He obliged her request and settled near her, leaving a polite distance, wishing they could sit hip to hip. If he didn’t think she’d slug him in the stomach, he would’ve leaned back with his arm across the back of the couch, hoping she’d settle in and rest her head against his shoulder. What would it be like to have a night with Melanie again? To have her curl into him, kiss him, trail her fingers along his jaw. It was painful to imagine, and yet he didn’t want to ignore the visions that ran through his head.
When Melanie had come through his door twenty-four hours ago, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, although he knew what he’d hoped. He’d longed to hear her confess that leaving him in the middle of the night was the most stupid, rash decision she’d ever made, that she hoped he could forgive her, that she wanted a second chance.
She hadn’t come close to giving him that. If he were being impartial, he understood her reasons, however disappointing. So instead of another searing-hot liaison, he got to watch basketball and drink beer with her, a woman who was smart and determined and so effortlessly sexy. It could’ve been worse.
She might’ve expected that he’d watch the game, too, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to study her. It was much like the first time he’d seen her, at the party at The Park Hotel. He’d noticed her because she’d been talking to one of his biggest business rivals. Her musical laugh filtered through the crowded space, rose above the din of chatter, spiking his curiosity. As he trudged his way through dry conversations about investors and start-ups, he struggled to keep his eyes off her. Her entire being came alive when she spoke. She was a beacon in a sea of dullness. Every phony, contrived exchange he’d had that night had left him starved for something real. He hadn’t quite bargained on how real their night together would be, or how much it would disappoint him when she left.
He quickly learned that he could read everything happening in the game from her actions. If her team was shooting free throws, her hands flew to her temples, fingers crossed. If they made a fast break, she launched herself off the couch and yelled, “Go! Go!” If the other team had the ball, she groaned, “Guard him!” and “Get the rebound!” ESPN had nothing on Melanie Costello in terms of sports entertainment.
Ninety minutes later, after the roller coaster of Melanie’s jubilation and dismay, her team was down by one point, with twelve seconds left. Her resignation was plain during the commercial break. “I should’ve known it was too good to be true.” She turned to him, her long bangs falling across her forehead, making her look so sweet, so vulnerable. “We always find some way to choke.”
The disappointment in her voice was almost too much for him to take. If she were his, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull her into a snug embrace. Hell, he would’ve paid off a referee or two if it meant her team could win and she’d be happy. “You never know. Plenty of time to get off a good shot.”
“Yeah, right. That’s never going to happen.”
The station cut away from commercial back to the game. The announcers speculated as a player for Melanie’s team waited to throw the ball inbounds.
Melanie again sprang up from the couch. “I can’t even look.” She bounced up and down on her toes, shook her hands at her side as if they’d gone numb. Adam had to admire the appealing shape of her rear view, especially as she nervously wiggled in place. He longed to have his hands on that part of her again, caressing her soft skin, pulling her closer.
The announcer spoke. Miller inbounds the ball, full-court pass to Williams down in the key. He’s double-teamed. Nowhere to go.
“Oh, no,” Melanie blurted.
He kicks it back out to Miller. He hasn’t hit a shot all night.
“Just shoot it!” Melanie screamed.
He steps back behind the three-point line. The shot is off. We have the buzzer...and it’s good!
Melanie whipped around, her eyes like saucers. “It’s good!” She charged at him with open arms, flattening him against the back of the couch. “Oh my God, Adam. We won,” she said breathlessly. “You were right.” She trembled with excitement.
He reflexively wrapped his arms around her, breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. “So I heard. It’s wonderful.” But not as wonderful as this.
“I’m sorry.” She distanced herself a few inches, shaking her head. Now that she was there, he wasn’t about to let her go without at least a moment of discussion. “We haven’t won the championship since I was a kid.”
“Don’t be sorry. This is the highlight of my entire weekend.” He traced his fingers up and down her spine as she leaned into him, both of them still sitting, but definitely leaning. He was drawn back into the memory of having her in his apartment, the way she felt in his arms, as if these limbs of his were made for nothing other than keeping her close. Her words from that night came rushing back. You feel like a dream.