40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,47
Or, in my case, recovering from injuries and doing constant, intensive physical therapy.” In a seemingly absent gesture, he looked down and rotated his wrists, as if testing whether they still hurt. “There was no time to nurture anything more serious than a casual arrangement, and it got lonely sometimes. I got lonely sometimes, even though I had my team around me almost constantly.”
His voice was low. Vulnerable, in a way she wanted to honor.
“I’m sorry, Lucas.” She came to the net and laid her hand on his. “That sounds like a hard, unforgiving life.”
He acknowledged that with a slight jerk of his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved tennis. Loved my team. Loved seeing so much of the world. But I didn’t feel good about starting anything serious with anyone when I had so little time and energy to give to a relationship. So the answer to your question is zero. I’ve had zero serious romantic relationships. To this point.”
The last phrase, he stated with emphasis. Eye contact. Determination.
He wanted her. She doubted everything else, but not that.
Still. He’d never committed to a woman. Not once. And she was supposed to believe that he wouldn’t hurt her? That a woman like her could keep a man like him happy long-term?
A fling, Tess. This doesn’t need to be more than a fling.
If she believed everything he was telling her, though, he wanted more than that. Not just her body, but her trust. Maybe her heart.
She needed some outlet for all the emotion roiling within her. Picking up her racket again, she pointed it toward him. “I’m ready to keep playing.”
He looked at her for a long moment before backing up from the net and hitting the ball in a gentle arc to her side.
“So…” She hit it back. Hard. This time, it whizzed over the net, and he had to rush to get it. “I think we’re even. I asked you two questions. Your turn.”
“All right, then,” he said, slightly breathless. “Truth or dare?”
He’d still managed to hit the ball directly to her, and she sent it back with an easy swing from her shoulder. “Truth.”
The more, the better. Maybe a few additional truths would help them make wiser decisions about one another.
Once more, he didn’t have to pause to formulate his question. “What did you think of me when we met?”
Easy-peasy.
“I thought you were a cocky bro, too handsome and flirty for your own good.” Her lips curved, despite her best efforts. “I also thought you felt amazing between my thighs.”
He promptly shanked his shot, and the ball bounced into another court.
She watched the ball roll into a dark corner. “Maybe I shouldn’t share how my nipples reacted to your back. I don’t want to endanger tourists on the other side of the island.”
A sort of choked cough racked his tall frame. “I assumed you were cold.”
“Pressed up against you? Please.” A laughable idea, particularly given the amount of heat his big body gave off. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.” His voice had turned raspy. Hot.
She tilted her head. Considered him. Considered what he’d told her earlier. “I dare you to tell me five things you’re good at other than tennis.”
He stared at her for a moment before heaving an exaggerated sigh.
“I was hoping for something more sexual,” he said.
“I’ll bet.”
When she didn’t back down and change her dare, he eventually began fiddling with the strings on his racket, speaking without looking at her. “Uh…I’m decent at basketball, I guess.”
Yeah, he still wasn’t getting her point, but he would. Eventually.
His eyes flicked up, and those dimples appeared alongside his flirty, concealing grin. “And of course, you wouldn’t believe how good I am with my tongue.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a sexual dynamo. I look forward to experiencing the wonder of it all later tonight.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “But right now, I want to know what you’re good at that doesn’t involve your body, and I want you to tell me.”
His grin promptly disappeared. “You didn’t specify that in your dare.”
“You’re going to make me use another turn to get what I want?” Once more, she employed her single-brow intimidation technique, which had served her well throughout her teaching and administrative career. “Interesting.”
He tapped his racket against his outer thigh, agitation in every movement. “No, of course not. I just…”
Dammit. The way he saw himself was slowly becoming clear to her. Too clear. And in her sorrow and frustration—her innate desire to fix everything, now—she was pushing him too hard.
She