“I take it you don’t agree with my choice of relevant cultural touchstones.” A few shiny strands of her hair had fallen free from her pigtails, and she tucked them behind her ears. “In that case, I repeat: What would be good ones, then?”
He thought for a minute.
“Much as I hate to say it…international tragedies, maybe? I think we both share some of the same memories, despite our differing ages and nationalities and understandings of the events at the time.” Uncapping a water bottle, he took a sip. Even at night and with an ocean breeze, a Florida summer could suffocate you with humidity. “Or political upheaval. And we’ve both been adults and U.S. residents for the most recent example of that.”
When he tossed another water bottle over the net, she caught it. “So you’re going with the depressing stuff? I’m surprised at you, Lucas. I thought you were all good times and willing women.”
All the depressing stuff had exited his life months ago. And good riddance.
“Oh, I am,” he assured her with a lazy wink. “And I’m not certain any cultural touchstone can really determine how much two people have in common, or whether they’ll be able to understand one another. I would think shared personality traits, interests, and life experiences would be more relevant.”
“So it’s not the years, it’s the model and the mileage?” Her head tilted as she stared at him, and she took a long time to answer. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I guess I would probably agree with you.”
“What? You agree with me?” He gripped the net with both hands and leaned over it, squinting at her. “Who are you? And what have you done with Tess Dunn?”
She didn’t answer.
Something in her eyes had shifted over the past few minutes, while he’d coached her and they’d argued about boy bands and generational landmarks. He wasn’t sure what. But she was evaluating him in a different way, paying closer attention to him and his words than he remembered her doing before.
He wanted to bask in that attention almost as much as he wanted to run from it.
“Tess. Hey, Tess.” He waved a hand in her sightline. “Has prolonged exposure to my handsome visage and superb body finally incapacitated you?”
She didn’t bother to respond to his nonsense, and her eyes remained steady on his face. Studying him. Reading his expressions.
Then she finally spoke, her voice soft. Vulnerable. “Tell me more about why you’re here, Lucas. For real, this time.”
God help him, he almost told her. Almost stripped himself bare for her inspection and revisited the corners of his soul he’d shut away for good last year.
But he wasn’t the same man he’d once been, so his past was no longer relevant. Particularly to a woman who was not only determined to use their age differential as a wedge between them, but also leaving in two weeks.
She was trouble. Too demanding, too defensive, and too tempting. Any entanglement with her might end quickly, but it could still damage him. He knew it already, and he should heed that warning siren of unease, the visceral instinct that had guided him through countless matches and tournaments.
Besides, she’d claimed she wasn’t interested in him, so she had no right to demand answers.
Unless she’d changed her mind?
If so, maybe…
His chest hitched with his next breath. Maybe I could change mine too.
He rested his elbows on the net and leaned forward, his legs oddly shaky beneath him.
“First, tell me something, Tess. Are you interested in having lunch together? Tomorrow?” When her mouth opened, he rushed to clarify. “Not in my apartment. At a restaurant or outside. Wherever you want.”
She took four slow steps toward the net, halting just out of arm’s reach.
Those hazel eyes were hard to read, especially in the limited light, but they weren’t narrowed with suspicion or outrage. She wasn’t shaking her head, either. Wasn’t telling him he didn’t mean the invitation, or that it was automatic.
Which it wasn’t. Nothing concerning Tess was automatic or easy, and despite himself, he liked it. Liked her. That insistent prickling at the nape of his neck be damned.
“I…” Her hard swallow shifted the shadows delineating her throat. “I’m busy tomorrow. Belle and I planned out the entire day weeks ago.”
Her birthday. Dammit, he’d forgotten.
“The day after tomorrow, then.” He kept pushing, determined to make definite plans before she had too much time to think. Hell, before he had too much time to think. “We’ll do a picnic. Meet me outside the clubhouse, and I’ll take care of everything.”
She was wavering. Tense and uncertain. He could see it in the way her soft mouth pursed and released, hear it in the crackle of the water bottle compressing in her grip.
“Please, Tess.”
Why was he pleading with her? If he wanted female company, he had plenty of options. Options who didn’t respond to flirtation with an eyeroll and a truculent chin-raise. Options who’d accept an invitation to lunch without—
“Okay.” Two soft syllables, spoken with a firm little nod.
As relief wobbled in his knees, he leaned more heavily on the net. “Can you do a late lunch? Half-past one?”
A tentative smile tilted her lips. “That should w—”
“Hey, tennis boy! Did you get our texts?”
The shout from outside the court made Tess jerk, her shoulders stiffening. Seemingly on instinct, she backed several steps away from the net. Away from him.
Fuck. The moment was gone, and if he gave her half a chance to consider all the reasons he wasn’t a good bet for a woman like her, she’d retreat from their lunch date too.
He swung to face the interloper, his brows drawn together in warning. “Brendan, no one’s supposed to interrupt my lessons. That includes fellow employees.”
Brendan raised his hands, palms out. “Sorry, dude. You never work this late, so I thought this was, uh…” He scratched the back of his head as he considered his wording, jostling the brim of his backward-turned baseball cap. “An off-the-clock situation.”
Lucas’s glance at his watch confirmed his colleague’s claim. His lesson with Tess had run way past its official end time. And fuck, she was eyeing the exit nearest the clubhouse, her expression guarded once more.
If he climbed over the net to her side of the court, would that reassure her? Or make her run? “Look, Brendan, can we—”
The other man was still talking. “—won’t do it again. But as long as I’m here, I might as well tell you. A bunch of us are heading to Emma’s place on the mainland to watch the game. I heard she made meatballs in the slow-cooker, so it’ll basically be like home for you, only with less furniture assembled via Allen wrenches.”
A faint snort from the other side of the net heartened Lucas.
He caught Brendan’s eye and nodded toward the clubhouse, his message clear: Get out. “Despite that heart-warming homage to my homeland, I can’t—”
This time, Tess interrupted him. “You should go. I need to get back to work, anyway.” She walked to his bag and laid her racket on top. “Besides, if you ask nicely, I bet they’d even play ‘Dancing Queen’ for you.”