The Player Next Door by Kathy Lyons

means something has held your attention for a good long time.”
    True. “But not people. I’m just not wired that way.”
    He straightened, his expression crying “bullshit” as clearly as if she were telling him the sky was green. “How many years were you with Edward?”
    “Too many. And I was bored long ago, but too lazy to leave. My fault. Now I know.” She smiled. “Think of it as built-in obsolescence.”
    “What if you break my heart?”
    She blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
    “What, guys don’t have hearts?”
    “Guys do. You don’t. Your own words in that interview. Until your career is done, you’ve given yourself body, mind, and soul to basketball. Are you saying your heart isn’t included in that list?”
    He looked uncomfortable and so she knew she was right. Time to press her advantage.
    “So you don’t want a real girlfriend any more than I want a real boyfriend.” She touched his chest, spreading her fingers out and covering a small fraction of the area there. He was a big powerful guy, and the sight of her tiny hand there had her thinking of other places she could put her small hand. And wondering if he was super big there, too. “I want to go to bed with you, Mike,” she confessed, her tone more of a whisper. “There wasn’t much thought beyond that.”
    “But with no strings. Separating as soon as the season begins.”
    She nodded. “And hopefully with some awesome memories.”
    He shifted his hand to cover hers on his chest. He totally engulfed her, surrounding her all the way up past her wrist.
    “Do smart people get drunk different than dumb ones? Like some weird PhD drunk? Coming up with weird ideas when blitzed?”
    “Well, of course we do. How do you think I came up with my thesis project?”
    He smiled at her, clearly wanting the answer.
    “I undertook a thorough study of absinthe in all its historically accurate forms. By morning, I’d decided that it was directly responsible for certain Egyptian cults and many forms of Bast worship.”
    He frowned. “Bast?”
    She gestured with her chin to the bathroom. “That’s her on the wall. The Cat Goddess.” She waited a moment while he looked at the elegant depiction of a regal black cat with a mysterious expression and not-so-mysterious boobs. “Come on. You think any sober person would think of that?”
    He had no answer to that, which is usually what happened when she spoke about her research. By the time he was looking back at her, she had stepped tighter into his personal space. Close enough that her forearm and elbow settled against his belly.
    “So…want to rebound with me?” she asked.
    “There are so many things wrong with that question, I can’t even begin.”
    Disappointment curled through her. Again. But before she could pull away, he started backing her up. He simply started moving forward, forcing her to quickly step backward. Three, seven, ten. Oh! He was backing her into her bedroom.
    “Um, what are you doing?” she asked, though she’d already figured it out.
    “I’m going to show you how a professional rebounds.” Three more steps until her hip bumped into a half-unpacked moving box next to her dresser.
    Meanwhile, she was working his words around in her mind. “Um, was that supposed to make sense to me?”
    “Jesus, woman, I have no idea. I’m too busy thinking of all the novel things I want to try with you.”
    “Oh,” she said, her mind slipping back to the handcuffs. “Well, that’s the other—”
    He stopped her words with his tongue. All in all, she decided she was okay with that.

Chapter Seven
    Tori was an impatient lover. Mostly because — as her mother often accused — she had the attention span of a gnat. That wasn’t exactly true. She’d once read the entire Holy Bible on a Sunday afternoon. But in terms of sexual arousal, her interest often waned quickly. She’d learned early that guys got annoyed when she suddenly wanted to look up esoteric facts in the middle of