Playing Hard

by Melanie Scott

  “I can’t come now,” she said, feeling resolve float away like a balloon snared by an unexpected breeze. “I’m working.”

  “Can you come later?”

  “I work long hours.” Now she was stalling. She knew she was going to. It was simply a question of whether she could maintain a few shreds of dignity and hold off long enough that it wouldn’t look like she’d come running just because he’d crooked his finger. She wasn’t that girl. She wouldn’t be that girl. She wanted, yes, but she wasn’t ready to let him know that yet. Not before she’d decided if he was worth the complications.

  “I’m not going anywhere. C’mon, Amelia. We didn’t exactly finish our conversation about second chances yesterday. I’d like to see you. I’d come to you but I’m fairly sure Lucas will put me back in the hospital if I go out before he gives me the okay.”

  It sounded good. To finish her day with an hour or so of Oliver’s company. But good, in this case, came with trouble. She’d told Finn that she knew how to handle herself and her love life and that was generally true. But Oliver wasn’t the norm when it came to the guys she dated. He had all the things she liked—and that usually didn’t work out—in a man. Plus he was an athlete. Her mom would have a heart attack. But she wasn’t in high school anymore, or even college. She wasn’t going to get knocked up. No one’s life would be ruined.

  Finn might take it badly, that much was true.

  And she owed Finn. But she couldn’t keep living her life bound by that loyalty. Or, for that matter, by her mother’s fears.

  She liked Oliver. Or what she had seen of him so far.

  Very much.

  Surely a little flirtation couldn’t hurt anyone?

  She wanted to believe that was true. Normally she could spot the ones who were only temporary straight off and she’d learned how to keep her heart out of the equation in those situations. Learned how to have some fun without heartbreak. She wasn’t so sure it would be so easy to keep Oliver at arm’s length. But she was going to try despite all the reasons he might be a bad idea.

  Because she wanted to see him again. Flat-out couldn’t resist the opportunity.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll come tonight. But it will be after nine.”

  “It’s okay, Amelia, I have nothing pressing on my schedule in the morning,” he said in a dry tone. “Just some more quality lying around.”

  “Tell me your address.” She knew he lived somewhere on the Upper East Side near Finn. Finn had told her that much after the accident.

  Oliver gave her the information and she wrote it down in a daze. Oliver Shields’s address. His home. Where she would be in just a few more hours. With him.

  She looked down at her clothes and sighed. Once again she was wearing a suit. Sure, it was a very nice suit, and she was also wearing very nice shoes, but it was hardly what she’d call sexy. Though it wasn’t that different from what she’d worn yesterday and Oliver hadn’t seemed to mind then. He’d flirted with her despite being in a hospital bed. Maybe he liked the pseudo-librarian look. She could take out her contacts and put on her glasses and see how that played.

  “Amelia?” Oliver said and she realized there had been a gap in the conversation while her mind went off on tangents.

  “Sorry,” she said, hoping she sounded less flustered than she felt. Damn the man. Maybe she should rethink this. But she knew she wouldn’t. “I need to get back to work. Is there anything else you need?”

  “This day to go a lot faster than I think it’s going to.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She pressed her hands to them, willing the feeling away. Damn. He was good. Which was a pity because it wasn’t like they could exactly get up to much with his hand, surely? Even if she wanted to. Or rather decided to give in to the fact that she wanted to.

  “I can dig you up some old economics research papers on the Web,” she said. “That should put you right to sleep.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “You always joke about your job being boring.”

  “We’ve talked exactly twice,” she pointed out. “That’s not hardly always.”

  “This is the third time,” he corrected. “And you’ve joked about your job all three times.”

  “Most people don’t find economics all that interesting,” she said. “It’s not really glamorous.” Most guys didn’t seem to find economics a sexy occupation. Though at least the Wall Street guys had some idea what she actually did. Which simplified matters.

