Rough & Ready Read online

  I’m not used to that. From the moment I first conceived of Rebound, I’ve been on my own with it. My parents and brothers didn’t approve of it, thought I was having some kind of injury-induced crisis and that I should save my playing money for something “more important.” My friends were a little more supportive, but not much—three years in and they still tend to think of this as a phase I’m going through. And not one of the guys I’ve gone on a date with in the last three years has shown any interest in Rebound at all.

  Then Tanner Green shows up and suddenly I feel like someone’s got my back—and it’s the person I least expected. I don’t know how I feel about that yet—how I feel about him. What I do know, though? That it just might be time to figure it out…

  Chapter 12

  When I walk into the Save San Diego gala thirty minutes later, I still haven’t gotten my equilibrium back. Which is why I think I might be hallucinating when the first person I see when I make my way through the ballroom doors is Tanner freaking Green. He’s facing away from me, but it’s definitely him—it’s not like there are that many guys his size on the planet, let alone in this ballroom. Plus, the dreads are a dead giveaway.

  For a second, all I can do is stand here and stare at his back as he talks to Ethan and Chloe Frost. There are a million things I want to say to him, a million feelings welling up inside me, and I don’t know how to tell him any of it.

  Maybe it’s because there’s a part of me that’s still in shock—about the exercise equipment and the check. I don’t even know what to say about the money, except that it’s going to help me do so much for Rebound that I can barely comprehend it. Forget squeezing money from my already tight budget to pay for necessities—now I’ll be able to add a bunch of new and exciting summer classes for the kids, and—even more important—add the summer lunch program I’ve been wanting to for so long.

  As I wait for Tanner’s conversation with the Frosts to wind up, I grab a glass of wine from a passing waiter and take a long sip. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, why the butterflies in my stomach are suddenly working overtime at the thought of talking to him, of thanking him.

  I was around him half the day yesterday and didn’t have this problem, so why now? Why here, when I have a whole list of things I want to say to him—and thank him for?

  Because he’s starting to matter, whispers a voice deep inside me that I’d much prefer to ignore—but that I’m honest enough to admit is probably right. It’s unexpected, inconvenient and I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do about it…but it’s also kind of nice.

  The warmth I feel when he looks at me.

  The zing I get whenever a part of his body brushes against a part of mine.

  The ridiculous bubble of happiness that blooms inside me whenever it registers that he’s listening to what I have to say. And that he respects what matters most to me.

  It’s all really nice. Too bad I don’t have a clue what to do with all that niceness. All his niceness. Except get really, really nervous now that he’s right here in front of me for the first time since he kissed me yesterday afternoon.

  I finish the champagne in one long swallow before grabbing another glass from another waiter. I need the prop, even if this is starting to feel ridiculous. I’ve never had trouble talking to a man in my life and I’m not going to start now just because Tanner makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. Things that, before I met him, I didn’t think I ever wanted to feel again.

  The little pep talk works. Well, that and the champagne. Together they calm me down and settle the hummingbirds batting around in my stomach. At least until Tanner turns around and those gorgeous green eyes of his find mine.

  And fuck. Just…fuck.

  The little voice inside me is screaming for me to run in the other direction, warning me at the top of its lungs that this big, beautiful man is going to break my heart if I let him.

  In desperation, I knock back the rest of the champagne in one long gulp—it doesn’t drown the voice out so much as make me not give a shit about it, or its warnings.

  I drop the glass on the table next to me and contemplate grabbing a third. But in the end I don’t, because there isn’t enough champagne in the world to calm me down now—especially since the hummingbirds in my stomach just turned into vultures. Maybe even pterodactyls.

  My gaze is locked with Tanner’s, and, God, does he look amazing standing there, one eyebrow raised and a sexy-ass grin on his face. Like seriously, drop-dead, amazing. I mean, he looked hot as hell in tight jeans and a T-shirt. And even better in nothing but a towel. But dressed like he is now, in a simple black tuxedo with a white bow tie and square silver studs over the buttons, with his dreads tied back? He’s the stuff fantasies are made of. At least my fantasies…

  The thought jolts me, has me narrowing my eyes at him in warning. But that just makes his smile bigger. Which, in turn, straightens my shoulders and my spine. I may be having a minor emotional freak-out, but Tanner Green isn’t the only person in the room with no backup in him. After all, reporters for the WNBA didn’t call me Hold ’Em Back Vance for nothing.

  He starts walking toward me and I meet him halfway, determined to keep my emotions locked down tight. And it almost works, right up until he snags a glass of water from a passing tray and holds it out to me with a wink.

  “It’ll give the champagne a chance to settle,” he says.

  Any other guy trying to get me into bed would have been happy to help me get more liquored up. The fact that Tanner is too decent of a guy to try to win that way…gets to me, more I want it to.

  More than I should let it.

  “Thank you.” I take his offering. “For this and for everything you’ve done. The exercise room is unbelievable and the check…I don’t even know what to say.”

