Page 65 of Sure Shot
“Rightio!” says Tank from the bedroom.
The door buzzer goes off, and I leap a foot into the air, because I’m standing right beside it.
“Sounds like your food is here,” Eric says. “Come on, boys. Let’s let the lady have breakfast.”
“Can I call you when you land?” I ask Castro. “We’ll talk about your photo op.”
“Sure,” he says quickly. “No problem.” He follows Eric and Anton down the stairs.
Tank emerges from my bedroom in workout clothes, just in time to tip the deliveryman. I close the door and lean against it like I’m trying to shut out the world.
“You okay?” Tank asks, pulling food items out of the paper bag and setting them on the coffee table that I finally purchased with Rebecca’s help.
“Yup,” I say quickly.
He looks up, studying me with those clear green eyes. “I’m sorry, Bess. I know you’re a private person.”
I sit down beside him on the sofa and sigh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. ‘Private person’ sounds better than ‘paranoid and prudish.’”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says.
“I know.” It’s true, even if my terrified heart doesn’t always believe it.
“Plus, I’m totally worth it.” He hands me a cup of coffee and then gives me a sexy smile.
“You really are,” I say quietly, and that feels even bigger than telling the whole world that Tank and I spend our free time together. I don’t usually tell Tank how I feel, because I’m afraid I won’t hear the same words back.
He sets his coffee down. “I’m gonna miss you when I’m gone, you know.”
My heart does a happy dance. “Same.”
“You’re off to Vermont tomorrow, right?”
“Eventually.” He pulls me in for a hug, and I sink luxuriously into it. “I guess I have to tell my brother that you and I have been hanging out. Because those boys are going to gossip. It’s only a matter of time.”
He chuckles, and I love the feel of his laughter against my chest. Making Tank laugh is basically my second favorite hobby. After stripping him naked. “Should I watch my back? Is Dave going to come for me?”
“Probably not.”
“Can you put better odds on it? I need to plan my month.” He kisses my forehead.
“Fifteen percent chance he kills you. Twenty percent of a maiming. Sixty percent chance you just get the stink eye for eternity.”
“And the remaining five percent?”
“Survey error.”
He laughs again. “Let’s eat these sandwiches while they’re still hot, okay? Might as well have a good meal before I die.”
“Good idea.”
“Did you happen to see who won the Caps game last night?” he asks.
“Philly. And Toronto took the Canes.”
“Really?” His eyes widen as he bites his sandwich.
I describe how the defense suffered, giving Toronto too many scoring opportunities, while he nods along. And I try not to fall any more in love than I already am.