  “Perhaps, but you think it’s interesting. You’re obviously pretty good at what you do or you wouldn’t be working where you are. You should be proud of yourself. Screw anyone who isn’t.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll get you extra gummy bears.”

  “Just come by and see me. You and your big brain can beat me at Scrabble or something”

  “Scrabble?”

  “Well, I can’t take you out just yet, Amelia. So I have to find other forms of entertainment. Board games, I can manage one-handed.” His voice went low. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

  “No.” Her voice actually squeaked slightly as she spoke. “Scrabble is great.”

  “Good. We can play for gummy bears. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll tell the concierge to expect you.”

  Chapter Four

  Oliver’s apartment building wasn’t exactly what she expected but true to his word, when she walked into the lobby, the short stocky guy with neatly trimmed graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses behind the desk took one look at her and asked, “Ms. Graham?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m here to see Oliver Shields.”

  He smiled at her approvingly. The discreet silver name badge on his lapel read ANTHONY.

  “He told me to look out for you. Take the second elevator. He’s on fifteen.” No apartment number. Did that mean Oliver had a whole floor? She knew there was a lot of money in baseball, but the Saints were hardly the richest team in the league. Still, Oliver had been playing for a long time. Maybe he was good with his money. Or maybe he’d gotten some sort of deal. A sweet sublet like she’d scored when she’d moved to New York. Though her apartment was nowhere in the same league as this one.

  “Fifteen, got it,” she said. “Thank you, Anthony.”

  “It’s Tony, ma’am,” he said. “You go on up.”

  She followed instructions and soon enough was standing outside the elevator on Oliver’s floor. There was only one door in the hall, and she stared at it.

  Oliver Shields was behind that door. Her palms felt clammy in the warm air. She peeled off her coat and scarf while she kept staring at the door as though it might explode. Was she really going to do this?

  Apparently the answer was yes. Because she walked over to the door and knocked. The sound was surprisingly loud. Almost loud enough to drown out the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  “It’s open.” Oliver’s voice came from inside. “Come on in.”

  She turned the handle and the door swung open. No sign of Oliver.

  “Second room on your left.”

  She followed the sound of his voice. To find him lying on a sofa in a pose so similar to Finn’s the previous night that she almost laughed. The only difference was that Oliver had a book in his lap instead of a video game controller in his hand. His right foot was encased in a black foam-and-plastic contraption, and his right hand was in a plaster cast, nothing visible but a thumb and his fingertips. When he saw her, he grinned with such delight that for a moment she froze, caught in the answering pulse of happiness that spiked through her like an electric shock.

  Then she regained control of her senses. Hauled back the reckless emotions and shoved them down. Sensible. She was going to be sensible about this. No broken heart. No emotional wreckage. Stay in control. She held up the bag of candy she’d bought for him. “Gummy bears as requested.”

  “You are my new best friend,” he said. He still looked so
delighted she couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Not sure gummy bears are great recuperation food.”

  He shrugged and pointed to the chair nearest him. “Have a seat. I’d get up but I’m meant to be resting my ankle.”

  “I think that’s called changing the subject. That looks worse than just a sprain.” She nodded at the black boot thing on his foot.

  “No, it’s definitely just a sprain. I’ve been scanned and x-rayed six ways from Sunday to make sure. Lucas would’ve preferred me to be on two crutches to keep it immobile for a while but that’s not going to work with this.” He lifted his injured hand. “So it’s a walking boot and a stick for me for a couple of weeks. Which means I deserve gummy bears.”

  She tore the bag open and handed it to him. “There. All the sugar a man could want. One hundred percent nutrition-free.”

  “I assure you my fridge is stashed full of nutritionally balanced food,” he said. “Maggie and Sara—that’s Lucas’s wife, did you meet her at the party?—were here earlier and they stocked me up.”

  “Maggie Winters?” She couldn’t quite keep the hesitation out of her voice.

  “That’s the one.” He stopped, lifted his eyebrows. “Let me guess, your friend Finn told you that Maggie and I used to date.”

