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Me: Can I see you?
Kennedy: After what you did last time, I think I’ll pass.
Me: I’m sorry. I was a jerk. Now you know why.
Kennedy: That doesn’t change your behavior. You embarrassed me to try to protect your secret when all it did was make me want to find out what you were hiding.
Me: Please. Let me make it up to you. I was an asshole. You deserve an apology in person. Let’s do coffee, breakfast, lunch, dinner, jewelry, a massage…whatever you want.
Everything about what I am doing right now is so damn pathetic. Waiting for the typing bubble to pop up again drives me crazy. When Kennedy responds a few minutes later, her answer gives me hope and something to look forward to tomorrow.
Kennedy: I still hate you, just so you know, but I will meet you at Broad Street Beans tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.
Me: It’s a date.
Kennedy: No, it’s not a date. You will grovel and buy me coffee and pie, but we are not going on a date together. And if you want my forgiveness, you had better start talking to me.
Me: Fine. See you there.
She knows the truth about Blake, which scares the hell out of me. I was always afraid this would happen one day, after all these years of being in the league. Ever since I kicked Kennedy out of my house, the guilt has been eating me alive. I cannot screw this up again.
Chapter Eleven
KENNEDY
When I walk through the front door of Broad Street Beans ten minutes early for our coffee date, Tyler is already waiting at the table by the window where we sat last time. The usual crowds of fans that follow him everywhere hover around him as he signs their coffee cups and pieces of paper. I bet that part of being famous gets old after a while, but he seems to love every second of the attention.
I clear my throat when I reach his table, drawing angry looks from two blondes who are hovering over him and shoving their tits in his face.
Tyler slides his chair out from the table and stands, his gaze fixed on no one else but me. There’s a seriousness to his eyes, his expression and tone matching when he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Then, he does something I do not expect and brushes off the bimbos and comes around to the other side of the table to pull out my chair.
“Have a seat.” He holds out his arm, waiting for me to sit down before he pushes in my chair. “What do you want? I’ll have them make it for you?”
The girl behind him flashes daggers in my direction and tugs on the edge of his fitted tee, her friend touching his biceps. He shakes them off, and before I can respond to his question, he turns to them, irritated.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but I have a date. It was nice meeting you.”
“She’s not even pretty,” one girl mutters under her breath.
The other girl speaks so low I cannot make out what she says to her friend, but I could care less what either of them thinks about me.
Tyler ignores their snarky remarks and locks onto me, sucking me in with one look. I wish he hadn’t been such an ass the other day because there is something so beautiful but sad behind his eyes, and when he stares at me, he looks at me as if he were looking right through me and into my soul.
“I’ll have a nonfat caramel macchiato and the brownie cheesecake,” I tell him as I slide my winter jacket off my shoulders and slip it over the back of my chair along with my messenger bag.
The corners of his mouth turn up into a devilish grin as he scans my body, assaulting me with one glance. “Coming right up.” He winks at me before making his way to the coffee counter to give our orders.
Retrieving a paper, pen, and tape recorder from my bag, I try to quell the nerves bubbling up inside my chest. Even though I have sat down with professional athletes a thousand times, I have never interviewed them about tough personal subjects.
Tyler returns a few minutes later, balancing a plate of cheesecake in his hand, the fork close to sliding off the edge. He sets the cake in front of me, followed by my espresso drink and gives me a napkin from his pocket. He’s so damn cute right now I want to get up and kiss the shit out of him. But, instead, I try to keep it professional as if that is even possible after the things we have done to each other.
He’s so big and muscular that he dwarfs the wooden chair, causing me to lose my focus because all I can pay attention to is how his muscles flex beneath the dark shirt that hugs his broad shoulders. I lick my lips without realizing I am doing it until Tyler laughs and snaps me out of my daze.
“You know,” he leans forward and places his elbows on the table, his voice low and sensual, “we can always take this back to my place if you want.”
“Not a chance,” I lie, wishing he’d finish what we started the other day.
I was so upset after I left his house, not only because he was a jerk but also because I had misread him, left myself too vulnerable and open to the idea of something more between us.
