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“Since we’re all coming clean,” Cole continued pleasantly, looking at Marisa, “why don’t you tell me what’s in this for you?”
She blinked. “I told you. I want to help the Pershing School get a new gym.”
“No, how does this all help you personally?”
Marisa bit her lip. “Well... I hope I’ll be considered for assistant principal someday.”
“Now we’re getting warmer,” he said with satisfaction, cocking his head because this was the Marisa he expected—full of guile and hidden motives. “Funny, I had you pegged for the type who’d be walking up the aisle in a white dress by now and then juggling babies and teaching.”
Marisa paled, and Cole’s hand curled. She looked as if he’d scored a dead hit.
“I was engaged until a few months ago,” she said in a low voice.
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?” Had Marisa entrapped someone else from high school? Unlikely.
“Maybe. He’s a sports agent named Sal Piazza.”
Beside them, his brother whistled before Cole could react.
“You might know him,” Marisa continued, “because he’s now dating your last girlfriend. Or at least you were photographed in the stands at a hockey game with her. Vicki Salazar.”
Damn.
“Hey, can this be called entangled by proxy?” Jordan interjected, his brow furrowing. “Or how about engaged by one degree of separation? Is that an oxymoron?”
Cole felt a muscle in his face working. His brother didn’t know the half of it. “Put a lid on it, Jordan.”
Cole looked around. They were attracting an audience. The speculative ones were wondering whether this was a lovers’ spat and Marisa was his girlfriend—and whether they could intercept her as she made her way out of the gym. “This is ridiculous. The ring isn’t the place for this conversation. We’re a damn spectacle.”
Marisa looked startled.
He fastened his hand on her arm against his better judgment. “Come on.” He lifted the rope. “After you.”
Marisa cast a glance at Jordan.
“He isn’t coming,” Cole said shortly.
Marisa stepped between the ropes and Cole followed, taking the wooden steps down to the gym floor.
Ignoring curious looks, he steered Marisa toward the back entrance—the one leading to the parking lot. When they reached the rear do
or, he turned to face her and said, “So you’re engaged to Sal Piazza.”
“I was.” She lifted her chin. “Not anymore.”
“Still can’t resist the sports guys?”
“I’m a slow learner.”
She’d been anything but a slow learner the one time they’d had sex. She’d been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
He cursed silently. He had to stop thinking about her. Even though right now, the sunlight from a nearby window caught in her hair, creating a halo effect, and illuminated the fascinating flecks in her eyes. But what really drew him was the bow of her mouth. Soft, pink and unadorned—just waiting to be kissed, even now, fifteen years later.
She frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m stalked by schoolteachers all the time.”
She flushed.
