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Julie's face flamed and she nearly dropped her shoes. How could he talk about her like she was just some random girl he'd picked up at a party? Even if, a voice inside her admitted, that was exactly what she was.
"Samantha? Ellen? Melissa?"
Ty laughed and did another shot. "I'll see you guys later. Got to get back to the fine babe I've got stashed away."
Julie hated the way he called her a "fine babe," even though she knew lots of girls would be flattered.
"What's that in your pocket?" one of his friends said, grabbing her underwear. "Hell yeah, you've got another pair of panties for your collection!"
En masse, Ty's friends dropped to their knees. "We bow down to the master."
Ty made no move to get her underwear back. Instead, he inclined his head to his friends as if he was the king and they were his servants.
He'd taken her panties to give to his friends as a prize.
Cold, bitter anger filled Julie. She walked back down the stairs and pushed open the stateroom door. Eyeing the rumpled bed with distaste, she sat down on a firm upholstered chair in the corner by the built-in armoire.
A few minutes later Ty returned, his eyes glazed over enough to make her wonder how many more shots he'd pounded.
"Miss me?" he asked, but his expression made it perfectly clear that she had to know how lucky she was to be his chosen grad night screw.
"Not really," she forced herself to say in a steady voice. "I'd like my underwear back now."
He shook his head and moved toward her. "Not so fast. We've got hours before the owner comes back. Don't you want to make the most of it?"
Self-disgust washed through her. Had she really let him touch her all over? Go inside her? He was just a cocky jerk looking to score.
"I don't want to keep you from your friends. I'll bet they missed you last night."
He shrugged. "Not really."
"Funny, that's not what it sounded like from here."
He kneeled in front of her on the expensive carpet, at least acting like he cared. Considering how drunk he probably was, he moved pretty fast. She'd heard his dad was a drunk too. Like father, like son.
"Forget what you heard," he said. "It's just stupid guy stuff."
"Screw you."
He grabbed her hand. All night long, his touch had inflamed her, driven her crazy with desire. Now her fingers remained as cold as icicles.
"It was just guy talk. They wouldn't understand about you."
She didn't give a crap about his pseudo apologies. She couldn't let herself believe him.
Julie pulled her hand out of his warm grasp, then stood and stepped into her shoes as if she didn't give a damn that he was on his knees staring at her.
He stood up too, and she hated how dwarfed she felt by his height, his broad shoulders, as if he was lording his size over her on purpose.
"I said I was sorry, but you're not going to listen to what I have to say, are you?"
She stared straight back at him. "I hate you. I'll always hate you. And I never, ever want to see you again."
He reached for his shirt and grabbed his shoes. "Fine by me. Have a nice life."
He left her standing in the middle of the boat. She hadn't even been able to get away first. It was the final blow.
Julie's eyes refocused on the football field as Ty laughed and picked up one of the smaller kids. He spun the little boy around to celebrate what she guessed was a perfect spiral.
How could she go back to putting up walls when he acted like that?
It had been a great day. Ty was clear on what he wanted to do when the time came to retire. He wanted to run a place like this, teach kids the joy of the game, how everything you needed to know about life was right there with you on the field. Teamwork, respect, how to win, and how to lose.
Football was hard on a body. Either you were forced to retire injured or you left willingly while everything still worked. Ty was hoping for the latter.
As he helped the boys clean up the balls and nets on the fields, he looked over at Julie. She had her head bent over her BlackBerry, good little worker that she was. He was hit with the memory of taking her naked up on that balcony in Napa and he had to look away, trying to get his mind off of her curves, the way the pulse in her neck jumped when she threw her head back and came. He was about to turn around and head for the clubhouse when he heard a man's rough voice boom across the field.
"Jackie boy, I hope you kicked some ass today."
Jack's face flamed and he ducked his head and fumbled a ball on purpose so that he could run after it. Away from the man that Ty assumed was his father.
The ruddy-faced man stumbled in Ty's direction. He slapped Ty on the back and stale whisky fumes poured out of his mouth as he said, "That's some superstar I've got out there, isn't it, Ace?"
Ty worked to repress his revulsion. It wasn't Jack's fault that his father was a worthless drunk.
"Sure is. He's a great kid."
The man scowled. "All I care about is that he's great at football. We didn't come here this week for him to make friends. Win at all costs--that's what I've been teaching him. I don't care who he has to crush along the way. He hasn't been a sniveling baby out here today, has he?"
Ty had gone cow tipping a few times with his buddies as a kid in Marin, and he was sorely tempted to poke this guy's overinflated chest and watch him fall to the ground, his thick legs flailing heedlessly in the air.
But he wasn't here to tell guys like this where to stick it. All he could do was help their kids on the field, teach them the right way to act, and hope they remembered what he'd told them when push came to shove.
Ty said, "He's doing great," and headed across the field toward Jack. He
squatted down and covered Jack with his back, making sure his father couldn't see either of their faces.
"I met your dad."
The kid's eyes shuttered, so different from how open and receptive he'd been all day. "It's no big deal. I can handle him."
Ty nodded. "Sure you can." He paused. "He reminds me a lot of my dad. Says the same kind of stuff."
Jack looked up in surprise. "You're kidding, right?"
"My dad put a lot of pressure on me too. Winning was the only thing he cared about."
Jack screwed up his face. "But isn't winning what matters most?"
Ty reached into his pocket, pulled out paper and a pen, and wrote his cell number on it. "Sometimes it does. Other times you just go out there and play the best game you can." He handed the scrap of paper to Jack. "You need anything, you give me a call."
Jack looked down at Ty's cell number, his mouth open. "Wow."
"Even if you just need to talk, call me. If I can't pick up right away, I promise to call you back."
They both heard Jack's father coming and the boy shoved the paper into his pocket before his dad could see. Ty knew damn well how his own father would have reacted to having the personal telephone number of a pro player way back when. He would have gone straight to the bar to buy everyone a round to celebrate. Before the night was through, that number would have been passed into every stranger's hand.
Ty watched Jack and his father walk away, wondering if he'd just made a mistake, when Julie appeared at his side.
"You look serious," she said, following his gaze to the parking lot.
He shook off his dark mood. One thing he had no intention of ever discussing with Julie was his father. She knew he'd been a drunk--shit, everyone in town knew, and once he'd gone pro the press had told the world--but it still wasn't something he talked about much. Over the years, the more games he'd won, the more people left his past alone. And that was exactly how he liked it.
"You're looking at a future superstar," he said, changing the subject.
