The All-Star Antes Up
Page 31

He huffed out a chuckle. “Does your brother still live on the family farm?”
She nodded. “It’s not an easy life, but Dennis and Patty like it. I worry about Theo, though. The school up there isn’t very academic, and he’s a bright child.”
“My parents are teachers, and they’ve always said that a kid can get as much education as he wants, no matter what school he’s in.” Luke fiddled with his sunglasses as he said it.
“That’s reassuring, but it’s not so much the teachers I’m concerned about as the kids. When I went to school there, it wasn’t cool to be smart. I don’t want him to hide his intelligence in order to fit in.”
“Is that what you did?”
The man was far too perceptive. “No, but I’m female, so I didn’t mind being considered a nerd.” Well, not too much. There had been times when she’d longed to be part of the popular group, but she hadn’t been willing to change who she was just to belong.
“So you weren’t a cheerleader.” He sounded almost approving.
She shook her head. “You probably knew a lot of those.” She had discovered from her research that he’d been a standout athlete from high school on. Picturing him with a buxom cheerleader on each arm provoked a misplaced stab of jealousy.
“Yeah.” There was no enthusiasm in his response. The jealousy evaporated.
“You’re from Texas.” She gave in to the urge to know more about him than just the facts everyone read on Google. “Do you miss it?”
“I go back summers, so I satisfy my taste for wide open spaces then.”
“Is space what you miss the most? I can see how New York wouldn’t give you much of that.”
“One of the reasons I bought the condo at the Pinnacle was because it looks out toward the Statue of Liberty and the Verrazano Bridge. Makes me feel like I have some room.”
She’d seen his presence on a football field, the way he dominated the swirl of bodies around him. He probably did feel the need for space. “It’s a beautiful view.”
He gave her that long, assessing look of his. He focused every ounce of his attention on her, and it was a lot to bear up under, but it also made her feel as though he believed she was worth it. It was probably a well-rehearsed trick of his, and she needed to resist the illusion.
“I want you to talk to me straight,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“That comment about the beautiful view. That’s concierge-speak. Just talk. Like I’m your friend.” He softened his command with a wink.
She felt weirdly disappointed at his request. Even friendship with this man was a gift beyond any normal expectation. What more did she want?
She opened her mouth and then shut it again when she realized she was about to spout a cliché.
He unfolded his arms and held out his hand to her. “Friends.”
As she put her hand in his, a little shiver of heat sizzled through her. His skin was warm and dry. His grip was strong but not overwhelming. He probably muted it when shaking hands with mere mortals.
“Friends.” She returned his grip and found herself wanting to hold on because his strength was so reassuring. If you needed him, he wouldn’t let go of you. That had to be another one of those illusions he created. As a quarterback, he needed people to trust him.
The car glided to a stop, and he released her hand. The driver’s voice came through the speaker. “We’re at the entrance, Ms. Tate.”
Luke slid his sunglasses back into place.
“You shouldn’t need those,” Miranda said. “I arranged for us to come in a back entrance. I figured that would lessen the chance that a photographer would spot you going in.”
“Thanks,” he said, but his voice held a tinge of disappointment.
“Would you rather go in the front? We can.”
He shook his head. “You’re right.”
The driver opened the door and stood waiting. Luke shifted his legs out of Miranda’s way and offered his hand for support.
She kept her hands on her tote bag as she scooted sideways on the seat. “I’m not going to aggravate your injuries.”
“You’ll aggravate me more if you don’t take my hand.”
She gave in and laid her hand in his, savoring the way his long fingers wrapped around hers. But she kept her weight balanced away from him, stooping to back out of the door so he didn’t have to twist in his seat.
A cloud of annoyance scudded across his face, the mirrored Ray-Bans adding to the formidable effect. “That’s called a pass fake,” he said when she tugged her hand away.
As soon as she stood up, he swung his legs out, planted his worn tan cowboy boots on the pavement, and unfolded his body with a grunt.
“That’s why I didn’t lean on you,” she said.
“When it’s you doing the leaning, it feels good.” His drawl was like molasses, slow-moving and scrumptious.
“Do you always flirt with your friends?” she asked, struggling against the slide of his seduction.
“When they’re pretty.”
Miranda didn’t buy that. He was accustomed to stunningly beautiful. “Well, let’s keep this on a friends-only basis.” Otherwise she would fall completely under his spell.
He covered his gleaming hair with the Yankees cap again. “We’ll see how it goes.”
She choked on thin air as his implication sank in. Her body wanted it to go one place, while her brain knew it had to stay in another. But she’d handled flirtations from clients before. It shouldn’t make her feel this flustered.