When things got too deep or too heavy, Millie got them back on track with a quick quip or Sahara-dry observation, but he didn’t let her deflections bother him. Stories were exchanged. The connection was deepening.
At least on his end.
Ty had a hard time figuring out exactly what Millie was thinking or feeling. She was a woman trained to hold her cards close to her vest. Not one to air her every grievance or frustration aloud. If Millie didn’t like something, she found a way to shape what troubled her into something more palatable. Her restraint and determination were qualities Ty found both admirable and frustrating as all hell.
Of course, the juxtaposition between Millie and Mari cut both ways. If Mari had chosen to end their marriage in a more circumspect way, he wouldn’t have gone through all the upheaval that gave him opportunity to spend more time with Millie. Maybe they would have found their way to each other eventually, but if his wife hadn’t publicly humiliated him, he’d have moved slower. He would have gone through the formalities and let a decent interval go by before he even thought about dating.
But his relationship with Mari hadn’t ended with grace and decorum. He’d ignored the snarky tweets she posted with a hashtag #TydDown whenever he dragged her away from her online life to attend one of the many university and booster functions a coach’s wife was expected to attend. He’d also tried to ignore the PicturSpam images of his wife and other men. They’d been popping up here and there for months, but he chose to turn a blind eye. To pretend he didn’t know she was making a chump out of him. But they both knew the jig was up long before Mari packed her bags and loaded them into her car the night before the NBA draft.
She claimed to be in love with Dante Harris. Since Ty couldn’t, in all honesty, make the same declaration concerning his feelings for her, he didn’t try to stop her. When Dante’s name was called in the draft, the first person Dante kissed was his mama—and the second was Ty Ransom’s wife. If ever there was a film clip guaranteed to make the sports world hum with speculation, it was a star player planting one square on his coach’s spouse.
Ty’s quiet life became a circus, and Mari was its scantily clad social media ringmaster. That night, she changed her favorite hashtag to #NotTydDown and proceeded to post photos and video of all the ways she and Dante celebrated, some of them featuring bits and pieces the sports media was required to blur when they aired them.
Part of the agreement their lawyers had made included a cease and desist on all public commentary about their split following the NSN interview with Greg Chambers. As far as Ty knew, Mari had stuck to the bargain, and he certainly wasn’t interested in stirring things up, so all was quiet on the Ransom front. Just the way he liked it.
He could go on with his life. Choose his own furniture. Eat Chinese food straight out of the container while standing there with the refrigerator door wide open. Drink milk from the carton. Leave the toilet seat up. His life was his own again, and he liked having control. Ty considered himself an essentially private man. On leaving the league, he learned to appreciate the simplicity of life outside the limelight. This past month had reminded him how much happier he was when people minded their own business. Therefore, he saw no reason to announce his desire to have private relations with the university’s public relations guru to the world. He was content with the way things were.
Mostly.
Wrapping one of the thin, rough towels that came with the short-term rental around his hips, he stepped from the shower. Water beaded on his shoulders and rolled in tickly rivulets down his back, but he paid the tickling streams no mind. Goose bumps pebbled his skin. He tried to blame his shiver and the subsequent goose bumps on the air-conditioning, but he knew all too well it was more likely caused by the message alert on his phone.
Millie had called.
In all the weeks since he’d dropped her off in front of the Merryton Hotel, he’d been the one to do the dialing. A hot rush of pleasure heated his skin. He could almost hear the droplets of water sizzling as he reached for the phone and scanned the missed call notification. A part of him wanted to curse the old man for strong-arming him into going to one of the casinos for dinner. The other part was glad he’d been the one to be unavailable for once. He liked calling her later in the evening. Bedtime.
At least, bedtime for her.
For him, they were prime time. Which meant he usually showered later. Better to wash all evidence of his pent-up frustration away before hitting the hay. But tonight, after a couple of hours in the trenches, he needed to wash the stench of slots, smoke, and the all-you-can-eat snow crab off before he could settle in. Peering into the mirror, he ruffled the water from his close-cropped hair. He saw more gray hairs creeping in on the sides, and the other day, the old man had teased him about the silver stubble in his beard. He rubbed his hand over his cheek, trying to decide if he wanted to shave before calling her back or wait for morning.
He opted to play it smooth and hard to get. Pulling his razor and a can of cream from the cabinet above the sink, he smirked at his reflection, feeling smug. She could wait. At least a few more minutes. Millie certainly had no compunction about postponing their chats to a time more convenient for her.
Clean-shaven, minty fresh, and unable to stand waiting
