He sneered at the word as he picked up a weathered copy of The Great Gatsby, one of his favorite books. Then he lay down across her couch, his legs hanging over the end. Girly couches and pro football players were rarely a good fit. This one was pretty damn comfortable, even though it could have used three more feet in length.
He was heading into the story's climax a couple hours later when he looked up and realized Julie was standing in the doorway. Actually, she was staring at the book in his hand. She probably didn't think he could read, that the books in his underground den were merely stage props. But he couldn't work up any indignation. Not when she looked so damn good.
"Is that what you're wearing?"
She pulled her gaze away from the book, ran her fingers through her soft blonde waves, then pushed her shoulders back.
"No, this is what I throw on to make a sandwich. I'll get dressed for my date later." Ty was too busy looking at her to pay attention to her sarcastic remark. Fuck, she was gorgeous. The little red lacy thing she was wearing gave the impression of being seethrough. It was the kind of dress that guys would be staring at all night to see if they could maybe, just maybe, see something they weren't supposed to.
Yet she didn't look at all trashy; far from it. Julie couldn't pull off slutty if someone held a gun to her head. On her a strapless red dress and f**k-me heels were sexy yet classy.
"You look amazing."
Her big blue eyes flashed surprise and Ty realized that he liked surprising her. A lot. He'd finally done something to make her feel good, rather than angry and irritated with him.
"I hope this guy is worth it."
So much for the nice moment, he thought as she spun around and went into the kitchen. He followed her in and opened her fridge.
"Make yourself at home," she said, full of snark again.
"Might as well," he said as he moved bottles of organic juice around. "You got anything in here that might not get me labeled 'pussy' on the playground?"
"I don't drink," she said, prim as a nun.
A new fantasy immediately popped into his head. Once he got her into his bed, maybe he could convince her to play the highly-fuckable-nun-who-has-decided-to-make-a-break-from-everything-sheknows-in-an-indecent-red-dress-and-stiletto-heels role. Now there was some nice imagery. Very nice.
"You shouldn't, either," she added as his c**k got harder beneath the zipper of his jeans. It took him several seconds to figure out what she was talking about. "Since your body is your job and all, I can't see how alcohol helps."
He grabbed a bottle of organic carrot juice, unscrewed the top, then drank straight from the bottle. A look of distaste crossed her face. She really was too easy.
He took the now-empty container over to the sink and rinsed it out. "I agree with you." That made her pause. "Then why do you drink?"
"I don't."
Ah, there was that surprise again.
"You actually expect me to believe that you go to strip clubs sober?" She shook her head. "You're nuts."
She didn't need to know that he'd stopped drinking ten years ago. The morning she'd walked away and never turned back.
"My father was a drunk."
She nodded. "I know. But I guess I thought. . ."
The doorbell rang, and all the things Ty wanted to say were lost in his sudden rage at the ass**le on the other side of the door who thought he could touch Julie.
For the next two weeks, Julie was off limits.
To everyone except him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There were many reasons why this date-plus-one should have been mortifying: The fact that Ty got to meet a guy she'd liked enough to have dinner with; that she had to explain to Dave that Ty was accompaning them to the restaurant for business reasons; that the owner of the packed restaurant had no trouble whatsoever finding a larger table for "the great Ty Calhoun and his friends" even though there was a two-hour-wait out on the sidewalk; and that Dave was quite possibly the world's biggest Outlaw fan and knew every significant play Ty had made since college, seemed to have memorized their playbook, and hadn't so much as looked at Julie after she'd opened the door.
But the most mortifying thing of all was that Ty cearly felt so sorry for her that he kept coming to her rescue.
For the past hour she'd counted bites, then chews, then sips of water, because even those were more interesting than Dave's incessant football chatter.
Finally, Ty cut him off. "Did you know Julie and I went to high school together?" Uh-oh. Dave's mouth opened, making him look like a fish on a hook. What had she ever seen in him?
"Oh man, I can't believe you actually witnessed Ty's moves when he was a teenager. That must have been awesome."
She shook her head. "I didn't go to any football games."
Dave's big mouth grew impossibly bigger. "You missed watching one of the greatest high school players of all time in action? What were you thinking?"
What a total jerk. "Do you really want to know what I was thinking, Dave? Or would you rather ask Ty instead?" she asked sweetly.
Dave blinked in confusion. "Okay." He turned to Ty. "Why didn't she go to football games?" Ty looked impossibly handsome in the dim light, and Julie was sure every woman in the restaurant was having an orgasm over him. She didn't know how he did it, let all those people stare at him, probe at him. She liked her privacy and couldn't imagine giving it up.
"Julie hates football," Ty told Dave.
"Are you crazy?" he squeaked, a very unattractive sound from a man. Ty answered for her. "Not everyone likes sports. You've got to respect the fact that people are different, that they have their own interests." Ty turned away from the bumbling fool. "Who is your favorite novelist, Julie?"
Something within her sparked into life. "Alive or dead?"
"Dead."
"Jane Austen."
"Painter. Dead."
"Mary Cassat."
"Musician. Dead."
"Johnny Cash."
He laughed. "Really?"
She shrugged, smiling for the first time all night. "I've always been a sucker for a rebel." Who would have thought Ty could be so nice? That he'd actually care about her interests, that he wouldn't hold it against her that she didn't know what a safety was?
Clearly, though, Dave didn't care for the new topic of conversation. "What are your plans for next season, Ty?"
Ty waved over the waiter. "I think we're done here. Thanks." He handed him a credit card. Turning to her loser of a date, he said, "First, I'm going to get to bed early tonight." Dave nodded, happy to bask in the glow of his hero, not realizing that his moment of glory had just come to an end.