I sighed. It wasn’t just the sex that stuck in my mind—amazing though it had been—and it wasn’t just a desire for it that made me do what I did.
I recalled the way Tyler had looked into my eyes. The strange way that, when I talked to him, I felt as if he already knew and understood what I was saying and feeling. That strange, sweet sensation that he cared about me and always did.
I wonder, I thought, with a shiver of excitement, what he’s like in bed?
I didn’t know a lot about him. His contribution so far had been secondary. I was excited to find out how it would be to have him do what Jake had done—have him touch me, squeeze me, enter me.
I closed my eyes, blushing even in the peaceable darkness of my bedroom as I considered that. I had this idea that it was going to be a whole new experience, unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
“Come on, Ryanne,” I told myself with a laugh. “You have an overactive imagination. Get sleeping!”
I should have known that it’s completely impossible to sleep on demand. I rolled over and then rolled over again, trying to feel comfortable. Trying to switch off my brain. I must have succeeded at some point, because when I next saw my bedroom it was illuminated with the pale, soft light of morning.
My alarm clock told me it was seven thirty. I brushed my hair out of my face and sat up, a strange tingle of excitement spreading through me.
It was Monday morning and I was going to see Tyler. And find out what he was really like under all that hesitant tenderness.
CHAPTER 11: TYLER
I managed to get through the day. The strategy meeting with Coach Falkirk went straight over my head. I listened and tried to make intelligent expressions, but very little of what anyone said was making sense to me at the moment. I could only think of her. And of the hours left before I went there.
We had agreed to meet at a restaurant—a place called Breeze. I was trying to convince myself that maybe she didn’t have anything else planned tonight. Just a meeting to get her conversant with footballing terms.
I really hoped it wasn’t, though.
“Blake?” Coach asked.
“Uh, yeah?”
“So. You have that straight, right? You work closely with Jake. You two are like the glue of this team, okay. The glue.”
I nodded. Jake looked over and winked. I made a face at him. Blade laughed.
“What am I, Coach?” he asked. “If they’re glue?” Blade was our center—sturdy, solid presence on the field.
“Well…” he stroked a hand through his hair thoughtfully. “I guess you’re the thing we’re gluing stuff to.”
We all laughed. Blade looked pleased.
A brief and unproductive debate followed about what one might call a thing stuff gets glued to. None of us knew the word, or even if there was one.
I looked at Jake again, hoping that whatever had passed over my head during my wayward thoughts was something he’d noted down. I could usually trust him to have listened a bit better than I did at meetings like this. I sighed.
Just a tryout on the field, and then a jog, then we were done.
Then I had to try and be across town in the restaurant by seven o’clock. I would manage it somehow.
By six, we were all coming off the field, hot and sweaty and ready for the showers. Coach seemed to be pleased with us. He nodded to Jake and me.
“You two,” he said. “My reliable players.”
I raised a brow. “Thanks, Coach,” I said. Jake chuckled.
“We try, Coach:”
He just laughed. “Have a good night.”
I went to go and shower.
While I was in the showers, overhearing the laughs and whoops and active discussion going on around me, I tried to decide whether or not to tell Jake what had happened. I’d mentioned to him that I had heard from Ryanne—a fact which seemed to make him glad. But so far I hadn’t told him exactly what was happening between us.
I decided to leave things as they were for now. I could then just go and enjoy the evening and not have to worry about feeling pressure or whether or not Ryanne actually meant me to take her invitation the way I had.
It’s just supper. Only supper.
I headed out into the night.
At my apartment, I dressed carefully and stared at myself in the mirror.
Breeze was a reasonably stylish place, one of those new classic restaurants where the menu doesn’t have prices and they do tastings. I had chosen to wear a suit.
The suit was a sort of dark blue—not navy and not like sky blue, but a rich color that lay somewhere in between. I had a crisp shirt in not quite cream on underneath it. My hair was brushed to one side, slightly wispy. I raised a brow.
I looked good.
Rugged but not craggy.
I grinned and then went back to feeling nervous again.
Would I embarrass myself? Would I embarrass her? Would I be good enough for her?
Gulping, I headed down the stairs to where my car stood. I climbed in and headed to the restaurant. My mind was full of thoughts of her. I could barely breathe sometimes.
I got out at the restaurant. My watch said five past seven. I swallowed hard. Would she be here already?
“Good evening, sir.”
“Um…I’m waiting for someone,” I said, unsure of what to say to him.
I might earn good money—okay, very good—but I didn’t spend time in restaurants like this one. I had some memories of my childhood trips eating out. None of them had ever introduced me to a place like this and I always felt like I didn’t quite belong.
“Oh,” the waiter said. “A table for two, sir?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, following him into the warmly lit interior. When I got in, I stared.
“Over here, sir?” the waiter said.
“Uh?”
“Is this table good?” he asked, indicating a table over at the window. I shook my head, drawing in a long steadying breath. The air seemed to have turned to treacle and didn’t want to fill my lungs.
