The Player Next Door (6 page)

“And then I made it worse,” she said, guilt making her especially solicitous as she offered him more pie.

“My fault.” He waved aside another piece and she started covering the thing with plastic wrap. It was a simple domestic act, done a thousand times. But this time, she was super conscious of her every move. And of the man sitting across from her, clearly depressed.

“It was just a silly accident,” she tried. “People get too competitive in sports games.”

He snorted at that, then looked embarrassed as he wiped his mouth on a paper towel. She hadn’t thought to buy paper napkins. “If I’d paid attention to the game, I would have seen him coming. But my eyes were on the cameras. A stupid rookie mistake.”

She stepped out from behind the kitchen island to face him directly. “It was just a game. Completely unimportant.”

He stared at her in shock. “No game is unimportant,” he said.

Oh. Right. He would feel that way even though the idea was nearly incomprehensible to her. Disease was important and affairs of state were important
—
not that she paid much attention to either. But a game where only money and pride were on the line? She didn’t understand that. She did, however, know that entertainers were important and so she put him in the same category as she would put a great bard
—
someone who brought richness and joy to people’s lives even if she didn’t fully understand the way he did it.

So she just looked at him and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re living in the Ketchums’ house.” That would be like waking up one day to learn that Shakespeare had moved in next door.

“I’m hiding out. Got tired of the paparazzi hanging around my building and badgering me about my recovery. So when Joey told me his parents were leaving for the summer, I offered to house-sit.”

“You could recover in a luxury spa somewhere.”

He actually shuddered at the idea. “I don’t want yoga and mud baths.”

“And no one expects you to be living in Evanston?”

“Seen any reporters out there?”

She shook her head. “But it’s early days yet. You just moved in yesterday.”

“Four days ago.”

She frowned, trying to think back. It didn’t work. Without the daily schedule of a teaching week, her life was a disorganized progress of days. She never kept track of time. She never had any appointments to track. Eventually it would be September, and she’d have to look at a calendar. But right now was summer. And renovation. And a celebrity basketball star next door.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, so she allowed herself to get distracted and pointed at the family room floor. “Do you think I should use carpet? Wood flooring is so much easier to maintain.”

“And ten times as expensive.”

True. “I haven’t learned how to lay carpet. Wood is easier. It just takes a hammer and some glue.”

He chuckled. “Most people hire someone to install their carpet. And roof their homes.”

“Not if they’re going to flip the house for profit.”

His gaze slid over the chicken wallpaper. “You’re intending to flip this?”

She looked at him, a little startled. Usually when she said a general statement about anything
—
selling this house or studying native American pottery
—
people nodded and assumed that meant she was going to do exactly what she suggested. Not him. He actually asked the question, and she was both flattered and unnerved by his intelligence.

“I…um,” she said, floundering. “Why do you ask?”

He looked around. “Because it was your aunt’s place. Because you’re putting in a rock garden which doesn’t figure into a bottom line. And because you looked over my shoulder when you answered.”

She jerked her gaze back to his. “What?”

“When you’re being evasive, you look over my shoulder. Or if I’m looking right at you, your feet get restless.” He arched a brow. “I’m paid very well to read body movements.”

“I’ve never held a basketball in my life.”

“Doesn’t matter. All life’s a game in one way or another.”

She tilted her head, extremely self-conscious now about where her eyes were. “That’s a profound statement.”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling her kitchen. “It’s a greeting card philosophy, but in this case it’s true.” Then his expression sobered. “So what are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “Put in a rock garden and finish the roof.” She didn’t want to think beyond that right now.

He grinned. “So show it to me.”

“What?”

“Show me what you’re doing to the house.”

She looked around. Every project was half begun, and the rooms she hadn’t touched yet were either filled with her aunt’s clutter or her own boxes that she’d packed as quickly as possible when leaving Edward’s condo. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Then she paused. She’d given him an opening a mile wide, but he wasn’t saying anything. In fact, after a moment, he frowned at her.

