Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(31)

Probably not the kind of behavior the crowd at Coffee Darling was used to, but hey, it would have been fun.

I was hoping a good hard weight session and some serious inclines on the treadmill would help me work off some of the sexual tension, but they didn’t. I kept thinking about her while I worked out, imagining how she’d taste. Sweet, no doubt—like that cherry ice cream last night. But she’d be warm, not cool.

I’d go slow at first—I bet she liked it like that—so slow I’d drive her crazy. She’d moan and she’d sigh and she’d plead—Tyler. Just like that. Don’t stop. And she’d put her hands in my hair and dig her heels into my back, and I wouldn’t stop until I made her come.

Then—I had all the details worked out because I’d spent a fair amount of time last night jerking off to them—then, I’d move up her body and slide my cock into her while she was still wet and hot and murmuring softly. Yes, she’d say. Fuck me, Tyler. You’re so big. You’re so good. You’re the best I’ve ever had.

Suddenly I heard myself groan out loud, and I quickly turned it into a cough so the other two people in the gym wouldn’t think I was a fucking weirdo.

But Jesus. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been unable to get a woman out of my head. Was it because she was so completely off limits? Did I just want what I couldn’t have? Was it because she reminded me of the me I used to be, and actually gave me back some of that feeling? Or was she just gorgeous and sexy and totally my type? I was a man, not a machine—a man in the middle of a tragic dry spell. Why wouldn’t I find her tempting?

After I showered and dressed, I texted Sadie and asked her if she wanted to have lunch with me. I needed a distraction. She replied that she had to run a few errands downtown, but she’d meet me afterward, and gave me the name of a diner on Main Street.

I was sitting at the table waiting for her when I heard a voice.

“Excuse me. Tyler Shaw?”

I looked up and saw a young woman standing beside my table with a notepad and pen in her hand—a reporter. I’d learned to recognize them. “No,” I told her.

She laughed like I’d said something really clever and tossed her Barbie hair. “My name is Bethany Bloomstar, I’m a local reporter for—”

“I’m not interested.” I gave her the menacing glare.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“I know what you were hoping.” I’d dealt with these people day in and day out in San Diego. “And I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, we’re doing a story on you, and we’d like to give you an opportunity to comment. Any idea what caused your mental breakdown?”

“Look, I’m asking you politely.”

“Asking me what?” Her eyebrows rose suggestively.

I frowned, feeling my grip on politeness about to go the way of the pterodactyl, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. I’m telling you politely. I have nothing to say.”

“Are you aware that some people are referring to the yips as Tyler Shaw Syndrome?”

“Please go away.”

“Look, we’re doing the story. Don’t you want your voice on the record?”

“Here’s something for your record—fuck off.” Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said it, she was only trying to do her job, I get it . . . but she was like the eleventy-billionth reporter trying to get in my head, and it wasn’t a space I shared with strangers.

“That’s your comment?” she asked.

“That’s my comment.”

She sighed. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”

“That’s the way I want it.”

After she left, I pulled out my phone, thinking of texting Sadie that I’d changed my mind about lunch in a public place. Hadn’t I learned my lesson by now?

“Tyler?”

I looked up from my phone, ready for another fight, but it wasn’t another reporter. It was Virgil’s son David, the coach at the high school. He’d been an assistant back when I was playing, and he’d also taught social studies, if I remembered correctly.

“David. Hey.” Setting my phone on the table, I stood up and shook his hand.

“Good to see you, Tyler. I heard you were in town.”

“News travels fast. I just saw your dad this morning.”

David chuckled. “He was so glad to see you. Called me right away.”

“So you’re still at the high school?”

He nodded. “Dad said he tried to convince you to stop by.”

“He did, but—”

“You should. The kids would love it. You’re a legend at Central. And it would mean a lot to my dad.”

For some reason, I found myself considering it. “My schedule’s pretty tight. I’m only here until Sunday.”

“We’ve got practice tomorrow morning,” he said hopefully.

“Do you?” I rubbed a finger beneath my lower lip.

“Yes. Just think about it. I got this new kid, a senior, just moved here beginning of this year. He’s a lefty. Fantastic arm, lots of speed, great power. But—”

“No command?”

He shook his head. “Very little.”