  “He may have mentioned something about it.”

  “Did he also mention that it was before she went to college? Or that she’s very happily married to my boss?” He wagged a gummy bear at her. “She’s a very good friend. She’ll always be a good friend. But you have nothing to worry about. Maggie is not interested in me and I got over my yen for her a long time ago.”

  She wanted to believe him. She had no reason not to. Though if tall leggy brunettes were his thing, she wasn’t sure why he was interested in her. She was none of those three. Well, her legs were okay, but she was firmly in the middle height range whereas Maggie had to be about five foot ten. And her hair couldn’t decide what color it was, let alone shape itself into the sleek dark-chocolate waves that Maggie Winters’s did. She’d only met the woman twice but there was no denying she was beautiful. Whereas Amelia was just …

  “Amelia,” Oliver said.

  She blinked. He was watching her with a very smug expression.

  “What?” she said, feeling flustered.

  “You were checking up on my past. That means you like me.”

  “You’re right, you need the gummy bears. You’ve obviously got low blood sugar and it’s making you delusional.”

  He laughed. “I like you, Amelia. And you like me, too.” He offered the gummy bears to her. “Want to share my sugar?”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said waving him away.

  “Nope, I can honestly say that you’re the first woman who’s tried to seduce me with gummy bears.” He laughed again, and bit the head off the bear he’d been waving around. It was unfair that he managed to look sexy eating a gummy bear.

  “Who says I’m trying to seduce you at all?” The thought of just how many women might have tried to seduce him over the years—and how many he might have said yes to—was a little depressing. Most of them probably had far more lethal weapons in their arsenal than knowing his weakness for weird candy and Scrabble.

  But his past was just that: the past. And given she didn’t believe for a second that he was Mr. Right rather than Mr. Right Now, his past shouldn’t bother her that much. Shouldn’t being the operative word. One she wasn’t ready to confront. Time for a change of subject.

  “I don’t see a Scrabble board,” she said, surveying the gleaming wooden coffee table. Its surface was bare apart from a half-empty coffee mug, a copy of USA Today open to the sports pages, and an orange pill bottle.

  Oliver looked slightly embarrassed. “I forgot to ask Maggie to grab it for me. It’s somewhere in the closet in my spare bedroom. Do you want to look?”

  Playing Scrabble was clearly a safer option than just sitting here talking to the man. That could lead to disaster in so many ways. “Do you really want to play?” she asked. He looked slightly better than he had the previous day—for a start he’d shaved—but he still looked exhausted.

  “Scared I’ll beat you?”

  She stuck her nose in the air. “You’re the one who should be scared. Point me at the closet, Shields.”

  He nodded toward the door. “Down the hall. Second door on the right. Games are on the shelves to the left, I think.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Curiosity spiking, she followed his instructions. The hall was lit by a series of bright downlights that cast a line of shining circles on the polished concrete floor. They led all the way to the room at the very end of the hall. She wondered if that was his bedroom. Then she dragged her thoughts back to where they should be. The hall walls were dark gray and hung with vintage sports posters, not all of them for baseball. When she stepped into the second room on the right, she was expecting more dark and masculine decoration but the walls were white and the spread covering the bed had vivid abstract splashes of bright blue and leafy green.

  On the far wall was a series of black-framed photographs. Unable to help herself, she took a closer look. Family, she decided. A dark-haired man and a woman with equally dark wild curly hair grinned at the camera from half the photos, their arms wrapped around Oliver at various ages as well as two younger girls. Sisters. She hadn’t thought about Oliver, the baseball bad boy, having sisters. Most of the other pictures showed Oliver in baseball gear. Starting from an age when the bat he held was almost taller than he was.

  His face changed from chubby-cheeked and adorable to gangly and adorable to something that was like a less well-defined version of the man he was today. In the last one he wore a Saints uniform—not the current version, though. Seventeen, she remembered. Practically a baby. But he wasn’t a baby any longer. Nope, he was 100 percent man. One that made her want to do things that involved words you couldn’t play on a Scrabble board.