She was there. In the light of one of the lamps, in a seat that faced the entrance, wearing a dress of a red so dark it almost looked black, she was.
“Hello?” she said, raising one of those curved brows. “It’s twenty to seven.”
I made an apologetic face. “Sorry. Traffic. Forgiven?”
She smiled. It was difficult to read what the smile meant—her blue eyes were teasing, deceptive. Giving nothing away. “Well, here you are,” she said. She indicated the seat opposite. I sat down tautly. “No harm done.”
I gulped and nodded. “No harm done.”
“So?” she frowned. “You are allowed to have a look at the wine list? Or does your training forbid that?”
I chuckled. “I imagine Coach would actually have a celebration if none of us did. But I guess he knows it’d be hard to implement.”
“Well?” she said with the faintest hint of a smile. “I suppose I should support him then. And not lead you astray. They have a comprehensive list of other things too,” she said. “And I’m sticking with the homemade lemonade.” She indicated a tall glass beaded with droplets, a slice of lemon floating in its pale-green depths.
“Well,” I nodded. “I might do that too.”
“Good,” she smiled.
We ordered drinks. She was sitting with her elbows on the table—something I had been taught was ill-mannered, but that she made look stunning—and looked up at me, her eyes teasing.
“So,” she said. “You found it easy to get here?”
I shifted uneasily in my seat. I was sweating, and my collar felt too tight. She was wearing a dress with straps that showed her pale, stunning shoulders and I could just see a shot of cleavage at her neck. I tried to ignore it but it was really proving difficult.”
“It wasn’t hard to find,” I said lightly. “I guess we’re spoiled with satellite navigation.”
“Yes,” she said lightly. She opened the menu and I felt stupid. Why was I si
tting here talking about GPS when I was trying to make her interested in me? I cast around for something clever to say. Nothing came to me.
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” I said, fanning myself.
“You could say that,” she said.
I blushed. “Oh.” I had no idea whether she meant that to have a double meaning or not so I didn’t react. She smiled.
“Yes. Well, I was just thinking about that GPS—it’s weird. Remember your parents using maps, when you were small?”
I nodded. She was smiling. “Yeah!” I said. “I remember that so well. If we had to go somewhere further than somewhere in town, there was always one of those big, thick books on the seat, and Dad would stop to look at it sometimes.”
“Yeah,” she said. She looked sad.
“What are you thinking?” I asked gently.
She looked up and I was surprised to see she had tears on the edge of her lids. “Well, nothing,” she sniffed. “I was just thinking of Dad, actually. How he always used to know which way to go. I miss that. He never got mad; he was always so assured. I…he was a strong man.”
I frowned. “What happened?” I said gently. I thought that he must have passed on, but I didn’t know how to ask her that.
“He died when I was fifteen,” she sniffed. “It was so unexpected. He just…left my world. Just like that.” She made a small wry grimace, shaking her head.
“Oh. Hell,” I said. “That’s bad. I’m so sorry.”
She sniffed again and reached for the napkin, considering dabbing her cheek with it. She put it down again, searching. I took out a tissue from my pocket—I hadn’t even known I had one in there.
“Here,” I said.
She looked into my eyes. We stayed like that, just staring at each other. I saw her shake her head, a small, resigned motion. She looked down.
“Thanks,” she said, dabbing her cheek. “Sorry.”
“No,” I said gently. “Don’t be sorry. That’s no reason to be sorry.”
She sniffed. “I guess not. I guess…I miss Dad every day. I can’t help thinking of him when I’m in my office and wondering what he’d think of the choices I make for the company. His company.”
I frowned. “It was his? You took it over?”
“Yeah,” she sniffed. “Not at first, of course. I started working there when I left college and the board sort of managed it for a few years. But when I was thirty, I stepped into his shoes.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “That’s amazing.”
She sniffed. “Thanks. Not sure what my dad would say, mind you. If he’d think some of my decisions were amazing.”
“He’d be proud,” I said without thinking about it. “If he is seeing you now, he’d be so, so proud.”
She blinked. “Thanks,” she said. Her voice was raw.
I looked down at the table. She had her hand resting on the pile of menus—her fingers were long and slender, pale in the warm lamplight. I reached out without thinking about it and covered her hand with my own.
She stiffened. I looked into her eyes. Her gaze held mine. It was weird, but that single touch of our hands across the table, the way she looked at me, held more intimacy than the things we’d done before. I shivered.
It was like she had bared her body to me before, but now, she had bared something of her soul. I swallowed hard.
She must have sensed something about it too, because she blinked and gently moved her hand back. She looked at the table, seeming flustered. She reached for one of the booklets on top of the pile.
“I guess we should look at the menu, hey?” she said. She was smiling but she didn’t look up at me. I nodded.
“Sure.”
I leafed through it. When I looked up, she was still reading it. She had a small frown between her brows, concentrating. It was such an adorable expression that I felt my whole body heat up. I wanted to smile.