“What?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think I should do?” she prompted. That way she could pretend she was listening and not have to do anything more. But he shook his head.

“How should I know? It’s your house.”

She stared at him for a long time, her mind whirling. He waited patiently, practically challenging her to…to…she didn’t know what. But it made her uncomfortable in a good way. Like she was discovering something new, and that always excited her.

“I think I’m out of practice,” she finally said.

“At what?”

“At this. At talking.”

He drained his glass of water. “Next time, I’m bringing the beer,” he said as he set it down.

She smiled, liking the idea of doing this again. But then he stood up, towering over her as he flashed a grin. White teeth, caramel skin, liquid brown eyes. When she’d looked at him before, she saw his size and his chiseled body. Sex in raw masculine power. But this time what she saw was friendliness. There was an underlying ease with her that again felt very odd.

“What are you going to do?” she abruptly blurted.

“What…now?”

She hadn’t meant now. She’d meant in general. How was she supposed to classify him in her mind? Neighbor who stopped by once in a while for pie? Professional athlete who was going to bring a parade of bimbos and reporters past her door? Did he plan on having loud parties? Or was he going to kiss her when he brought that beer over?

The thoughts spun, chaotic and confusing. But she was used to the whirl in her mind, even if it involved inappropriate thoughts about kissing. So she just looked at him and waited to see what he would say.

Besides, he was pretty to look at, especially when he grinned.

“I’m going to go walk carefully through your backyard. There’s a rock garden out there, you know.”

She grinned. “I know.”

“And I’m going to do something else too.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Everybody likes good surprises.”

“Not me.” Mostly because she never reacted the way people wanted. She was supposed to be thrilled when Edward showed her his new car, but she thought the seats were uncomfortable and didn’t like the noise of his exhaust. She was supposed to be happy when her sister had given her a makeover as a PhD present, but she’d hated the feel of stuff on her face and didn’t like the curly hairdo.

He held up Edward’s wad of bills. “One hundred bucks says you’ll like it.”

She folded her arms. “I really hate surprises.”

“Then it’ll be the easiest money you’ve ever made.”

“No one ever wins when they bet against me,” she said.

He arched a brow. “You do know that I’m a pro ball player. Millions of people bet on me every game.”

“Chickens have been sacred animals dating back to the Kianian Period in Iran.” Then she paused as he frowned at her. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.”

Once again his laughter rumbled through her kitchen. She really liked that sound.

Then he stopped laughing, though his eyes still sparkled with humor. “So do we have a bet?”

“Easiest hundred I’ll ever make.”

“Done.”

And then he kissed her.

He was a big man with big hands that moved very quickly. He cupped her face, waited through her start of surprise, then bent his head to hers all in the space of a second. Her lips were parted and he had no trouble taking control of her mouth. He nipped at the edges of her lips
—
setting them to tingling—before he thrust inside. Teasing darts of his tongue, in and out in quick motions. A blitzkrieg of invasions while she scrambled to process what he was doing.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep up, and in that moment, her mind completely surrendered. Her body had already waved the white flag. So she arched into him, her arms gripping his arms as she drew herself up against him. And everything changed.

His tongue did not withdraw now. He thrust inside her and touched every part of her mouth. She dueled with him, each dominating stroke of his tongue making her hotter than she ever thought possible.

One kiss, and she was on fire.

And then he lifted his head. Belatedly she realized she was up on her toes, one knee lifted against his thigh. Holy shit.

“Surprise,” he said.

It took her a moment to process what he’d done. The kiss had been the surprise, and there was no way she could claim she hadn’t liked it. She’d all but climbed his leg.

“Wait a minute…”

He stepped back from her, a huge grin on his face. “Easiest hundred I’ve ever made.” And then he was gone, his laughter filling her backyard.

...