  He waves my thanks away, then asks, “So the equipment worked out for you? I wasn’t sure how big the room was, so I didn’t want to send too much.”

  “You sent so much, and it all fits perfectly. The kids are crazy excited.”

  His eyes light up at that. “Yeah?”

  “Oh my God, yeah. They kept coming by all afternoon to check it out as we were setting it up. When I left, a bunch of girls were already in there working out on the treadmills and elliptical machines, having a blast.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “Thank you. Sincerely. What you did…it’s the most awesome thing anyone has ever done for the center and for me.” He shakes his head, shrugs it off like it’s nothing. And maybe for him, it is. For me? The fact that he’s given so generously of his time and his money says a lot about him. All of it good.

  “There are a lot of great kids at your center. I really enjoyed talking to them yesterday. If I could do something that might help them out a little, why wouldn’t I?”

  And that, that attitude right there, is why I’m in so much trouble with this man. “They are great. And they really enjoyed talking to you, too. You’ve pretty much been the topic for the last two days. As for helping, the money you gave is going to do a lot of good for them. It’ll let me add a number of programs this summer and fall that I wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise.”

  “Then I’m glad you stormed the locker room to yell at me.”

  “Me, too.” I don’t bother to try to hide the wicked behind my grin. “I wish you could have seen your face. It was priceless.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not every day the most gorgeous blonde I’ve ever seen hands me my ass—while it’s hanging out of a towel, no less.”

  I can feel myself blushing for the second time today and it freaks me out. To combat it, I clear my throat, give him an “oh, really” look. “Gorgeous blonde? Really?”

  “You didn’t see yourself. I did.” His eyes sweep over me, leave a trail of heat in their wake. “You look amazing in that dress, by the way
.”

  “You looked amazing in your towel. And even better in this tux.”

  His grin is so wide now that it covers half his face, his teeth gleaming white against his dark, beautiful skin. “The people at Gillette did tell me that I wear a towel well. Designed their whole ad campaign around it, in fact.” He pretends to buff his nails on his shirt, then blows on them.

  And just like that, the ball of nerves in my stomach dissolves. He’s too much, and all of it good. “I bet they sold a lot of razors.”

  He laughs, then, low and long. “I never asked.”

  “You should have. You probably deserved a bonus on top of the endorsement fee.”

  “I do okay.”

  “Yeah, I read that about you today.”

  “You were reading about me?” His eyebrows go up. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, my friend. I was simply trying to find an address to send a thank-you note to. I hadn’t seen the check yet, didn’t realize you’d left me your number.”

  “Of course. Because why wouldn’t my address be listed in some random article about me?”

  I shoot him a look. “I might have gotten a little distracted from the original task.”

  “Distracted, huh?” He moves in closer, his eyes glowing laser bright. “By what?”

  I think about lying, but I’m having too much fun sparring with him for that. Instead, I take a sip of my water, wait a beat. And then say, “By the pics of you working out. I especially like the ones of you in those little red shorts.”

  “You like those, huh?” His lips are a few scant centimeters away from mine now. “I think I’ve still got them…”

  I lean forward until my lips are almost touching his, until we’re sharing the same space. The same air. “Do you now?”

  “I do. What do you say I wear them for you and you wear that little black skirt of yours for me? We can go a couple more rounds on the court?”

  “Oh, honey. If you wore those shorts…I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t make it to the court.”

  “Fuck, girl.” He looks impressed…and turned on. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

  I dart my tongue out, lick my lips. Enjoy the hell out of the way his jaw works. “The better to kiss—and bite—you with.”

  His only answer is a low groan as he cups the back of my head with one of his huge hands, his fingers tangling in my curls as he pulls me forward that last little bit. And then, just like that, his mouth is on mine in a kiss so scorching hot that it’s a miracle my panties don’t go up in flames—along with the rest of me.

  The kiss only lasts a second or two, but when he pulls back my knees are wobbly. And so is the rest of me. The only solace I have is that he looks as shaken as I feel.

  “Jesus,” he says, blowing out a long, low breath. “When I finally get you into bed, we’re going to burn the house down.”

  “Who said you were going to get me into bed?” I ask, brows raised.

  “You think there’s any doubt that’s where we’re heading? With the chemistry between us?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know why you thought it was going to be in a bed. I’m pretty sure I’m more imaginative than that.”

  His mouth drops open even as his eyes go wide and I take that as my cue to walk away…at least for now.

  It only takes a few seconds for him to recover—and to catch up with me. “Hey. Where you going? You don’t get to just run away after saying something like that.”

  “I’m not running away. I’m getting ready to do my job.”

  He just looks at me, brows raised.

  “Okay, maybe I’m running away a little bit. But can you blame me? How else am I supposed to handle you?”

  “You didn’t seem to have any trouble handling me on the court yesterday.”

  “I never have trouble handling anyone on the court.”

  “I can believe that. You were fire.” When I don’t say anything else, he gently bumps his shoulder against mine. “Where did you learn to play like that anyway?”