  Scrabble. Right. She remembered what she was supposed to be doing. Finding a board game. If she took too long Oliver was going to think that she was snooping. Which she was, but she wasn’t ready to let him know that.

  Turning her back on the pictures, she moved to the closet. The door opened easily, revealing neatly stacked shelves that were way more organized than hers back in her apartment. Was he neat, or was his housekeeper?

  Either way, it made her search easy. The top shelf on the left was full of small plastic storage boxes, the one below that had a good assortment of trophies that she would have liked to dig through, and the next one had just about every board game under the sun. Clue. Trivial Pursuit. Pictionary. Something called Settlers of Catan. Risk. Snakes ’n Ladders. Candy Land. Star Wars Monopoly, which made her laugh. The Scrabble box was easy enough to spot and she pulled it out after moving a little black box labeled CARDS AGAINST HUMANITY that rested on top of it.

  “What’s Cards Against Humanity?” she asked when she got back to the living room with her prize.

  Oliver shook his head with a grin. “Something that requires more people and a lot of booze.” He held out his left hand for the Scrabble set. “Speaking of booze, do you want something to drink? Or eat? I’m sorry, I can’t be much of a host right now. But help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.”

  She’d eaten a salad earlier at her desk but she was still hungry. “Wait here. I’ll go look. Do you want something to chase down the gummy bears?”

  “I think there’s some ginger ale in there,” he said. “Maybe some of that?”

  Ginger ale. That gave her pause. “Are you feeling okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, just not very hungry. Don’t fuss. I like ginger ale. I drink it a lot when I’m not in training.”

  His expression went dark for a second before his smile returned. But not quickly enough for her to miss it. Not in training. Which he wouldn’t be for months, thanks to Finn. She felt her own smile start to slip and turned on her heel to go fetch him his drink
.

  * * *

  Oliver watched Amelia head toward his kitchen and took advantage of the opportunity to admire the way her neat black skirt hugged her curves. She looked like a sexy librarian and brought him gummy bears just because he’d asked her to. He liked this girl. Maybe a little too much.

  Which was a pity, because he definitely couldn’t do much about it at the moment. He turned carefully and set the Scrabble set down on the coffee table, easing his leg—awkward in the walking boot Lucas had forced on him—into place in front of him. The position made it difficult to lean forward and try to put the board out onto the table. The movement jostled his ankle, sending a spike of pain up his calf.

  He bit back the curse that sprang to his lips. Deep breaths. Breathe through the pain. He was used to dealing with the odd injury and sore muscles, and it wasn’t the first time he’d sprained an ankle. He could handle it. And truthfully the throb in his ankle was less painful than his hand. Which ached like a son of a bitch despite the painkillers. But he could handle that, too.

  He had to handle it. He had to get back in the game.

  He would get back in the game. No room for doubt.

  He wasn’t done yet.

  “One ginger ale.”

  Amelia’s voice startled him and he knocked the tray of tiles off the table. Then realized he couldn’t bend down to pick it up in his current position. He bit down the fuck that rose in his throat and tried to look as though the whole damned situation wasn’t pissing him off. He didn’t want to scare her off because he was being a miserable prick.

  “That doesn’t look comfortable,” Amelia said. She had a plate of cheese and crackers balanced on top of a glass of water in one hand and his ginger ale in the other.

  “Nothing is particularly comfortable at the moment.” He managed not to snarl. Just. None of this was her fault.

  “Well, lucky for you I can do more than just deliver gummy bears.” Without any fuss she put the food and drinks down, slid the glass to where he could reach it, sank to her knees, and started picking up the tiles. When she’d gathered them all, and put them and the tray that held them on the table, she sat back on her heels and studied the board for a moment before she looked back up at him. “So, you like board games, huh?”