Doug was calling.
Again.
Hayden stared at his name on her screen, knowing she needed to answer the damn phone. Sure, she’d called him back last week, but she’d phoned in the afternoon, knowing he would be in a seminar for the summer course he was teaching. Maybe it made her a chicken, but she hadn’t been ready to talk to him yet, opting instead to leave a brief message on his machine.
She hadn’t mentioned Brody in the message, either, mostly because the thought of telling Doug about Brody—on his voicemail no less—had made her palms grow damp. It would’ve been one thing if the situation with Brody hadn’t gone beyond that first night, but it had. Their one-night stand had turned into an actual fling.
How the hell was she supposed to tell Doug she was already sleeping with someone else mere weeks after they’d agreed to go on a break?
Answer the phone, you coward.
Ugh. Fine.
Stifling a groan, Hayden swiped her finger over the screen before the call went to voicemail.
“Doug, hey,” she said quickly.
“Hayden!” Relief echoed on the other end of the line. “It was ringing for so long, I assumed it would go to voicemail.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t find the phone.” She drew her knees up, leaning her elbow against the arm of the couch. On the TV, highlights from last night’s Warriors game flashed across the screen.
Yup. God help her, but she was watching hockey.
Well, not the game itself. She was mostly searching the blur of players for quick glimpses of Brody’s sexy face. Ever since Monday night, when they’d agreed to keep seeing each other—or rather, banging each other’s brains out—she’d basically become obsessed with the man. He was in Colorado now for the second round of the playoffs, so seeing him on TV was the only way she could get her Brody fix until he got home tomorrow night.
“I’m sorry we keep playing phone tag,” she added, although she felt more guilty than regretful, since it had totally been intentional on her end. “Dealing with my father has been a headache.”
“I can imagine.” His deep, gentle voice was so familiar. Like a warm hug. “Your message said something about a deposition?”
“Yeah. It sucked.”
She quickly filled him in, and then he told her about his summer course, and despite their casual tones, Hayden could practically hear the airwaves crackling with awkward tension as they navigated the post-break conversation.
“Hayden,” he blurted out, cutting her off midsentence. “I miss you.” The three words carried a blend of vulnerability and desperation.
“Oh.” She swallowed. For some reason, she couldn’t say it back. “Doug…”
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t say that. You wanted to take a break, and I wholly respect that decision. I just… I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I guess I need more clarity.”
“Clarity,” she echoed uneasily.
“You said something might be missing. But I don’t know if I agree with that. I just feel like we’re great together, you know? On paper, we’re perfect. So what’s missing?”
She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I…don’t know. That’s why I wanted some space. To really think about things. Because we should be more than just great on paper.”
Silence hung between them, broken only by the buzzing of an incoming text message.
She tilted the phone back and bit her lip when she saw who it was.
BRODY: I can’t fucking wait to see you tomorrow night.
That, she almost said out loud. Doug wanted to know what was missing? Well, that was what was missing. Brody’s text was like a neon sign displaying the answer. Not once, in the two months they’d been together, had Doug texted her something like that. Maybe a quick message to confirm the time and place for dinner. Maybe a brisk, “How was your day?” But he’d never seemed overly eager to see her. He’d never been in any rush to take her clothes off. Hell, he hadn’t even seen her naked—and didn’t seem at all bothered by that. There was taking it slow, and then there was Doug.
One short text message from Brody Croft was more flirtatious and passionate than any message Doug had ever sent her.
He interrupted her thoughts, a newfound intensity in his voice. “Hayden, I don’t want to lose you. I care about you too much to let it end like this. So I’m going to give you all the space you need, but I’m not giving up. I need you to know that.”
He promised he’d call her again in a few days, and she ended the call feeling the weight of the conversation pressing on her.
She was still thinking about it the next day, running through the two months she’d spent with Doug. There was a reason she’d started dating him, and a reason she’d kept dating him despite the lack of physical intimacy.
Truth was, she’d placed a lot of importance on sex in previous relationships. And somewhere along the way, she’d convinced herself that off-the-charts chemistry was the most important factor. That without it, a relationship was doomed. Turned into one of those dead-bedroom situations that led people to have affairs.
She and Doug didn’t have explosive sparks, but she enjoyed his company. She liked how compassionate and generous he was. His dry art jokes made her smile.
And that was why she couldn’t fully close that door. She’d hoped that asking for space would help her pinpoint what was lacking between her and Doug, but all she’d done with that space so far was fall into bed with another man. Fall right back into old patterns of prioritizing chemistry over stability.
And yet, when Brody messaged that afternoon asking if she still wanted him to come by later, she wasted no time responding with one eager word.
Yes.
“Let’s order room service,” Brody said later that night, slipping his boxers on.
He watched as Hayden put on her tank top and then attempted to fix the ponytail that had seen better days. Wayward strands of dark hair fell into her eyes, and he smiled at the knowledge that her disheveled state was the result of rolling around in bed with him. She looked rumpled and beautiful and so damn cute he marched over and planted a kiss on her lips.
With a little whimper, she pulled his head closer and sank into the kiss, flicking her tongue against his in a tantalizing way that made him hard again.
Just as he lowered his hands to her breasts, she pushed him back. “What happened to room service?” she teased.
“Screw it.”
“Knock yourself out. I, for one, am starved.” With a grin, she brushed past him and left the bedroom.