Jesus, smart women were such a turn-on. He was used to basketball bimbos. Big boobs and basketball stats were the sum total of their assets. Sure, he’d fucked them with gleeful abandon back in his earlier days. But sometime in the last five years, he’d grown bored with that. Though he always had a boobette on his arm in public, he never took them to bed. Hell, most never even saw the inside of his condo.

But Tori was different. A blonde waif with no makeup, zero interest in sports, and absolutely no homemaking skills whatsoever. At least her cleavage was nice, but that pie had been barely edible. Thank God for ice cream or he’d never have been able to choke down the first slice. But she’d seemed so pleased with herself that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. Besides, he could eat anything. So he had, while she’d watched him with a stunned kind of pleasure. She’d been so pretty there, her eyes sparkling with happiness, that he’d scooped up another slice.

God, he was a sap.

And then he’d gone and kissed her.

Damn that kiss had been hot. It was all he could do to pull himself away, but a healthy sense of self-preservation had kicked in before he’d stripped her naked and fucked her against her chicken wallpaper.

She was not a basketball bimbo. She was as far from a fuck-me girl as it was possible to get. And the last thing he needed was a real woman screwing with his game.

Other men could handle a girlfriend and still play at the top of their abilities. Other guys managed a wife and kids even, but he wasn’t wired that way. He’d learned that the hard way in high school and then again in college. The minute a real woman entered his life, his game went to hell. Always had, always would.

Given that he wasn’t a young twenty-something anymore and he’d just had the shit torn out of his shoulder, the last thing he needed to do was find a real woman. Not a bimbo but a girl with crystal blue eyes, straight blond hair, and a PhD. Jesus, she’d even spent a year with the Dalai Lama. Everything about Tori screamed “marry me,” and he wasn’t going down that route until he was done with basketball.

Which meant he’d stopped that amazing kiss before he’d flipped her over his good shoulder and carried her to bed. And now he was going home with a boner so hard he was walking funny.

By the time he made it home—after tripping over the tool belt she’d left in the middle of her lawn—he’d decided he’d never bring those beers over to her house. She was a menace and not because she was a disaster at home improvement. He had just under three months to rehab his shoulder and get into playing shape for the season opener in September.

Tori was a distraction, and he knew exactly how to deal with those: ball drills, free weights, and cold showers. And no more kisses. Ever.

That worked for the first day. He’d injured his dominant shoulder which gave him the perfect reason to practice with his non-dominant hand. Sadly, that thought only worked in theory. There was no way he could shoot, dribble, or pass
—
even one-handed
—
without using his bad shoulder a little. It moved whenever he moved, even if his right side never touched the ball.

Which is why Joey told him to go the fuck home. He hadn’t even realized the trainer was in the building, but the man walked onto the court, grabbed the ball, and spoke his mind. Complete with about seven curses per sentence.

Day two was spent studying game footage and secretly listening for sounds of Tori up on her roof again. She didn’t go there until late afternoon and he spent a miserable couple hours surfing the internet while surreptitiously watching to see if she took a header. He’d made sure she got the right kind of rope and was tied off properly, so she wasn’t going to die, but the whole thing still gave him a headache.

Which is why he called his uncle in the roofing business. That was the other draw to Chicago: he had family living here. By the next morning, he was up on her roof
—
via a real ladder
—
and using his good arm in ways that it hadn’t moved since high school. And yet it gave him great satisfaction to hammer nails while picturing Tori’s face when she saw what he had done. He could just see her beaming smile.

About an hour into his work, he heard a car door slam. He was at an angle on the roof that he could see down into her driveway where Tori stepped out looking not at all like the Tori he’d met a few days ago.

She was in heels and a sundress that showed off her tanned legs to perfection. Her blond hair fell in soft waves about her shoulders, and her face—when she looked up to see him—had makeup that made her eyes huge, and the sunshine gave them a glow-like blue fire. He’d known that she was a beauty, but right then she was dressed to impress. And he was. So much so that he barely noticed the other woman getting out of the rental car beside her.