.

  The fact that he had such an easy time ignoring the girl he’d married but couldn’t trust himself not to prostrate himself at Millie’s feet spoke volumes. He didn’t allow himself to drive past Millie’s house, even if the little bungalow was sort of on his way home.

  She’d set up pick after pick, using one lame excuse after another to stop their relationship from progressing past square one. Fine. He’d wait her out. Riding a big, fat pile of mad, he showered, changed into a pair of the baggy shorts Millie hated so much, and went to the fridge to rustle up something to eat.

  The only things he found were cartons of leftover Thai food.

  Letting the door slam shut, he dug his phone from the pocket of his shorts, powered up, and ignored the series of alerts flashing across the screen. Barely paying attention, he scrolled to the number for his favorite pizza joint. Thanks to the magic of caller ID, his pal Mickey was making up a large coach’s special before Ty disconnected.

  Almost immediately, the damn thing rang. Blowing out a sigh, he stared at Mari’s smiling face. The phone buzzed and bleated, but he didn’t take the call. A few seconds later, the persistent noise stopped. Eyes locked on the Warrior logo on his wallpaper, he waited for a voicemail alert. The chime never came. Neither did a text, which was odd. If Mari was truly intent on speaking to him, she’d have no compunction about pulling out all the stops. When they were married, she’d had no problem upgrading a toilet paper run into the mobile equivalent of an all-points bulletin.

  Restless and reluctant to stray too close to the wet bar, he stayed in the kitchen. He hopped up on the counter, because he had no woman around to tell him not to. To pass the time, he scrolled through the headlines on his tablet. He’d worked his way down to the entertainment section and resorted to tapping on a quiz designed to reveal which Full House character he was when the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, thank God.” He hopped down, grabbed his wallet, and beat a path toward the front door. “Man, you have no idea how close I came to being Uncle Jes—”

  He stopped when he found Millie standing on his welcome mat. Sadly, without a pizza. Gripping the edge of the door, he took a half step back before he caught himself. His ears burned, but he tried to pretend he answered the door shirtless every damn day.

  “Hey.”

  “So here’s the thing,” she said, pushing past him without further preamble. “I’m not a ‘we’ kind of person. I don’t like other people making plans for me. I don’t…function as a unit.” She spun on her heel, lost her balance, but corrected before he could even get the door closed. “This is not a long-term thing for either of us. I like you. You like me. I’d like us to still like each other after all this is done.” She waved a hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “We probably won’t like each other much if we let things get all messy and emotional, so here’s what I’m proposing…”

  She paused, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyes gleamed in the light from the chandelier. “Are you with me so far?”

  “I’m riveted.”

  And he was. No power in heaven or on earth could distract him from hearing this mysterious “proposal” of hers. Not even the roar of a muffler-less motor pulling to a stop in his driveway. He made an impatient gesture for her to continue.

  “How many condoms do you have?” she asked.

  Within seconds of showing up, she threw him completely off his game. Letting his arms fall to his sides, he moved toward her right as the doorbell rang. “What?”

  Millie glanced from him to the door, then back again. “Oh. You had plans.” Holding up both hands as if to indi
cate a foul, she tried to shrug the strap of her bag back up to her shoulder. When she started for the door, he shifted to block her path. “Ah! Right. Sorry.” She swung around and took off into the house. “I’ll go out through the back. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  He caught her arm. “That’s the pizza guy.”

  She looked up, her eyes wide but brightening. “Pizza guy?”

  Ty was ninety-nine percent sure that if she could see the flash of hope in her own face, she’d have bolted for the door and never come back. The woman had no idea how much she gave away by working so hard to conceal even the smallest hint of emotion.

  “Pizza guy,” he repeated as the bell rang again. “Stay. We’ll have pizza—” A mulish frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and he backpedaled. “I’ll have pizza, and you can tell me all about your proposed safe-sex campaign.” She huffed a laugh, and he gently unfurled his hand, relaxing his hold on her millimeter by millimeter. “Okay?”