He stared down at the erection poking against his boxers. Fuck, how did this woman turn him on so fiercely? He felt like a horny teenager again.
He put on his jeans, then drifted toward the living room.
“How do cheeseburgers sound?” she called when she spotted him lingering in the hallway.
His stomach growled with approval. “Great.”
He joined her on the couch. As she dialed room service and placed their order, he noticed a stack of papers sitting on the table. Curious, he leaned forward and examined the first sheet. It looked like a biography on Rembrandt, neatly typed. The margins were full of handwritten notes.
“What’s this?” he asked when she hung up the phone.
“Ideas for the Color Theory class I’m teaching in the fall. I plan to focus on Rembrandt for a few lectures.”
“Rembrandt, huh? I thought all of his paintings were pretty dark and foreboding.” The snippet of information stored in his brain came as a surprise to him. He hadn’t thought he’d paid any attention during art history class his senior year of high school.
Hayden also looked surprised, but pleased. “Actually, that’s what I want to focus on, the misconceptions about certain artists and their use of color. Did you know that Rembrandt’s Night Watch is in fact a day scene?”
A vague image of the painting surfaced in his mind. “I remember it being very dark.”
“It was—until the painting was cleaned.” She grinned. “The canvas was coated with loads of varnish. When it was removed, it turned out to be daylight. A lot of his paintings ended up looking very different once they were cleaned or restored, proving that he definitely knew what he was doing when it came to color.” She grew more animated as she hurried on. “Same with Michelangelo. People didn’t view him as much of a colorist, but when the Sistine Chapel was cleaned, it was so vivid, the colors so vibrant, that everyone was shocked.”
“I never knew that.”
“It took longer to clean that ceiling than it did to paint it,” she added. “It was covered in so much soot and dirt that when they were removed the entire scene looked different. That’s one of the things I want to talk to my students about, how something as simple as cleaning or restoring can change your entire view of a piece of art.”
He nodded. “Sort of like when the Zamboni cleans the ice during second period intermission. Changes the entire playing surface.”
He saw her mouth quirk and suspected she was trying not to laugh. “Yeah. I guess there’s a similarity there.”
Setting down the papers, he said, “You’re really into art, huh?”
“Of course. It’s my passion.”
A smile reached his lips. He hadn’t spent much time with women who were passionate about anything outside the bedroom, and the light in Hayden’s green eyes tugged at something inside him. He realized this was the first time she’d opened up to him, engaged in a conversation that didn’t include ground rules, and he liked it.
“So do you paint, or just lecture about painters?” he asked curiously.
“I used to draw and paint a lot when I was younger, but not so much anymore.”
“How come?”
She shrugged. “I was always more fascinated with other people’s work than with my own. My undergrad was mostly studio work, but I did my master’s in art history. I realized I liked studying great artists way more than trying to become one myself.” She drew her knees up into a cross-legged position and asked, “What did you study in college?”
“Sports sciences,” he answered. “You know, kinesiology, sports medicine. And I minored in athletic coaching.”
“Really?”
Her expression revealed nothing, but he got the feeling she didn’t believe him, which made him feel like he was in high school all over again. The kid who’d been written off by his teachers as a big dumb oaf just because he happened to be good at sports. They’d stuck the jock label on him, and no matter how hard he’d tried to tear it off, the judgmental attitudes remained intact. One time he’d even been accused of cheating on an English test he’d spent hours studying for, all because his teacher decided that a kid who spent all his time handling a puck couldn’t possibly finish a book like Crime and Punishment.
Hayden must have sensed his irritation because she quickly added, “I believe you. It’s just…well, most of the athletes I knew growing up only went to college for the athletic scholarship and just skipped all the academic classes.”
“My parents would have killed me if I’d skipped class. They only allowed me to play hockey if I maintained an A average.”
Hayden looked impressed. “What do your parents do for a living?”
“Dad’s a mechanic, and Mom works in a hair salon.” He paused. “Money was always tight during my childhood.” He resisted the urge to glance around the lavish penthouse, which was an obvious sign that Hayden hadn’t had the same problem growing up.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d brought up the money part, either. He hated talking about his childhood. Hated thinking about it, too. As much as he loved his parents, he didn’t like to be reminded of how hard life had been to them. How his mom used to stay up at night clipping coupons and how his dad walked to work—even when Michigan’s winter was at its worst—each time their beat-up Chevy truck broke down. Fortunately, his parents would never have to worry about money again, thanks to him.
The phone rang, putting an end to their conversation. Hayden picked up the receiver, then hung up and said room service was on its way.
As she headed for the elevator to greet the bellhop with the cart, Brody turned on the television, flipping through a few channels until finally stopping on the eleven o’clock news.
After rolling the cart into the living room, Hayden uncovered their food and placed a plate in front of him. The aroma of fries and ground beef floated toward him, making his mouth water.
He’d just taken a big bite of his cheeseburger when a familiar face flashed across the screen. He nearly choked on the burger as a wave of unease washed over him.
Hayden had also noticed her father’s image, and she quickly grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. They caught the anchor in midsentence.
“—came forward this afternoon and admitted there is truth to the rumors surrounding the Chicago Warriors franchise. The player, who refused to be named, claims that the bribery and illegal betting activities Warriors owner Presley Houston is accused of are, in fact, true.”
