She cradled the Crown. “In a nutshell, my bosswanted me to sleep with him, and my fiancé of four years accused me of turninga molehill into a mountain. I filed a harassment claim, and Cody walked thesame day. My world fell to pieces.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
“Excuse me? He didn’t go after the guy?” T.J.’shands curled into fists on his thighs. Fuck me, if some douche told my girlto spread her legs, I’d fucking tear him apart. They’d never find all thepieces. “And then he broke up with you?”
She shrugged. “I think he was embarrassed. Heworked for a sister firm.”
“That’s no excuse.” T.J. kept the growl in hisbelly from his tone.
A sad smile curved her lips. “He moved on prettyquickly, though. A month later, he was living with someone.”
Ferocity speared T.J. The intensity took him bysurprise. He hadn’t felt a primal surge that powerful since NHL draft night.Where the hell had it come from?
He choked out a “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Not gonna lie,that hurt.” A mirthless laugh, then her features softened. “But it worked outin the end. I stood up to very influential people. Lawsuits suck, by the way.So do lawyers. Mom and Drew had my back, and my dad was cheering from heaven.”She paused a moment to swipe at her cheek. “Knowing my family was there for megave me courage. It helped me come to terms, and I embraced a completely differentlifestyle. One I like.”
Aw, man. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. T.J.’sseat suddenly felt too tiny, and he perched a little higher and shifted hisweight. “What’s happening with the lawsuit?”
“It’s over. We settled. I didn’t do it for themoney. If that had been my reason, I’d have hung in for a bigger payday.” Shesniffed and dabbed at her nose. “The culture was screwed up, and it wasn’t justbosses. It was rich clients who pawed and grabbed, and no one stopped them.Female employees were encouraged to ‘play along.’ I didn’t want the same craphappening to someone who might not fight back, so I filed.”
He wanted to do something, hurt someone, but hecouldn’t. So he just sat there, stewing in frustration.
She cocked her head. “But there’s a huge silverlining. I’m stronger. I know what I want. I discovered I didn’t miss my job—Iwas part of the slimy set, like the other snakes in that god-awful pit. Sure, Irocked Louboutins, drove a swanky Mercedes, dined atthe best restaurants, and drank two hundred-dollar bottles of wine like theywere Two Buck Chuck. But I didn’t like myself.”
Mesmerized, he watched her as she gazedsomewhere far off, trying not to picture her long, bare legs instilettos that screamed, “Fuck me!” Her next words blew that image right out ofhis head.
“I’ve become a dog-sitter extraordinaire in mygrubby jeans, covered in dog hair and dog slobber.”
“But your …” He inhaled the words financialtrouble. “Do you ever think about restarting that career?”
“Nope.” She sipped her Crown. “My life’s simplernow. I have more independence than I’ve ever had. Money’s tight, but in timethat’ll change.” She beamed. “I’m like the mosaic table on my patio.”
“The what?”
“It’s a collection of glass splinters that’ve been put together, and it works somehow. It’sbeautiful that way.”
So are you.
Rising even as he tried to ground himself, hecleared the table to give himself something to do to settle his roilingemotions. Anger and frustration tempered by amazement and sadness. Being withher made him think too much, poked at his sore spots. Part-pain,part-pleasure. Confusing as hell.
Standing close beside him, she dried dishes hewashed in comfortable silence, her light floral scenttempting him to pull in a deeper inhale. He leashed the urge to lean in.Instead, he imagined her warmth reaching out, tendril-like, floating on a soft,fragrant breeze and wrapping itself around him.
After covering the coffee cake—another ninjamove since he’d never seen her pull it out of the oven—she excused herself. Hewiped the counters and hung up her kitchen towels. Jesus, he’d fallen into aNorman Rockwell painting without knowing how it happened.
Ford whined beside him as if to say he liked beingin a Norman Rockwell painting.
“What? You’re a mind reader now?” T.J. tapped hisforehead. “Quick. What number am I thinking of?” He put his hand on Ford’shead, and the dog rubbed against it. “Bzzt.Epic fail, bud. But you’re right about the other thing. I’m gonnahave to tell her.”
The thought made him want to hurl his dinner.
CHAPTER 19
All in the Family
The week whizzed by, T.J. neverseeming to find the perfect time to confess. It was as elusive as that perfectscoring shot. Between his and Natalie’s hectic schedules, he only saw her duringthe morning and afternoon Ford exchanges. Occasionally, he struck uponbrilliant excuses to stick around when he picked up Ford—Hey, how do I gethim to fetch me a beer?
What the week did bring were numerous chances to watch theNo Excuses! On Friday afternoon, they let him play in their scrimmage. In a wheelchair. As the game went on, he realized theirnefarious purpose. He was their entertainment, for all the occasions he woundup on the floor and they had a grand old time laughing their assesoff.
He was a decent baller upright on his two feet—hell, he wasa good all-around athlete—but he’d sucked in this game. Big-time. Eachside had foisted him off on the other because he was that bad. A handicap who unfairly tipped the scales, they’d protested. Yeah, thathurt. But to be fair, he’d spent more time figuring out the damn contraptionthan actually playing.
But being there had been less about the games and more abouthanging with the guys, hearing their stories, and learning what drove them.Every minute he spent with them opened his eyes a little wider, and his respectand awe grew exponentially. With all his parts intact and in working order,T.J. should’ve felt like the fortunate one, but he didn’t. And it had nothingto do with his poor play.
“We might tolerate you as long as you bring the beerand women,” Mark had chortled.
“Beer, I’ll bring, but no way am I sharing my women withyou,”