  His phone started blaring. He cast an exasperated look at his pocket as the delivery driver resorted to pounding on the door with his fist.

  Millie took pity on him and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Frazzled and more than a little cranky, he groped through the fabric of his shorts for the mute button as he rushed for the door. The delivery man was two steps down the front walk and spewing a string of obscenities into his own cell by the time Ty flew out the door calling, “Sorry, man. Sorry.”

  He gave the frizzy-haired Dungeons and Dragons–type a conciliatory pat on the arm as he caught up to him. The kid ended his call without another word, his jaw falling slack as he tilted his head farther back to look him in the eye.

  “No problem,” he mumbled.

  Flipping open his wallet, Ty extracted two twenties and extended them. “Here. Keep the change.”

  “Oh. Well, cool. Thanks.” He almost tore the Velcro flap off the thermal bag in his haste to exchange his burden for a hefty tip. “Have a good night,” he called as he headed for the beater parked in the drive.

  Ty nodded to the kid’s back and muttered, “Yeah, could go either way,” under his breath as he returned to the house.

  He found Millie perched on one of the tall bar stools lined up at the island. Ty gave his head a shake, then nodded toward the farmhouse table in what Mari liked to call the breakfast nook. “Let’s go to the table. You can lay it all out for me.”

  He tucked a roll of paper towels under his arm and carried everything over to the table. Millie hadn’t budged from the stool. Raising a challenging eyebrow, he gestured to the refrigerator. “Help yourself to whatever you want. I’m gonna grab a shirt.”

  He was halfway down the hall when he heard her call out, “Don’t bother on my account,” in a soft singsong.

  Smiling, he ducked his head as he dodged into his bedroom. Afraid she might change her mind and bolt, he didn’t waste time indulging his vanity. He yanked a clean T-shirt from his drawer and pulled the comforting cotton over his head as he walked back toward the kitchen.

  She sat at the table, rolling an unopened bottle of water between her hands. He paused, taking the opportunity to drink her in. Her brow was furrowed. Faint lines radiated from the corners of her eyes. Her hair blazed like a bonfire, but her skin was so fair he could see the shadowy blue lines of her veins at her temple. As if sensing his stare, she set the bottle on the table abruptly and wiped all traces of pensiveness from her expression.

  “I probably should have called first.” She twisted her lips into an apologetic smile, but her eyes didn’t light. “Talk about making assumptions, huh?”

  “No problem. I don’t have the hang-ups about it some people do.”

  Ty grabbed a bottle of water for himself, then joined her at the table. Straddling a chair, he flipped back the lid on the box, and the heady aroma of spicy sauce and melted cheese came rushing out. He took a deep hit, then beamed as he reached for the roll of towels and tore one free. Being a gentleman and all, he offered the rectangle to Millie, but she shook her head, her nose wrinkling as she stared into the box.

  “Is that chicken?” she asked.

  “Fra diavolo sauce, three cheeses, pepperoncini, spicy chicken, peppers, and onions.” He raised his eyebrows and fixed her with a pointed look. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  She blinked and took a cautious sniff. “I guess not. Trying to hold people off for the next week or so, or practicing to become a dragon?”

  “It’s good. You should try a slice.”

  She snorted at his earnest encouragement. “Not without a truckload of antacids on hand.” She nudged the box toward him with her index finger. “What’s the white stuff?”

  Ty smiled as he lifted a slice from the box. “A drizzle of ranch dressing to offset the spiciness.” He toasted her with the pizza. “Mind if I…?”

  “No, go right ahead.” She laughed, shaking her head in what looked like amused wonder as he took a big bite.

  The five-alarm flavors burst into fire on his tongue, but the taste explosion was nothing compared to the slow burn of curiosity snaking through him. “So…” He chewed around the word but waited until he swallowed to follow up. “How many condoms do I have?”

  A peachy blush rose up her throat and stained her cheeks, but Millie didn’t look away. “Yes. How many?”

