Play Me

4. Daisy

Chapter Four

Daisy

“Oh my God!” I reached to steady the bottle of wine wobbling in the middle of the table in between trying to catch my breath from laughing.

In the year or so I’d been finding one convenient excuse after another to avoid being around Tristan, I’d forgotten how funny he could be. By the way, avoiding him had taken an enormous amount of fancy footwork. Olivia and Harper were my two besties. They just so happened to be married to two of Tristan’s teammates from the Seattle Stars—Liam and Alex. They weren’t just Tristan’s teammates, they’d all known each other back in Britain before signing with the Stars here. We spent a lot of time together, what with dinners, games and the occasional party. I’d put tons of energy into coming up with reasons why I wouldn’t be around whenever I knew Tristan would.

The stupid kiss had made me crazy. Actually, it had been a bit more than a kiss. I’d accompanied Olivia to an out-of-town game once when Harper couldn’t go. Dinner, copious amounts of wine, and Tristan simply existing in all of his hot glory had made me decide I could give in to what I’d wanted for as long as I’d known him. We’d been at it heavy in the stairwell at the hotel. So heavy, his knee was wedged between my thighs, the pressure against my clit driving me wild. Between that and how insanely good it had felt to have his mouth on mine and his thumb teasing a n****e, well I’d just about freaked out when he pulled back and our eyes locked. My heart had squeezed and my breath had lodged like a fist in my throat—because everything felt intense and deep and more than I’d ever imagined. And everything I’d chalked up to never being possible.

So I’d shimmied out from between the wall and his hard, hot body and bolted to my hotel room for a night by myself. I’d cursed myself for forgetting to bring my vibrator because I’d been that bad off, and my vibrator was the one and only thing that had ever brought me to c****x.

I’d felt so vulnerable and stupid about it all that I’d done my best to never see Tristan. I’d also turned him into a stuffy jerk in my head. He tended to be quiet, so the opening to make him stuffy and uptight was there. I’d conveniently forgotten about his sly, understated humor and how much I enjoyed talking to him.

He was, of course, a sports star. Yet that barely touched the surface of him. He was f*****g brilliant, which I loved. He’d somehow managed to finish medical school by fitting his classes in around his grueling schedule as a soccer player. He clearly had a passion for medicine and research. Another thing I loved about him—he wasn’t intimidated by a smart woman. My brain was my best asset. I loved my job as a medical researcher and loved talking shop. Much as I hated to believe women didn’t receive equal treatment in medicine, we didn’t. Not even close. I was quite accustomed to being ignored in meetings and seeing the surprise on faces when people learned I was the lead researcher on multiple studies. Tristan wasn’t like that. He treated me just as I’d expect him to treat a male colleague and would even admit if he was wrong about something.

Despite knowing all of this about him, I’d turned him into a stuffy jerk in the year I’d been avoiding him. Probably a smart thing to do because right now I had two problems. I wanted him so badly my panties were drenched and had been for at least an hour. And I liked him. I really liked him. He was everything I wanted in a guy. I’d been scouting high and low, far and wide for the man of my dreams for the last few years. All to no avail. I had no trouble scoring dates, but s*x was something I’d come to dread and I’d begun to think I’d pinned my hopes too high in expecting to possibly find a guy who turned me on and who respected me.

The waiter stepped to the table, effectively snagging the wobbly bottle of wine and glancing between us with a grin. “Well, it looks like we’re having fun. Are we thinking dessert?”

I swallowed the last of my laughter and glanced over at Tristan, promptly forgetting what had been so funny. The restaurant had been as sublime as the reviews indicated. I’d had a stir-fry, allegedly a fusion of Thai and American themes, or so the waiter said. I’d enjoyed my meal, but it’s a miracle I noticed anything other than Tristan. He was far, far too distracting.

Tristan’s black curls were rumpled as usual. His hazel eyes caught mine across the table, one dark brow arching up in question.

“Of course! I’m dying to know what fusion desserts you have,” I announced.

The waiter ran down a list. When Tristan wouldn’t choose, I settled on some kind of chocolate cayenne thing. Our waiter refilled my wine glass and left with the now empty bottle of wine. I was already tipsy. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, but I needed the liquid courage and the softening of my anxiety the wine afforded me.

Tristan took a swallow of his wine and eyed me. “So, tell me the truth—why have you been avoiding me all this time?”

His question hit me right in the solar plexus. Warmth spiraled outward and my belly executed a slow flip. Oh f**k it. I had nothing left to lose at this point.

“Because it seemed messy. Now that we’ve had dinner, I can handle it again,” I said, hewing to vagueness and hoping that would be enough.

“Messy?”

Oh great. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook. Well, whatever. I might as well blurt it all out. Then, he’d run for the hills and save me the bother of trying to keep avoiding him. I took a gulp of wine.

“Uh huh. Here’s the thing, you don’t do messy, so it seemed best we not let things go any further. Because I want two things—a commitment and an o****m. The order doesn’t really matter. Since I know you don’t want a commitment, I figured it’d be better if we forgot how great that kiss was.”