  It’s my turn to lift a brow, because amazing guy or not, he’s still arrogant. Still can’t think out of the box.

  Determined to school him on that, I wait until he’s lifted his water glass to his mouth and taken a sip. Then I say, “The WNBA.”

  He chokes, just like I expected, eyes bulging out and everything. “No shit? You’re a baller?”

  “And here I thought I made that obvious when I dunked all over you yesterday.” I’m not sure if I’m insulted or amused by how incredulous he sounds. “Women can be ballers, you know.”

  “Believe me, I know.” He looks me up and down with new eyes. “Elara Vance. Pro-basketball player. How did I not know that?”

  “Because we live in a sexist society, one that puts way more emphasis on male sports and players than it does female?”

  “Ouch,” he says with a grimace. “We’re not all sexist, you know.”

  “Really? This coming from the man who promised to take it easy on me? The one who expected me to recognize him as the player he is, even though it never even occurred to him that I might be a pro in my own right?”

  “Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “So, who’d you play for?”

  “The Phantoms.”

  “Seriously? The home team?”

  I smirk at him. “At least you know that much.”

  “So not a total sexist then,” he says. “Just half a sexist.”

  “Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on that one,” I tease.

  He shakes his head, though I’m not sure if it’s at himself or at me. “So, if you played pro ball here in San Diego, how the hell have I not run into you before?”

  “I thought we already covered this. You know, the sexist society that—”

  “Values men’s sports over women’s. Yeah, I got that. But still, we’ve never been at the same party, never gone to the same events? I have trouble believing that.”

  “Maybe we have and you just never noticed me.”

  He shoots me a “get real” kind of look. “Believe me, I would have noticed you. Especially if you showed up to any of them looking like you do tonight.”

  I laugh. “It’s the dress.”

  “It’s the woman in the dress.” He brushes his lips against mine in another brief kiss that somehow manages to make my heart thud against my rib cage. “Which is why I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before.”

  I take a deep breath, then blow it out slow to steady myself. This man should come with a warning label. “To be honest, I’m not much of an ‘event’ person.” I use my fingers to make quotation marks around the word.

  “You’re here, aren’t you? Isn’t this an event?”

  “It is. But I’m only here to get money for Rebound from people like you.” It’s the reminder, and the excuse, that I need.

  I’m enjoying talking to him way too much and I need to back away before I end up doing something really stupid. Like pleading with him to kiss me for real, right here next to the dance floor. I’m not normally a PDA kind of girl, but everything about Tanner makes me want to strip right here in this maroon-carpeted ballroom and beg him to do unspeakable things to me.

  It’s that urge more than any other that has me moving back. “Speaking of which, I should get started on the whole schmoozing thing. Since you’ve already donated.”

  “I have,” he agrees. “But, unlike you, I come to these things often. And that means I know all the best people to get money out of.” He holds out an elbow for me to grab on to. “Let me introduce you.”

  I should say no. I really, really, really should say no. “You probably want to mingle—”

  “I can mingle with you on my arm. Believe me, it’d be a huge improvement to my usual one-m
an show.”

  When I still don’t answer, he gives up waiting for me to take his arm and instead places a guiding hand on my back.

  At the first touch of his fingers against my bare skin, my heart skips a beat…or twelve. Who can tell when my whole body’s been hijacked by a smooth-talking man with a deep voice? The fact that he’s careful to keep his hand well above my waist and my ass—unlike Dr. Mark the Octopus—is just another reason his touch is welcome instead of repellent.

  It’s also one more reminder of why I should run in the opposite direction. Instead, I glance over at him and ask, “So, where do we start?”

  He grins, his green eyes sparking with what can only be called glee. “With the players, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  He steers me away from the dance floor in the center of the room toward the corner, where a group of very large men and their dates are standing under a sea of twinkle lights. None of the men are quite as big as Tanner, but that’s not exactly a surprise. After all, these are football players, not basketball players.

  “Hey, guys,” he says as we squeeze into the circle. “This is Elara—”

  “Vance! Hell, yeah, it is!” Hunter Browning, the second-best quarterback in pro football today, grabs my hand and pumps it enthusiastically. “Number thirty-two! I’m a huge fan.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Because, come on. This is Hunter Browning I’m talking to. I’ve been a fan since he played college ball for the University of Texas. “Yeah, me, too.” The words just kind of tumble out of my mouth.

  “I’m serious. You guys—” He turns to the others, face totally lit with enthusiasm. “You should have seen this woman in the finals three years ago. She was an absolute beast. She scored thirty-seven points in the first half. Fifty-nine, over all—”

  I correct him. “Fifty-eight.”

  “Bullshit. Everyone knows they messed up the call on that free throw.”

  I think about playing it modest, but…“Hell, yeah, they did. That ref was blind as fuck.”

  “Blinder. I nearly broke the TV I was so pissed they robbed you of that point.” He holds a hand up for a fist bump. “Seriously, though. You were amazing. I’m really sorry about the injury. The Phantoms haven’t been the same since you retired.”