Reaching First (11 page)

“There isn’t anything to tell!” Emily lowered her voice. “He came by after the team got back from Cincinnati. I was nervous about seeing him. I had a couple of drinks before he got there, on an empty stomach. In the end, nothing happened.”
 

Anna looked skeptical.
 

“Nothing!” Emily protested.

A furrow of concern appeared between Anna’s eyebrows. “Seriously, Em. I’m surprised. He isn’t like any of the guys you’ve dated before.”

“No. He isn’t.” Emily confirmed the words she’d already told herself a thousand times over.

“Do you think it’s a good idea? I mean, with the community service and everything…”

“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea!” Emily surprised herself by her vehemence. “I don’t think it’s a good idea at all! I’m pretty sure I drank half a bottle of Ketel One because I knew exactly how
terrible
an idea all of this is!”

Anna sat back, obvious concern pulling her mouth into a frown.

“You don’t have to do this, Emily. The team can find someplace else for Tyler to serve his sentence. It doesn’t have to be with you, if you really want to go ahead with this.”

Someplace else
. The words hovered there, like a gift. If Tyler served his sentence someplace else, then there wouldn’t be any ethical barrier to a relationship between them. If she didn’t need to track his hours, didn’t need to at least
pretend
to be an unbiased observer, then she’d be free to find out if there really
was
anything between them, if there ever could be.

But Emily knew all of that was an elaborate lie. She’d already decided she didn’t care about the ethics of monitoring Tyler’s community service. She’d been willing to take the chance of messing that up. Her problem was something Anna couldn’t fix, even if she’d known the truth. Emily’s problem was figuring out what she wanted to do with her own body, when she was ready to let go of the Virgin Technicality.
 

But the thought of losing Tyler dismayed her. If he weren’t required to show up at her house for community service, he’d find other ways to use his time. He’d find other women who were more willing to follow through on what they promised.
 

She felt her cheeks heat. Her blush must have been visible, because Anna put a hand on her wrist. “Say the word, and I’ll set something else up immediately.”

“No,” Emily said, too quickly.
 

The Rockets were back in the field. Atlanta’s strongest batter dug in behind the plate. Anna seemed reluctant when she turned her attention back to the game. The batter swung at the first pitch, sending a screaming line drive to first. Tyler had to leap from the bag, stretch his arm directly overhead, but he came down with the ball in his glove.
 

From the box, Emily could see his easy smile as he tossed the ball to the second baseman. She made out the victorious flash in his eyes as he settled back on the bag, ready for the next out. She saw the way he eased off, taking a few steps to his right to put himself in a better position to catch the next ball hit.

And she saw his quick glance to the owner’s box, the tight nod as he found her in the front row. He touched a single finger to his baseball cap, and she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him.

“No,” Emily said to Anna again. “Don’t change a thing.” She had the rest of his sentence to figure out what she wanted from Tyler. What she wanted from herself. It was time to ask herself the hard questions, and to listen to every answer.

Emily stared at the spreadsheet, unable to believe the totals displayed on her computer screen. Eighty-three. Tyler had already put eighty-three hours into Minerva House.

She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d helped Will refinish all of the hardwood on the ground floor—sanding and finishing and sealing all four public rooms, along with the hallway. He’d painted the newels on the staircase, taking care that no drips marred the uprights. He’d installed the new wiring for the overhead lighting, and he’d tested the new circuits.
 

Of course, he’d also cajoled her into counting the hours he’d waited for the county inspector. And he’d ducked out of other things she’d asked him to do—organizing books on the shelves in the front room, sorting the brochures she’d picked up from the printer. He’d absolutely refused to go online when she asked him to double-check the website, saying he had to run errands before he hit the road.

She’d been frustrated, but she’d gotten over it while he traveled, first to Miami, then Atlanta. They’d talked every night—sometimes until two or three in the morning. Yesterday had been a rare travel day. She’d thought about inviting him to stop by after he got back from the airport, but she’d decided not to. After their earlier fiasco, an invitation like that would come with too many strings attached.

A week apart had been just the thing she needed to get over his stubborn refusal to complete the assignments
she
wanted him to do, the things that weren’t high on his personal to-do list. And Emily had to admit she
was
eager to see him. It certainly wasn’t the same, watching him on TV. He might have hit a game-winning home run in Florida, and a grand slam in Atlanta. He might be in the middle of a hot streak, with the cameras loving him every time he stepped to the plate.

But Emily was interested in a lot more than his batting average when she opened the door on Tuesday morning.

He leaned against the door jamb. “Hey, beautiful.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and watched the motion kindle a hunger in his eyes. “Quit it,” she said. “Will’s right inside.”

“Then maybe you should step out here, on the porch.”

“Like that’s any more private.”

“There’s plenty of room in the bed of my truck.”

All she heard was bed. That was enough. She blushed, and he laughed.

Cursing her fair skin and her shy reflexes, she held the door open wider. “Get in here. There’s a lot of painting to be done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t have to brush against her when he passed over the threshold, but he did. He didn’t have to let his fingers catch on the hem of her shorts. He didn’t have to pause, leaning close, as she caught her breath sharply. And he didn’t have to chuckle, deep in his throat, as she sighed when he stepped away.

“Hey, Will,” he called as he entered the living room. “Primer already done?”
 

“Just waiting for you to add the first coat,” the handyman said from his stepladder. “This is the last of the cutting in.”

She tried not to feel jealous as the men fell into an easy conversation about last night’s game. The umpires had made some terrible calls, mostly against the Rockets. Emily knew, because she’d watched every minute. But she left the men to their discussion and padded back to her office.

Three weeks until Mr. Samson made his final decision on Minerva House. Three weeks until she showed him the final version of her attempts to build a community for returning soldiers and their families.

