Page 5 of Double Play

What does he see? The widening of my hips? The fine lines near my eyes? The unhappiness resulting from years in a loveless marriage?

Shaking the thought, I stare back at him, willing him not to address me with any familiarity. Anonymity is important to me. I don’t want anyone to know we know one another.

We don’t know one another now; we knew one another in a past life.

I force my gaze not to drop between his wide-spread thighs. A dick-glance would be highly unprofessional, and I intend to be the utmost of professionals.

We are merely colleagues at this point, each with an important job under an umbrella organization. We are not former friends. Not one-time lovers. Certainly, I’m not the girl once infatuated with my older brother’s best friend.

“Isaiah told me you had this job,” he comments, ignoring my question about whether his former nickname followed him as a coach.

Way to be subtle, India? Underlying my question is a deeper one. Is he still a player among women? From what Isaiah has told me over the years, Declan is ‘living the dream’. Single. Free. A sexual free agent. Blissfully independent.

I got the point. And it was a reminder that Declan hadn’t reached out to me, even if Isaiah told him about my new position.

Then again, I hadn’t reached out to him. Honestly, I was afraid to.

I’d already done it once. When I was a new graduate from Colorado, the alma mater for all of us, despite my being five years younger than my brother and his best friend. Declan was playing for Seattle then and I’d taken a job in the area.

I’d texted him, because he was my brother’s best friend, to let him know I was moving to the area. I thought we had an unspoken connection. Little sister to best friend. I didn’t know anyone in Seattle, and I was hopeful he would be someone to lean on if needed. I didn’t intend to over lean, just wanted a safe shoulder of sorts.

Only, when I’d told him the joyous news, he informed me he’d been traded to Chicago.

I didn’t fault him. Trades happen. The new-to-him team would be another notch in his hopefully long career.

I didn’t see that missed connection as a failed opportunity.

Failure between us happened later. Or maybe some things are just never meant to be.

“I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me,” he adds, as if he both read my mind and confessed the reason he hadn’t reached out when I’d been new to his city.

Did I want to talk to him? What’s to explain? Life happens.

And we are not a part of each other’s lives despite the permanent lock linking us. Isaiah.

“I’m here to interview you,” I state, keeping my voice as even as I can, forcing myself to face his unnerving stare. The one that drops down my body like a slow-moving waterfall cascading over smooth river rocks. And I’m wet in areas that shouldn’t be damp.

Did he just spread his knees a little wider?

I force my gaze to remain on his face which is both a blessing and a curse. He’s still so good looking. Breathtakingly good looking. It isn’t fair.

And neither is this interview, but it’s part of the job and I need to get used to being around Coach Wylde as I’ll be interviewing him before, after, and occasionally during future Terror games.

“Shall we get started?” I ask, causing his gaze to flick back to my face. His brows pinch, suggesting he doesn’t like my tone.

However, I don’t need his approval.

I’m here for me. This is my time.

“Truth?” Declan says, arching one brow, taunting me into participating in a game I no longer play. His elbow digs into the flimsy wooden armrest while his index finger circles his lips. A nervous habit when he’s thinking, processing.

“You disappeared.” His questioning voice is full of confusion, like he hadn’t made the decision to no longer speak to me.

“I got married,” I remind him. And he had a kid with someone.

But I’m beyond silly games, even if everything in me screams to challenge him. To demand a dare.

Tell me what happened.