  He surveyed the slice in his hand as if he might have the exact figure stashed under a bit of pepperoncini. “Why?”

  “Because I think we need a way to measure what would be a reasonable amount of time for this…relationship to carry on. I figured we could gauge it in condoms.”

  He gaped at her, amazed she actually managed to vocalize the last bit with an air of assurance that suggested her scheme was completely reasonable. But what truly rankled him was her insistence on taking the end of their relationship as a foregone conclusion.

  “Why aren’t we a long-term thing?”

  “What?”

  “You said earlier we weren’t a long-term thing and we wouldn’t want our relationship to get all messy and emotional.” Ty forced himself to take another bite even though his appetite had taken a swift nosedive. He knew the fire burning in his chest and gut had nothing to do with the combination of toppings he’d ordered and everything to do with her, but he’d be damned if he let her think he couldn’t take the heat. “Why not?”

  Her eyes widened, and she gave her head one of those little shakes meant to make him feel like he was the crazy one, but he wasn’t buying in.

  “How come you get to walk in here and tell me the relationship I’m in isn’t long-term?” He used the half-eaten slice of pizza to point to his chest. “I’m in this too. I get a say.” He fixed her with an unwavering stare. “And I say it sounds like you’re the one making plans and assumptions.”

  Those vibrant eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to spin me.”

  “Stop trying to run the clock out.”

  Millie sniffed, plucked a loose pepperoncini from the box, and popped the spicy tidbit into her mouth. He watched as she chewed the tiny morsel. Of course he watched. She knew he would. But being aware he’d stepped into quicksand wouldn’t give him any leverage when he had to pull himself out. Ty stared at her lips, recalling exactly how soft and pliant they could be, imagining them parting, picturing them as they closed around his dick.

  Tearing his gaze away was almost physically painful, but he did what he had to do. “Six,” he answered tersely.

  Millie nodded. “I knew we’d gone through a few. I wasn’t sure how many you had to start.”

  “Buying anything more than one box seemed like tempting fate, but you know I can get more.”

  “I was hoping we could go by the honor system.”

  He shook his head. “I have no issue with playing dirty.”

  “Ty, please.”

  Appetite completely gone, Ty tossed the uneaten pizza into the
box. “I don’t get this. What is your issue with seeing where things go?”

  “Seeing where things go?” She repeated his words back to him as if he’d asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “My issue is it’s messy.” She tore a section of towel from the roll and wiped the tips of her fingers with meticulous care. “I deal with messes all day long. The last thing I want is a mess when I go home. That’s why I pay for a cleaning service, a guy who mows my lawn, and have a standing appointment to get my color done every four weeks.” She waved a hand toward her hair. “I like order in my world. I like to know what’s going to happen when.”

  He shoved his chair back with enough force to make the legs squeal against the tile. Millie flinched a little but recovered quickly, of course. By the time he came to his feet, her face was a mask of polite interest.

  “So basically, you want to schedule a fuck with me every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, but you don’t want any kind of real intimacy.” He crumpled the towel he’d been using as a napkin and threw the wad into the open pizza box. “You gonna pay me?”

  Her eyes widened, and he caught her soft intake of breath. Good. He’d shocked her. Pissed and tired of being jerked around, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I assume you pay to get your toilets scrubbed and your roots dyed.” He paused and pursed his lips as if giving the matter real thought. “I think a hundred a night seems fair enough, since I’m gonna get my kicks too. For that, you get oral, textbook sex, and, of course, as much finger-banging as you want—”

  “Ty.” Millie rose from her chair and placed a conciliatory hand on his arm, but he wasn’t buying.

  His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He ignored the call but didn’t bother to silence the alert. Instead, he shook her hand from his arm and flashed an insincere smile. “Unlimited orgasms. Tell you what, I’ll even throw in an option for anal for free.” He shrugged. “You can kick me out whenever you want, but I want cash, no checks accepted. I’d have to ask for two forms of ID, and we don’t want to get too personal.”