rude and disrespectful. I treated you terribly, and I’m very sorry.”
I wait because I know there has to be an excuse coming for why he behaved badly—he was tired, he was stressed, I was unreasonable—but one never falls from his mouth. I’m not exactly sure how to respond, so I nod.
Evidently, he’s not done, because he continues. “Especially after you did one of the nicest things that anyone’s ever done for me.” He moves to me and places those big hands on my upper arms. “Seriously, Tiger, thank you. Please say you forgive me.”
I try to keep my spine straight, but the sincerity painted on his face melts my defenses like ice cream on a hot summer day. “I forgive you.” I can only hold his intense gaze for a few seconds, then I drop my eyes to the space above the neck of his T-shirt.
He bends his knees slightly to snare my attention. “Why did you do it?”
I shrug as best I can with his hands still on my arms. “Nobody should be hassled like that every day, especially in his own home. I only did what anyone else would do.”
“No, you didn’t. Take the compliment and my gratitude. You deserve it.”
He’s right. I do. Why is it so hard to accept his praise? “Thank you.”
His big arms encircle me. “No, thank you.”
My arms are still folded over my chest. I’m not outwardly participating in the hug, but inwardly, I’m wallowing in the feel of him. Sprawled and luxuriating in the warmth of his arms around me, the brush of his breath against my hair, and the musky scent of man that surrounds and drowns me.
I’m caught. His willing prisoner, paddling to keep my head above the effect he has on me. My reaction is so fierce that I need to step away. It’s too dangerous to allow this version of us to take hold. We’re not a couple. He’s not mine. And I’m not his.
I allow the sensation to pull me under once more, then I extract myself from his hold. I loop my hair behind my ear and speak to the floor. “I could tell talking about your shoulder made you uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, it is a sore subject.” He shoots me a self-deprecating grin. “Every pun intended.”
That grin.
Danger.
Danger.
Danger.
I move to the counter to a stack of mail and begin straightening it like my life depends on it. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
Part of me is dying to know why their inquiries make him so uncomfortable, but the other part of me doesn’t want to know. This is something intensely personal to him, I can tell, and I don’t know if I want to hold his secrets.
“I don’t mind talking about it with you.” He moves to the counter opposite me. “In fact, it might help to talk about it with someone besides Duke.”
Well, hell. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Have a seat.”
He slides onto the barstool. “My shoulder’s fucked.”
I’m so shocked by his pronouncement that the coffee carafe nearly slips from my grip. “What?”
He chuckles. “I guess I should work on my delivery.”
I set his cup in front of him. “Maybe a little.” The other stool slides against the floor as I pull it out and sit. “Explain.”
“I still have significant pain when I use my shoulder. I can barely throw a football and when I do, it hurts like a mother.”
“But Duke said he was going to get you back to 100 percent.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “He and I both know that’s a promise he may not be able to fulfill. At my age—”
“You’re only thirty.”
“My body sure as hell doesn’t heal like it’s thirty.”
I take a sip of my coffee and contemplate that statement. “So, what will you do?”
“Make it work.” The determination in the statement is fierce.
“But if you’re in pain?”
“Pain’s part of it, Tiger. Besides, it’s my job.”
Another sip, and I examine him. “Surely there’s an easier way to make a living.”
He turns the mug from side to side. “Not one that’ll give me what football has.”
“Is the money really worth the abuse to your body?”
“It’s not about the money.”
There goes my wayward eyebrow again.
He chuckles. “Fair enough. It’s not all about the money.”
“Then what’s it about? Help me understand why you’d continue to put your body through that much torture.” I’m having trouble understanding why he’d do permanent damage to his body.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He gnaws on his bottom lip like he’s trying to decide if I can be trusted, and