she actually found the show informative since the
guest was a former coach of the Cowboys—the team where many of
PMA’s clients hung their hats. Or rather, helmets.
She knew now that she should stop the
bleeding, but still, when Wyatt kept the engine running at the curb
and said cheerfully, “Thanks again, Darcie. You’re the best,” she
decided to go for it.
So she arched an eyebrow and drawled,
“Seriously?”
“Huh?”
She glanced at her front door, then back at
him, biting back a smile.
“This again?” He grinned, killed the engine,
and came around to open the passenger door. He even offered his
hand for assistance, which she took as a good sign.
Physical contact. With this guy, it was a
compliment in its own right.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked as
they climbed the front steps.
“Better not. You need your beauty sleep if
you want to con Bannerman into signing with you.”
“Funny.” She caught him by the hand when she
was one step higher than him so that she could look him directly in
the eye. “Just for a few minutes, Wyatt. Please?”
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“You don’t go on fake dates very often, do
you? There’s a protocol here.”
He gave her an aloof smile. “You’re the best
fake date I ever had. But it’s over. See you around, Darce.”
“Hey!” she called after him as he descended
the steps.
He turned back to her, his expression wary.
“What now?”
“You’re forgetting the football
lessons.”
“Oh, right.” He grimaced. “What are your
demands?”
“Three one-hour lessons.”
“And it has to be me? I know some guys—”
“I know some guys too,” she assured him.
“But no one calls them the Surgeon. Either you’re the best
or you aren’t. Which is it?” Dropping the teasing tone, she added,
“You don’t have to come to LA, you know. I could fly to New York.
Or we could meet in Dallas or Portland, since I’ll be spending a
lot of time there.”
“I don’t go to Portland during the
off-season,” he assured her. “But I’m expected in San Francisco
next Saturday night for a retirement party, so I can swing back
here in the afternoon first. How’s that?”
She nodded, admitting to herself it was
perfect. For one thing, there wouldn’t be any issue about him
spending the night. Not that he showed any interest in it anyway.
More likely it would be another dud date. But at least she could
spend the next week jotting down intelligent questions so she could
get something valuable out of all the humiliation.
So all she said was, “Sounds good.”
“One o’clock?”
To her relief, he wasn’t trying to squirm
out of it anymore, and she cautioned herself not to ruin it, so all
she said was, “Works for me.”
“Great, see you then.” His steely eyes
twinkled. “Stay out of trouble, Darcie.”
For some reason, those words sent a tingle
through her, and she sighed out loud as he hurried back to his car
and drove away. Even when he had disappeared from view, she stared
after him, mentally drooling.
Finally, she unlocked her front door,
assuring herself, “You’re pathetic.”
Luckily, she had a remedy for that
condition: she would change into something warm and cozy, pour
herself a glass of wine, and speed-dial Emily Jardin-Murphy for
advice. Or at least for a shoulder to cry on.
• • •
Wyatt gunned the engine of his rental car,
determined to put distance between himself and Darcie’s games. She
had gotten him all lathered up, but sleeping with a manipulative
female—no matter how hot she was—couldn’t possibly turn out
well.
He much preferred reasonable women who knew
the score. Case in point, his recent liaison with a CPA who had
walked him through a complicated tax issue then taken him to bed.
Her only needs? Sex and an occasional dinner out.
Just like Wyatt.
It had ended amicably, both agreeing that it
was time to move on. Still, if the CPA lived in Southern California
he’d be on the
guest was a former coach of the Cowboys—the team where many of
PMA’s clients hung their hats. Or rather, helmets.
She knew now that she should stop the
bleeding, but still, when Wyatt kept the engine running at the curb
and said cheerfully, “Thanks again, Darcie. You’re the best,” she
decided to go for it.
So she arched an eyebrow and drawled,
“Seriously?”
“Huh?”
She glanced at her front door, then back at
him, biting back a smile.
“This again?” He grinned, killed the engine,
and came around to open the passenger door. He even offered his
hand for assistance, which she took as a good sign.
Physical contact. With this guy, it was a
compliment in its own right.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked as
they climbed the front steps.
“Better not. You need your beauty sleep if
you want to con Bannerman into signing with you.”
“Funny.” She caught him by the hand when she
was one step higher than him so that she could look him directly in
the eye. “Just for a few minutes, Wyatt. Please?”
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“You don’t go on fake dates very often, do
you? There’s a protocol here.”
He gave her an aloof smile. “You’re the best
fake date I ever had. But it’s over. See you around, Darce.”
“Hey!” she called after him as he descended
the steps.
He turned back to her, his expression wary.
“What now?”
“You’re forgetting the football
lessons.”
“Oh, right.” He grimaced. “What are your
demands?”
“Three one-hour lessons.”
“And it has to be me? I know some guys—”
“I know some guys too,” she assured him.
“But no one calls them the Surgeon. Either you’re the best
or you aren’t. Which is it?” Dropping the teasing tone, she added,
“You don’t have to come to LA, you know. I could fly to New York.
Or we could meet in Dallas or Portland, since I’ll be spending a
lot of time there.”
“I don’t go to Portland during the
off-season,” he assured her. “But I’m expected in San Francisco
next Saturday night for a retirement party, so I can swing back
here in the afternoon first. How’s that?”
She nodded, admitting to herself it was
perfect. For one thing, there wouldn’t be any issue about him
spending the night. Not that he showed any interest in it anyway.
More likely it would be another dud date. But at least she could
spend the next week jotting down intelligent questions so she could
get something valuable out of all the humiliation.
So all she said was, “Sounds good.”
“One o’clock?”
To her relief, he wasn’t trying to squirm
out of it anymore, and she cautioned herself not to ruin it, so all
she said was, “Works for me.”
“Great, see you then.” His steely eyes
twinkled. “Stay out of trouble, Darcie.”
For some reason, those words sent a tingle
through her, and she sighed out loud as he hurried back to his car
and drove away. Even when he had disappeared from view, she stared
after him, mentally drooling.
Finally, she unlocked her front door,
assuring herself, “You’re pathetic.”
Luckily, she had a remedy for that
condition: she would change into something warm and cozy, pour
herself a glass of wine, and speed-dial Emily Jardin-Murphy for
advice. Or at least for a shoulder to cry on.
• • •
Wyatt gunned the engine of his rental car,
determined to put distance between himself and Darcie’s games. She
had gotten him all lathered up, but sleeping with a manipulative
female—no matter how hot she was—couldn’t possibly turn out
well.
He much preferred reasonable women who knew
the score. Case in point, his recent liaison with a CPA who had
walked him through a complicated tax issue then taken him to bed.
Her only needs? Sex and an occasional dinner out.
Just like Wyatt.
It had ended amicably, both agreeing that it
was time to move on. Still, if the CPA lived in Southern California
he’d be on the
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