Under #MerryMari, she found several pictures of Ty’s ex-wife partying with men who were not her husband, some dating back as far as a year prior. They proved nothing, but one didn’t need proof to convict someone in the court of public opinion. All she needed was enough leverage to hold Mari in check until this mess could be settled one way or another.
She switched her search to the more incriminating #RecruitingTrip hashtag she’d stumbled across in the months before Ty’s marriage imploded. It didn’t take a genius to piece the string of events together. The Warriors’ season had ended before the tournament. Ty and his assistants had made a round of visits to shore up their relationships with players who’d already committed to Wolcott and possibly sway a few who may have been on the fence.
Mari Ransom had used the same opportunity to get in good with Ty’s star player. The pictures of Mari and Dante left little room for hoping their relationship was strictly platonic. Some had been dug up when the news of the affair went public. Mari had then deleted most of them, but Millie had grabbed screenshots before the posts disappeared. She’d started a file of them long before the story broke, just in case things got ugly. Uglier.
Tearing her gaze from the screen, she found Ty prowling the kitchen as he listened to his attorney. It boggled her mind to think any woman would choose an amped-up puppy like Dante Harris over Ty’s sleek, smooth grace. He moved like a big cat. A leopard or panther. Each step deliberate. The play of muscle under satiny skin mesmerizing. His focus compelling and utterly unwavering. As if sensing her stare, he turned. Their gazes met and held. Her stomach twisted into a knot, but then he smiled. A rough, grim attempt. Wary and weary. A bit ragged around the edges. But a smile nonetheless, and meant only for her.
Hell, maybe he’d already caught her and she didn’t realize. Or want to admit to being too far gone over him. Still murmuring yeses and nos into the phone, he closed the distance between them. His long toes bumped her shoes, then he covered her foot lightly with his, holding her in place as he bent to brush a bone-melting kiss to the top of her head. She put a hand on his chest, not quite sure if she meant to hold him or push him away. Either way, she had to touch him.
Straightening, he mumbled, “Yeah, she says three months,” as her hand trailed oh-so-innocently over his abs. She curled her fingers into a small fist when she hit the waistband of his shorts but allowed her knuckles to graze his crotch when her hand fell away. Ty raised his eyebrows, his face a mask of mild shock. But the light in his eyes said her playful advances were always welcome.
“Right, I know,” he said into the phone. He closed his eyes, snapping the connection between them like a thread. “I want to get started on whatever I need to do, so I can figure out where to go from here.”
Millie stared at the rigid line of his back as he listened. He nodded twice, but the movements were jerky. He ended the call with a few brusque words of thanks, then lowered the phone to his side. He stood still—loose-limbed and unmoving—for a long beat. Then he went into a windup worthy of a major league pitcher and hurled the phone at the stainless-steel face of the refrigerator.
It hit with a thunk that jolted through her, then clattered to the floor, bits and pieces of metal, glass, and plastic shooting out like shrapnel. Millie stared at the dent in the fridge’s gleaming facade and sighed. She couldn’t blame the man for wanting to rid himself of the instrument, but it hurt her heart to see a hapless appliance caught up as collateral damage.
“Feel better now?” she asked softly.
Ty pivoted on his heel, his lips drawn into a flat line but his eyes blazing. “He says he thinks she can refuse DNA testing until after the baby is born.”
Millie nodded as she processed that tidbit. Then she sighed. She and Ty had been coworkers and friends before they became lovers. As a coworker, she’d done her best to see him through the media shitstorm. As his friend, she’d tried to shield him from more hurt than he’d already endured. Now, as his lover, she’d have to show him the photos that would hurt him but provide the ammunition he needed to force Mari’s hand if push came to shove.
Tearing her gaze from his, she went back to her tablet. Three taps later, she had the first screenshot open. It was a photo of Mari straddling Dante’s lap, her skirt hiked up to her waist and her bare ass showing. The hashtags included #MakinIt, #MillionDollarBaby, and #IfAtFirstYouDontSucceed.
“I’d say it’s possible but not probable you’re the baby daddy. We can force her to play along if needed.” Handing him the screen, she rose from her chair in hopes of outpacing the fresh surge of bile rushing up from her gut and ran for the powder room.
Chapter 17
Kate flopped down in Millie’s guest chair and folded her hands over her stomach. “Do you want the scoop, or do you want to call your boyfriend in to hear the unvarnished version?”
Millie peered over the top of pink polka dot–rimmed readers. “Do we need varnish?”
“Gallons. I tapped the sorority-girl network.” Kate scrunched her nose. “I was in a sorority once upon a time, but I sure as hell don’t remember college life being so…X-rated.”
Snickering, Millie abandoned all pretense of typing the press release she’d been composing about sweeping changes the baseball coach was making in his program. “That’s because we remember the days before MTV started airing spring break festivities.”
Kate waved the explanation away. “I was no virgin as an undergrad, but I swear, I didn’t
