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“I really am.”
“You’re such a brat.”
“It’s why you love me,” he chirps.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say and take a sip of my coffee.
“Honestly, I’m impressed that he didn’t try to pressure you and was fine with stopping when you said stop,” he says. “That’s a rare quality in a man.”
“It is. I think maybe that’s why I felt so bad shutting him down like that.”
Ian pops a piece of muffin into his mouth and chews as he scrutinizes me from across the table. I know him well enough to know he’s building up to a question, so I sit back and wait for him to spill it. I don’t have to wait long.
“In all the time I’ve known you, you have been single-minded about your job, about building your career,” he says. “Frankly, even though I’m proud as hell of you, I’m surprised you went out with him in the first place.”
“Honestly? I’m surprised I did too.”
“Why did you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s just… There's something about him that I’m just drawn to. I like being around him, and when I’m not, I want to be,” I admit. “I don’t understand it. I mean, nobody has ever had this kind of an impact on me before. As much as I want to ignore him and concentrate on my job, I can’t. I’m always thinking about him.”
“Sounds like you’ve got quite the crush.”
“I do. But… I feel like that’s oversimplifying my feelings. It’s more than a crush,” I tell him. “We have this… connection. I don’t get it, but I feel it. And I know he does too. At least, I’m pretty sure he does.”
“Oh, trust me, he does.”
“How do you know?”
“The flowers, the attention he lavishes on you, the fact that he respects you enough to stop and not pressure you when you suddenly turn into Frigid Frida on him,” he says. “To me, that sounds like a good man with a real connection to you. And that’s not somebody who, in my opinion, should be taken for granted. Good men who are respectful like that seem to be an endangered species, my dear.”
“I know. It’s just…”
My words taper off and I shake my head, not even sure where my thoughts were going. Everything in my head is a jumbled mess of thought and emotion, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to pull it into any sort of coherency.
“Did you want to sleep with him last night?” Ian asks.
“I did.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I think because I let my brother get into my head.”
When he gives me a curious look, I explain the conversation I had with Eric when he stopped by the office yesterday. As he listens, a frown crosses Ian’s face.
“What is it?” I ask when I finish.
“Look, I’m not going to sit here and say I know Ben on any sort of real level. We’ve had a few conversations over the years?—”
“You have?” I ask, curious about this new information.
He nods. “I interviewed him a couple of times back when he was in college. No big deal or anything, but I liked his game and thought, even back then, he had the potential to be one of those transcendent-type players.”
“I had no idea.”
“Like I said, it was just a couple of interviews some years back. But my impression of him, even back then, was that he wasn’t anything like what your brother described,” he says. “I know a lot of athletes are like that—a woman in every city and all that. And I also know it’s easy to lump them all in together. But my impression of Ben Givens is that he’s not like most players. And I’ve certainly never heard a whiff of that sort of impropriety about him.”
I shake my head. “You’ve been in this game a lot longer than I have, but I’ve never heard anything like that either. I mean, it’s not like he’s getting sued by dozens of his former massage therapists or anything.”