She looked up and caught me looking. I looked down, feeling suddenly embarrassed. I knew this was dumb—I was behaving kinda like a high school student on his first date—but I couldn’t help it. The feeling was so new, so intimate, that I might as well have been. I had never met anyone who made me feel the way she did. In that sense, this was the first time I’d experienced anything like this before.
“Um, I feel like the salmon three ways,” she said.
“Three ways?” I frowned.
“It means—or usually, anyway,” she explained, “a small sample, probably baked, made into a pate or fried. I don’t know what the three ways are yet. And for the starter, I’ll go with the nicoise salad.”
“Oh?” I looked down the menu, trying to concentrate on something sensible like choosing something off it. I saw something that caught my eye.
“Lobster?”
She shrugged. “If that’s what’s interesting, why not?”
I smiled. “Well, there’s a lot that’s interesting.”
To my surprise, she blushed. With color in those well-defined cheeks, she was so beautiful I wanted to groan.
“Well, no, it isn’t,” she said. Her eyes met mine. It was my turn to blush.
The waiter appeared with my drink and to take our orders. We placed them. I chose the Thai-style soup because I wasn’t sure what to choose as my first course. She shrugged.
“It could be hot,” she warned.
“I like hot things,” I said.
She raised a brow. “Well, be warned,” she said flatly. “Some things can burn.”
I nodded. “I hope I can survive a bit of burning.”
I saw a hint of smile play about those pouting red lips. I tried to look away from them but all I could think of just then was how much I would like to be pushing my tongue between them, kissing her right here and right now.
She coughed. “Well, we do have something cooling to drink.”
“Yes,” I nodded. I raised my lemonade glass. She grinned.
“To, um, a new beginning?”
I raised my brow. “I’ll drink to that.”
I was blushing but it wasn’t just with the embarrassment of recalling that this was far from our first date—if the others were to be named as such—and that she knew a lot about me already. It was a flush of excitement. I wanted a new beginning, with her. Wanted it so much.
She wet her lips with the lemonade, that graceful pale throat swallowing. I looked at the tabletop.
I was aware suddenly of the proximity of her legs under the table, right close to mine. I tried to blot the image of those elegant, lean-muscled legs right out of my mind but it was hard to do so. The more I tried the harder it got to forget just how stunning she was without her clothes on.
“So,” she said. “I guess I have some questions for you”
“Questions?” I jumped. My memories of questions were far from pleasant—mostly relating to my final years in college. She smiled.
“I mean about football.”
“Oh!” I felt relieved. “Sorry,” I flushed scarlet, feeling the heat flood my face and chest. “I forgot about that stuff.”
She laughed. “Well, I do want a primer. So, teach me.”
She reached across the table for one of the olives the waiter had brought as appetizers. Popped it into her mouth. I winced.
I wished at that moment that I could be between those lips. She chewed slowly and swallowed carefully and I had the feeling she was torturing me on purpose. I looked down.
“Well,” I said carefully, “I don’t know where to start? What do you want to know?”
“Well, start anywhere,” she said. “You’re teaching me.”
“Okay,” I stammered. “Well, I guess you know the basics, right?” I frowned. “Like, offensive and defensive positions?”
“Offensive positions?” she grinned wryly. “I think I know a few positions that might give offense.”
I went red. “You know that’s not what I meant,” I said, laughing. I would never be able to think of the words the same way. Now my mind was flooded with images of Ryanne in vario
us positions—all nude, all explicit. I tried to blank my mind, shutting my eyes tight. She laughed.
“I didn’t mean to derail the lesson,” she said demurely. “Carry on.”
I coughed. “Well, the two teams are offensive and defensive. The defensive team is the one that has the ball at the start of play.”
“That’s what they’re defending,” she supplied. “Right?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
As the evening wore on, I started to wonder just how little she did know, and how much she was teasing me and testing me. Her questions were just too regular and too pertinent. I was sure she knew a lot.
“You ask good questions,” I murmured.
“You give good answers,” she shot back. I blushed.
“Well, only about football,” I demurred. “I was a really bad college student.”
“I’m surprised,” she said lightly. “I would imagine you learn fast. You seem to.”
I gasped. I felt her foot shift next to mine. I tensed. She left it where it was, the warmth of her ankle soaking through into my leg. I just sat there, completely unsure of how to deal with this. I was shivering, I realized, arousal starting to soak through me and into me and making me sweat.
“So,” she said, putting another olive into her mouth carefully. “How is it that you ended up as running back?”
“Well,” I frowned. “I guess I’m fast. And it just always worked out that way.” I shifted uncomfortably again, feeling her leg close to mine again. She leaned forward and I dragged my eyes away from the cleavage at the neck of that fabulous red dress.
“And you are, well, paired with Jake?”
“More or less, yeah,” I nodded. I swallowed hard when she shifted her foot. It rubbed slowly against my leg again and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to react too obviously—not just because the restaurant was starting to fill up with people and they’d notice, but because she would laugh at me.
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