Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

“Coming where?” I ask. “Who?”

“You really were checked out.” She laughs, shaking her head and shoving her phone into her purse. “Sorry if we bore you with the details of planning the show.”

“It’s not personal.” I do an Avery check—still chatting—before looking back to Sadie. “I hate meetings. Always have, and my mind tends to drift. So, who’s going where and what’s up?”

“We’re all going to grab drinks and dinner.”

No, thanks.

“I don’t think I’ll—”

“And Avery’s coming with us,” Sadie cuts in with a knowing look.

Oh, well in that case.

“Man’s gotta eat.” She and I share a conspiratorial grin. “What gave me away?”

“Um, what didn’t?” Sadie leans against the conference room table. “Bringing her coffee every day. Not leaving any room until she does. The way you—”

“All right, all right.” I glance around self-consciously to see if anyone heard her spouting how whipped I’ve been behaving. “So, what do I do about it, since you know so much?”

“Do about it?” Her smile is just relishing the novel positon I’m in having to chase a woman.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have a shot. She was wearing some other guy’s ring the last time I saw her. I don’t want to waste my chance this time.”

The humor on Sadie’s face fades, her eyes go sober.

“Oh, Deck. You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

Before she can enlighten me, Avery walks up and Sadie’s mouth snaps shut and her eyes stretch with some silent warning I’m clueless about.

“What’s with all the lollygagging?” Avery asks, playfully bumping Sadie’s shoulder, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. “We eating or what?”

I wish she’d be that easygoing with me. Despite our chemistry onscreen, I can barely get her alone long enough to have a decent conversation.

“I was just telling our friend here he should come with us.” Sadie smiles up at me. “Right, Deck?”

Avery’s grin slips, but she recovers quickly enough to offer me a polite, if stiff, smile.

“You should,” she tells me. “This place does a great dirty martini, and I love their steak.”

I rarely drink and gave up red meat years ago.

“Two of my favorite things,” I lie. “What are we waiting for?”

The prospect of a few extra hours to crack her tough outer shell has

my blood humming through my veins like it’s pre-game and I’m facing an especially challenging opponent.

We’re all crowded in the elevator on our way down, and I meet the guarded interest in Avery’s eyes I’ve become accustomed to over the last week. Not an opponent. I think we’re on the same team. I think we want the same thing. She just doesn’t know it yet.

5

Avery

Two of his favorite things, my ass.