A Man She Couldn't Forget

“Brady, you’re sweet to be concerned, but this is my fourth day home, and I’m dying for more exercise.”

“I’ll hit you some shots, but take it easy.”

He’d gotten a cage full of bright green balls from the clubhouse at Midtown Tennis, and they’d gone outside, forgoing the indoor courts. He knew she’d been playing at Harris’s swank country club, a place she didn’t recall, so he didn’t remind her. If only the rest were that easy.

From the other side of the net, she smiled over at him. “Thanks, Brady. For this and everything.”

“You’re welcome. I snapped my Achilles tendon four years ago playing basketball, and you were a huge help. So I’m returning the favor.”

She stared at him, trancelike. “You were a big baby about it.”

“I was not!” His eyes narrowed when he saw the gleam in hers. “You don’t really remember, do you? You’re making that up.”

“Gotcha.”

He laughed out loud as he took his position. “Ready?”

“I hope so.”

He hit a weak one over the net. She returned it easily.

Three more followed in the same vein.

She bounced the ball in front of her a few times, which used to be her habit when they’d played together. “This is boring, isn’t it?”

“We usually play harder.”

“Let’s put at least a little more behind the hits.”

They continued to lob the ball back and forth, using more oomph each time.

At a pause in the volleying, she asked, “Who wins, Brady, when we really play?”

“I do, of course.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “You’re lying. I’ll bet I’m better than you.”

“Are you remembering that?”

“No.”

“Then, nope, I’m the better player.”

This time she laughed out loud, which hadn’t happened much since the accident. Laughter and pure fun had been a routine part of their lives together until Harris had come along. Snagging the next ball with her hand, she headed to the back of the court.

“That outfit looks great on you,” he called from behind her. It did, too, and made his mouth water. And it felt good to flirt with her again. This also had been part of their history—the innocent, suggestive remarks that made them both smile. Though for him, things between them had been far less innocent long before the accident.

She glanced down at the white skirt and red halter top she wore. When she pivoted back around, she gave him a haughty look. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

Huh. She was distracting him, big-time. “I don’t need to. I told you I always win.”

Stopping at the serve line, she faced him. “Let’s play a game.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

Without his instruction, the mechanics of the serve were there for her: throw the ball up, racket angled behind down her back, over her head, slam! During the course of the serve, her top pulled up and Brady got a very nice glimpse of a tanned patch of skin on her midriff. Arrgh!

He barely reached the ball in time because of his double take on her stomach, but he managed to hit it back. She raced forward and sent it soaring over the net. He didn’t even try to get to the shot.

Her hands went to her hips. “You missed that on purpose.”

“I did. I don’t want you playing too hard.”

“I won’t, but I gotta move. I need exercise, I need to sweat.”

He opened his mouth but bit back a sexual innuendo. Those were better left unsaid right now. “Maybe a little.”

She served three more times and won the game. “Told you I was good,” she gloated.

He grinned. “My serve.”

He let her win a few points, but took the last three of the next game. She was running around—and sweating—and breathing hard. “God, this feels good.”

On another volley, she charged the net to return his short lob. Brady hit it back way over her head. She raced toward the ball and was just about there when she stumbled and went down. “Ohh…”

Leaping the net, he was at her side in seconds and knelt down. “Damn it, what was I thinking?”

“I twisted my ankle a bit. It doesn’t hurt much.” She rubbed her foot. “I’m sorry I pushed. Probably too hard.” She shrugged her shoulder. “But it felt good.”

Chuckling, he reached for her foot. Very gently, he untied her sneaker, removed it and her sock. He palpated her sole, her ankle and her shin. “Hurt?”

She sighed. “No, it feels good.”

“The injury feels good?”

“It isn’t injured. Your fondling me feels good.”

Oh, Lord, now she was flirting.

“I was not fondling!” A smile quirked at his lips. “I was checking for damage.” He glanced around. “We’re done here.”

“I guess.” After sliding her sock and shoe on, he stood and offered her his hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

She took the assistance. When he didn’t let go after she was on her feet, she moved in close to him. His arms slid around her as if he’d never stopped hugging her. His whole body tightened. “You okay? Dizzy?”

“No. I like it when you hold me. I feel safe. We must be really close.”