When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(33)

She knew the perfect way to deal with Thad. “I have a rule. No hookups, no flings, no affairs. Not without a commitment.”

“Commitment!” Those green eyes shot open. “We’ve only known each other a little over a week!”

She arranged her face in her most earnest expression. “Is commitment a problem for you?”

“Damn right, it’s a problem. I can barely commit to what I want to eat for dinner, let alone to a woman.”

A long, theatrical sigh. “Sorry. Unless you’re thinking about the possibility of marriage, we’re a nonstarter.”

He dropped his spoon, splashing milk on the tabletop. “Did you say ‘marriage’?”

She was an actress, and she had no trouble keeping a straight face. “If you want it, put a ring on it.”

She couldn’t have come up with a more efficient way of defusing the geomagnetic storm of sexual heat that sizzled around them. He shot up from the table. “I’m going out.”

“I thought you might want to.”

It wouldn’t take him long to realize she was baiting him, but for now, she’d enjoy the solitude. Or at least try to.

The piano in the great room was out of tune, but she played it anyway. Tested her voice. Bent her arms over the keyboard and tried not to cry.

*

Light snow fell on the windshield early the next morning as they drove back toward Denver. They’d taken a hike yesterday and listened to good jazz over dinner. Thad had grilled steaks and sidestepped her questions about his secretive computer habits. Her attempt at making mashed potatoes had ended up in the trash, but she’d made a killer salad. She wished they could have stayed longer.

He eased up on the accelerator. “That was some bullshit you were dishing out yesterday morning. Congratulations.”

She cradled her cup of the coffee they’d brought along. “I do like to take my entertainment where I can find it.”

He turned the wipers to slow speed. “Fair enough. But there’s something between us, and we both know it.” He glanced over at her. “So what’s the real reason you don’t want to take the next logical step?”

She tore her vision away from his profile and shimmied around the truth. “Amazingly, we like each other. We even sort of understand each other. Agree?”

“Agree. And . . . ?”

“I think we need to honor that. Wouldn’t you like having a female friend who’s not jumping you? Somebody you could confide your woman problems to and who could tell you when you’re being a jerk?”

“I already have one of those. Her name’s Piper. Cooper Graham’s wife.”

“But she’s part of your professional world. You need someone outside football you can trust.”

“Considering that I can’t wipe the image of you naked out of my brain, I don’t think it’s realistic to expect we could have that kind of friendship.” He glanced at the driver’s side mirror and pulled into the left lane. “What’s really holding you back? Tell your good buddy, Thad.”

She returned her coffee to the car’s cup holder. “I’ve already told you a lot more about my personal life than you’ve told me about yours. Why is that? Why is it that you want me to spill my secrets when you haven’t revealed anything personal to me?”

“And just like that, you change the subject.”

“Well?”

“I like women. Always have. And before you get offended, I’m not only talking about sex. I spend most of my life with men, and that means lots of sweat, blood, broken bones, and trash talk. Being with a smart woman who smells good and looks good and wants to do something other than play video games and talk about sports is important to me.” He glanced at the speedometer. “I’ve never jumped from woman to woman, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve probably got a lower number than ninety percent of the men in the NFL.”

“Admirable. I guess.”

He swung back into the right lane. He drove too fast, but he wasn’t a road hog. “I’d describe myself as a serial monogamist. I’ve had some great women in my life, and I only regret a couple of them. Your turn.”

She didn’t have to be honest with him, but she wanted to be. “I’ve learned the hard way. No singers, actors, frustrated artists, or anyone who needs a mother instead of a lover.”

“So far, I’m in the clear.”

She regarded him pointedly. “Also, no ambitious, successful men with well-deserved egos who are as dedicated to their careers as I am to mine and who, as it turns out, have only limited tolerance for a woman who’s their mirror image.” There. She’d said it.

He regarded her warily. “Adam burned you in more ways than one.”

She shrugged. “I don’t do well with needy men or with successful men, either.”

He started to ask her how she defined “successful” and then thought better of it. “It kind of narrows your dating pool.”

“Women like me: our careers come first. We can’t accommodate a romantic partner’s schedule. We’re not always available when a man wants to talk or have sex or needs a shoulder to cry on. We have our own money, and we don’t need theirs.”

“I think you’re underestimating a lot of men.”