“Have dinner with me?” Maybe it was jet lag. Sleep deprivation. Or some seismic anomaly affecting his brain waves. Maybe going more than six months without sex had been a really bad idea.
“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to eat at the post-game spread.” Did her hesitation mean she was rattled? “We have an excellent caterer.”
“No. I want you to have dinner with me.” He leaned toward her, knowing she’d deny him, but he wanted to linger near her a little bit longer.
“I can’t.” She squirmed, avoiding his gaze. “It would be a conflict of interest.”
“You’re only conflicted because you’re interested.” He kept his smile to himself. He was getting to her. Almost as much as she was getting to him. Even though she wasn’t at all his type. Or maybe she was, she just worked so damn hard trying to hide it.
“I’m only interested in winning the division and making a strong run in the postseason.” She turned her head to look out the window as if to show she was unaffected by the chemistry between them.
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