Page 7 of Naked

Let the Games Begin

Tilley

Ihad a piece of bacon halfway to my mouth when I choked. Not on food, mind you, but on...air? My own tongue? I’ll never know because for the next approximately five seconds I was dead. My heart stopped functioning. I died of mortification and embarrassment combined with uncontrolled lust.

“Tilley?” Hunter Holland stood in front of me. He looked exhausted and hopeful. His light brown hair a total mess and his beautiful blue eyes bleary.

This was the second time he said my name. And still I could not respond. But my eyes seemed to be able to track his movements. I slowly lowered my bacon laden hand, set my plate on the breakfast buffet counter, and prepared to faint. That was the only logical next step after heart failure.

But then he put his hands on my arms and steadied me. He ducked his head so we were eye to eye, a very concerned expression on his face. “Breathe Tilley.”

I sucked in air, the action seemingly shaking me out of my dazed, near death state. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled a little. More wary than happy. “I heard you were here so I hopped a plane.”

My eyes bugged. “Overnight? But...but...why?”

He released my arms and stood up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Because I have very patiently waited six months for you to come to your senses and clearly that’s never going to happen.”

“Me? I...was giving you an out. Besides, you knew very well I was moving.”

“You never said you were going to cut me off.” He shot back, clearly hurt.

And that hurt me. I did that. I caused him pain. “I’m so sorry, Hunter. I truly am.”

“Is there something I can help with?” Adam suddenly appeared at my shoulder, tall, imposing, and loud.

If I’d been holding a plate I would have dropped it. As it was I couldn’t seem to form a sentence. Therefore Hunter took control of the situation, sticking out his hand. “Hunter Holland, shortstop for the Mantas.”

Adam looked at Hunter’s hand and then very slowly took it. “Adam Callaway. How do you know Tilley?” He leered like a big overprotective brother. I knew this because I already had one big overprotective brother.

“We were friends when I lived here,” I managed to mutter.

“Were?” Adam demanded. “Meaning, not currently?”

I felt Hunter’s eyes on me even though I refused to look at him again. It was too hard. He was too...everything. Handsome, nice, fun,perfect.It simply wasn’t okay for one human being to contain that much awesome. “Tilley?” Hunter pleaded.

I looked at Adam. “It’s okay. I promise.”

He held my gaze for another moment or two, then glared at Hunter, and returned to his breakfast, leaving me standing alone, once again, with the one man I was trying to avoid.

Son of a nutcracker!

This was why I was illogically worried about returning to Tampa.It wasn’t illogical.Hunter was that kind of guy. He did the unexpected, he went the extra mile, he waited six months for an explanation.

And he deserved one. Even if it was mangled and awkward. I took his hand, the contact sending azingup my arm, and dragged him out of the hotel restaurant, through the lobby, and out to the small garden area that overlooked the bay.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I know I threw myself at you and you probably took pity on me, especially since I was going to be long gone. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your friendship, and how much that night meant to me, but I don’t have delusions that it was anything more than a simple mistake that went too far.”

He frowned. The lines between his eyes became deep furrows and his lips turned so far south I thought they might disappear under his chin. “It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t pity.”

I laughed at the absurdity of it being anything else. “Look if you want to be friends again, I’d like that. I’d love it, actually. The time distance is a little weird, especially with your already weird schedule, but quite frankly, mine is also quite odd now. But we could exchange emails and messages, and even occasionally video chat. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want.” His eyes narrowed on me like he was studying me.

“No? Okay. Well what are your terms?” I could be reasonable. I was after all the aggressor in ending our friendship.

He folded his arms over his muscular chest, the grey Mantas t-shirt pulling tight. I swallowed as I remembered what was underneath that shirt and how it felt to run my hands over it. “My...terms,” he repeated slowly, “are that you come back to Seattle with me tonight after your meetings are over, and that you stay with me as long as you can.”

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