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He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “I’m not going to give you a report of the women I slept with before I met you—”
“Of course not—”
“And I won’t ask you to give me one, either. But I do expect you to believe me when I say I haven’t slept with anyone else since I first laid eyes on you.”
Marilyn’s gaze dropped. “I don’t want to argue, Rick. I just wanted you to know where I’ll be in case you need me.”
Warrick took a breath. “I need you now.”
She shook her head. “That’s not a good idea.”
Warrick lowered his arms. “Fine. The team’s traveling to Miami Wednesday night.”
“I know. Thursday’s the first game of your series against the Miami Waves. You e-mailed your schedule to me.”
At least she was reading his e-mails even if she didn’t always return his calls. “You can move back in while I’m gone. I’m sure Emma wouldn’t mind putting you up for another three nights.”
Marilyn frowned. “Em’s not rushing me to leave—”
“I’m sure she’s not.”
Marilyn must have
heard the sarcasm in his tone. “You’ve never liked her.”
“I’m not her favorite person, either. So will you move back while I’m gone?”
Marilyn hesitated. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. This is your home.”
“Where will you stay?”
Warrick kept his expression neutral. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a place to stay.” Their home had a perfectly comfortable guest room.
Marilyn’s smile of gratitude was worth the risk he was taking. “Thank you, Rick.”
“You can thank me later.” Once their marriage was back to normal.
All’s fair in love and war. He was in love with Marilyn and would fight anyone and everyone who tried to come between them. His trick to get her back into the house was worth the risk. Hopefully, in the end, she would agree.
2
Warrick jogged across the Monarchs’ practice court Monday morning. He and his teammates were running a series of plays, preparing for the Eastern Conference Championship against their rivals, the Miami Waves. He found his position in time to catch the pass from his practice squad teammate, Roger Harris. Roger usually warmed the Monarchs’ bench until the second quarter. Why had his head coach, DeMarcus Guinn, assigned Warrick to the team with the bench players for this morning’s practice? Shouldn’t he be on the squad with the starters? What had he done wrong?
Warrick pressed the doubts to the back of his mind. He dribbled once, then drove hard toward the corner of the court, matching the ball’s bounce to his steps.
Jamal Ward cursed as Warrick powered past him. The rookie turned to hustle after Warrick. But, caught off guard, Jamal was too late to defend him. Warrick steadied himself at the corner of the court, leaped, and sent a teardrop shot toward the basket. The ball kissed the backboard before diving through the hoop.
Warrick pivoted to jog back down the court. He caught up with Jamal. “Marlon Burress is going to do the same thing to you that I just did. Didn’t you study the Waves’ game film?”
“Obviously not; otherwise he would have known that.” DeMarcus’s voice dripped with disgust. His coal black eyes snapped with impatience. He blew the whistle to stop the practice, then turned to Jamal. “That two-point play should never have happened.”
Warrick agreed. The rookie hadn’t read the scouting reports and he wasn’t giving his full effort during practice. Yet Warrick was in a white jersey with the bench players while Jamal was with the starters wearing black.
Don’t let it matter. Just focus on whatever the team needs to get the win.
DeMarcus continued to glower at Jamal. Two years after retiring from the NBA, the rookie head coach’s lean, six-foot-seven-inch frame was still in playing shape. “I want you to cover Burress. He can’t match your speed. But if you can’t anticipate his movements, your speed won’t matter.”
