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[India]

My cold edge wasn’t personal. Or perhaps, maybe it was.

I couldn’t risk his recognition. Not the familiarity of one-time friends. Not the silly acknowledgement that I’d once given myself body and soul to the man for a reckless weekend that ended with foolish hopefulness.

Yep, even in my mid-twenties, I’d been a giddy girl, hooking up with my long-time crush—my older brother’s best friend.

Can you say romance trope gone wrong?

We didn’t have a falling out after that week as much as life seemed to crumble afterward.

We’d been a series of missed opportunities as heartbreaking as those long standing, championship-lacking teams in the big league.

I wasn’t one to hold grudges, though, and this moment wasn’t about him. Or us .

This was about me.

As a new field reporter for The Den, this opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove myself. I had a plan. A new path for my life that didn’t involve getting a job from my dad or being tied to a man who was a major benefactor to the professional baseball team I used to work for.

Talk about a double-edged sword. Or crossed baseball bats.

The thought has me glancing over Declan’s head to the banner behind him. The one with the logo for the Tennessee Terrors and their raccoon mascot, who is rather cute when he’s supposed to be frightening.

Instantly, my gaze drops back to Declan seated across from me.

Wylde Thing had developed quite a reputation after our winter holiday together. After he won Rookie of the Year and his career as a first baseman for Seattle took off.

It wasn’t like I’d been pining for the established professional athlete while I was still young and getting my feet wet in an industry dominated by men in the past. But I had mistakenly thought our week together that winter meant something more than the childish game of Truth or Dare where we upped the ante as adults by adding alcohol to the rules.

Truth: My memory never betrays me about the crazy intimacy and unparallel sexual experience that weekend.

Dare: Forcing my memory to forget it ever happened.

The real challenge is this interview, mandated by my new employer.

And sitting across from Declan who has aged like wood-barrel whiskey.

His amber-colored beard is fuller but barely masks his sharper jaw.

Under the bright lights of the camera, white flecks, evidence of his forty-five years, sprinkle like dust in that Tennessee bourbon shade of facial hair like shaved ice amid the throat-burning alcohol.

His blue eyes flare with questions and a glimmer of something I haven’t seen in years.

Desire.

I cross my legs a little tighter, hating how my body reacts to his visual perusal.

What does he see? The widening of my hips? The fine lines near my eyes? The unhappiness resulting from years in a loveless marriage?

Shaking the thought, I stare back at him, willing him not to address me with any familiarity. Anonymity is important to me. I don’t want anyone to know we know one another.

We don’t know one another now; we knew one another in a past life.

I force my gaze not to drop between his wide-spread thighs. A dick-glance would be highly unprofessional, and I intend to be the utmost of professionals.

We are merely colleagues at this point, each with an important job under an umbrella organization. We are not former friends. Not one-time lovers. Certainly, I’m not the girl once infatuated with my older brother’s best friend.

“Isaiah told me you had this job,” he comments, ignoring my question about whether his former nickname followed him as a coach.

Way to be subtle, India? Underlying my question is a deeper one. Is he still a player among women? From what Isaiah has told me over the years, Declan is ‘living the dream’. Single. Free. A sexual free agent. Blissfully independent.

I got the point. And it was a reminder that Declan hadn’t reached out to me, even if Isaiah told him about my new position.

Then again, I hadn’t reached out to him. Honestly, I was afraid to.

I’d already done it once. When I was a new graduate from Colorado, the alma mater for all of us, despite my being five years younger than my brother and his best friend. Declan was playing for Seattle then and I’d taken a job in the area.

I’d texted him, because he was my brother’s best friend, to let him know I was moving to the area.

I thought we had an unspoken connection.

Little sister to best friend. I didn’t know anyone in Seattle, and I was hopeful he would be someone to lean on if needed.

I didn’t intend to over lean, just wanted a safe shoulder of sorts.

Only, when I’d told him the joyous news, he informed me he’d been traded to Chicago.

I didn’t fault him. Trades happen. The new-to-him team would be another notch in his hopefully long career.

I didn’t see that missed connection as a failed opportunity.

Failure between us happened later. Or maybe some things are just never meant to be.

“I didn’t think you’d want to speak to me,” he adds, as if he both read my mind and confessed the reason he hadn’t reached out when I’d been new to his city.

Did I want to talk to him? What’s to explain? Life happens.

And we are not a part of each other’s lives despite the permanent lock linking us. Isaiah .

“I’m here to interview you,” I state, keeping my voice as even as I can, forcing myself to face his unnerving stare. The one that drops down my body like a slow-moving waterfall cascading over smooth river rocks. And I’m wet in areas that shouldn’t be damp.

Did he just spread his knees a little wider?

I force my gaze to remain on his face which is both a blessing and a curse. He’s still so good looking. Breathtakingly good looking. It isn’t fair.

And neither is this interview, but it’s part of the job and I need to get used to being around Coach Wylde as I’ll be interviewing him before, after, and occasionally during future Terror games .

“Shall we get started?” I ask, causing his gaze to flick back to my face. His brows pinch, suggesting he doesn’t like my tone.

However, I don’t need his approval.

I’m here for me. This is my time.

“Truth?” Declan says, arching one brow, taunting me into participating in a game I no longer play. His elbow digs into the flimsy wooden armrest while his index finger circles his lips. A nervous habit when he’s thinking, processing.

“You disappeared.” His questioning voice is full of confusion, like he hadn’t made the decision to no longer speak to me.

“I got married,” I remind him. And he had a kid with someone.

But I’m beyond silly games, even if everything in me screams to challenge him. To demand a dare.

Tell me what happened.

Instead, I shake my head. I have all the truth I need about Declan Wylde.

I’d been a meaningless fling to him, when he’d been everything to me.