That reminded her. She still needed child-size furniture for the Fun Room, the space that had once been the dining room. She wanted to get a table that was low to the ground, along with four miniature plastic chairs. A chest, too, something that could be filled with blocks and dolls and other toys for imaginative play. As her concept for the House had grown, the Fun Room had become increasingly important. Kids needed to be kept occupied so their parents could do the hard work of acclimating to stateside life.

Consulting her computer, she wrote down everything she needed. Tyler could pick it up on his way over tomorrow. She folded the paper and wrote his name on the outside. On a whim, she added a pair of interlocking hearts.
 

Sure, it was silly. But silly felt good. It felt right. She’d leave the list on the passenger seat of his truck and make him think it was a love letter, at least until he opened it. It would serve the guy right, teasing her like that on her own front porch.

She was still grinning, when the phone rang.
 

“Emily! Jamie Martin here. I’m glad I caught you in your office.”

Emily smiled at the enthusiasm in the photographer’s voice. “What’s up?”

“My schedule shifted unexpectedly. I can fit you in for those headshots we talked about, if you come by this morning.”

“This morning?” Emily heard the alarm in her voice, as she looked down at her shorts.

“I know you want everything for the website before your big review September 1st.” The photographer was clearly used to reluctant subjects. Her voice carried the perfect amount of cajoling.

Emily sighed in resignation. “Give me half an hour.”

“It’s not like you’re going to your execution.” Jamie laughed. “You’ll see. We’ll have fun.”

“I can’t wait,” Emily said dryly, but she was smiling.
 

“Just bring a few outfits. We’ll figure out what works best.”

Emily had already selected appropriate clothes; she’d ransacked her closet half a dozen times to choose the outfits that hung on the back of her office door. “Got it. See you in a few.”

As Emily hung up, her gaze shifted to the stack of filing on the corner of her desk. Every day for the past two weeks, she’d promised herself she’d get it done. She’d even scribbled notes to herself on the corner of every page, instructions about which folder should hold each paper. The photographer’s sudden schedule change was going to make Emily skirt the responsibility once again. She’d lost too much sleep worrying about the task. This really, truly had been the day she was going to get it done. Damn.

“What’s wrong?”

She jumped like a cat caught on the kitchen counter. Even as she trapped a little shriek against the back of her teeth, she realized Tyler was standing in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She laughed a little. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” She couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t say exactly what made it sound like he was asking about her sexiest daydreams. But all of a sudden, she was thinking about
him
, picturing him with his shirt off, standing there and offering her a lot more than community service hours.

She shook her head and forced her mind back to business. “About how I’m going to get all this work done.”

“Maybe we could take a drive over to my place,” he suggested with a sly smile. “It doesn’t smell like paint. I could help you forget whatever has you so worked up.”

Worked up
. That was one way of putting it.

She firmly set aside the mental picture of Tyler Brock, hot and sweaty, administering his private brand of therapy. “I am
not
taking a drive with you anywhere,” she said with a smile. “In fact, why don’t you stay here and finish my filing? Then, I’ll be able to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” he asked innocently.

“Don’t start with me!” She picked up her purse. “There’s the filing. The folders are all in the top two drawers.”

“But—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Emily—”

“I’m not listening!” She laughed as she edged past him. But she couldn’t keep from her own bit of teasing, leaning just
that
much too close as she collected her clothes for the photo shoot. She felt him catch his breath, but she was halfway to the front door before he could say anything else.
 

She didn’t have to sway her hips quite as much as she left the house. But it felt damn good to do it. Especially when she left her “love note” for Tyler on the front seat of his truck. She smiled all the way to Jamie’s studio.

* * *

Was she
trying
to drive him crazy?

It she’d only met him at the front door wearing those short shorts, that would have been bad enough. If she’d only joked with him, promising a thousand things with all the words she didn’t say… If she’d only let his fingers brush against her thigh… If she’d only jumped when he found her in the office, looked at him with that mix of hunger and surprise, walked out that front door, twitching her pretty little ass from side to side…
 

All of that would have been enough to drive him up the wall.
 

But no. There was more—that constant promise between them. The tease that kept them both on edge. Seventeen more hours of community service, and they’d be free to finish what they’d started that night in her bedroom.
 

He hitched at his jeans, trying to relieve the pressure at his crotch.
 

And then he stared at the stack of papers she’d left on her desk. What the hell was he supposed to do with those? Filing. It would be bad enough if he could
read
the damn things.
 

But he had to do it. If he didn’t, Emily would find out. If he didn’t, he’d blow his whole community service gig and shake her faith in him, besides.

Shit. With all his experience avoiding situations exactly like this, he should have figured out a way around the project. Maybe he could get Will to do it. Tell the handyman…
 

Right. Like
that
was going to work.

Feeling like a man facing a pit of poisonous snakes, he set his jaw and walked over to her desk. She’d written notes on each page. Must be the files she wanted the papers to go in.

He tugged on the top drawer of the filing cabinet, jerking it toward himself with enough force that he almost pulled the whole thing over. His heart was pounding hard enough to make him pant. He wiped his palms against his jeans and picked up the first page.

E. The letter was right there, clear as a hung curveball.

He licked his lips. The filing cabinet had to be in alphabetic order. He squinted at the folders. Sure enough, there was the E. Fifth one in.

He jerked the file from the drawer and swore when a dozen pieces of paper started to spill. He tried to grab them, to keep them from falling, but he only succeeded in scrambling all of them.
 

Goddamit! Now they were all out of order. Even if he wanted to figure out where the E paper in his hand went, he couldn’t. He’d have to sort the rest of them. Have to match them up.