He wanted to bask in that attention almost as much as he wanted to run from it.
“Tess. Hey, Tess.” He waved a hand in her sightline. “Has prolonged exposure to my handsome visage and superb body finally incapacitated you?”
She didn’t bother to respond to his nonsense, and her eyes remained steady on his face. Studying him. Reading his expressions.
Then she finally spoke, her voice soft. Vulnerable. “Tell me more about why you’re here, Lucas. For real, this time.”
God help him, he almost told her. Almost stripped himself bare for her inspection and revisited the corners of his soul he’d shut away for good last year.
But he wasn’t the same man he’d once been, so his past was no longer relevant. Particularly to a woman who was not only determined to use their age differential as a wedge between them, but also leaving in two weeks.
She was trouble. Too demanding, too defensive, and too tempting. Any entanglement with her might end quickly, but it could still damage him. He knew it already, and he should heed that warning siren of unease, the visceral instinct that had guided him through countless matches and tournaments.
Besides, she’d claimed she wasn’t interested in him, so she had no right to demand answers.
Unless she’d changed her mind?
If so, maybe…
His chest hitched with his next breath.Maybe I could change mine too.
He rested his elbows on the net and leaned forward, his legs oddly shaky beneath him.
“First, tellmesomething, Tess. Are you interested in having lunch together? Tomorrow?” When her mouth opened, he rushed to clarify. “Not in my apartment. At a restaurant or outside. Wherever you want.”
She took four slow steps toward the net, halting just out of arm’s reach.
Those hazel eyes were hard to read, especially in the limited light, but they weren’t narrowed with suspicion or outrage. She wasn’t shaking her head, either. Wasn’t telling him he didn’t mean the invitation, or that it was automatic.
Which it wasn’t. Nothing concerning Tess was automatic or easy, and despite himself, he liked it. Liked her. That insistent prickling at the nape of his neck be damned.
“I…” Her hard swallow shifted the shadows delineating her throat. “I’m busy tomorrow. Belle and I planned out the entire day weeks ago.”
Her birthday. Dammit, he’d forgotten.
“The day after tomorrow, then.” He kept pushing, determined to make definite plans before she had too much time to think. Hell, beforehehad too much time to think. “We’ll do a picnic. Meet me outside the clubhouse, and I’ll take care of everything.”
She was wavering. Tense and uncertain. He could see it in the way her soft mouth pursed and released, hear it in the crackle of the water bottle compressing in her grip.
“Please, Tess.”
Why was he pleading with her? If he wanted female company, he had plenty of options. Options who didn’t respond to flirtation with an eyeroll and a truculent chin-raise. Options who’d accept an invitation to lunch without—
“Okay.” Two soft syllables, spoken with a firm little nod.
As relief wobbled in his knees, he leaned more heavily on the net. “Can you do a late lunch? Half-past one?”
A tentative smile tilted her lips. “That should w—”
“Hey, tennis boy! Did you get our texts?”
The shout from outside the court made Tess jerk, her shoulders stiffening. Seemingly on instinct, she backed several steps away from the net. Away from him.
Fuck. The moment was gone, and if he gave her half a chance to consider all the reasons he wasn’t a good bet for a woman like her, she’d retreat from their lunch date too.
He swung to face the interloper, his brows drawn together in warning. “Brendan, no one’s supposed to interrupt my lessons. That includes fellow employees.”
Brendan raised his hands, palms out. “Sorry, dude. You never work this late, so I thought this was, uh…” He scratched the back of his head as he considered his wording, jostling the brim of his backward-turned baseball cap. “An off-the-clock situation.”
