Opposites Attract

fashion magazine.”
    “It’s been done before.”
    Asher conquered a grin and arched her brows instead. “Do you read fashion magazines, Starbuck?”
    “Sure. I like to look at pretty women.”
    “I always thought jocks tended to favor other sorts of magazines for that.”
    He gave her an innocent look. “What sorts of magazines?”
    Ignoring him, Asher went back to his original question. “They’re playing up this Grand Slam business for all it’s worth.”
    “Bother you?” As he laced their fingers together, he studied them. There was an almost stunning difference in size and texture. Often he’d wondered how such an elegant little hand could be so strong . . . and why it should fit so perfectly with his.
    “A bit,” Asher admitted, enjoying the rough feel of his skin against hers. “It makes it difficult to go into a match thinking of just that match. What about you? I know you’re getting the same kind of pressure.”
    The waitress brought the wine, giving Ty a slow smile as she set down the glasses. To Asher’s amusement, he returned it. He’s a devil, she thought. And he knows it.
    “I always look at playing a game at a time, one point at a time.” He poured a generous amount of wine in both glasses. “Three matches is a hell of a lot of points.”
    “But you’d like to win the Grand Slam?”
    Raising his glass, he grinned. “Damn right.” He laughed into her eyes as he drank. “Of course, Martin’s already making book on it.”
    “I’m surprised he’s not here,” Asher commented, “analyzing every volley.”
    “He’s coming in tomorrow with the rest of the family.”
    Asher’s fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. “The rest of the family?”
    “Yeah, Mom and Jess for sure. Mac and Pete if it can be arranged.” The Chianti was heavy and mellow. Ty relaxed with it. “You’ll like Pete; he’s a cute kid.”
    She mumbled something into her wine before she swallowed. Martin had been there three years ago, along with Ty’s mother and sister. Both she and Ty had gone into the U.S. Open as top seeds; both had been hounded by the press. The two of them had shared meals then, too, and a bed. So much was the same—terrifyingly so. But there had been so much in between.
    There’d been no small boy with Ty’s coloring then. No small boy with that air of perpetual energy to remind her of what was lost. Asher felt the emptiness inside her, then the ache, as she did each time she thought of the child.
    Misinterpreting her silence, Ty reached over to take her hand. “Asher, you still haven’t spoken to your father?”
    “What?” Disoriented, she stared at him a moment. “No, no, not since . . . Not since I retired.”
    “Why don’t you call him?”
    “I can’t.”
    “That’s ridiculous. He’s your father.”
    She sighed, wishing it were so simple. “Ty, you know him. He’s a very stringent man, very certain of what’s right and what’s wrong. When I left tennis I did more than disappoint him, I . . . wasted what he’d given me.”
    Ty answered with a short, explicit word that made her smile. “From his viewpoint that’s the way it was,” she went on. “As Jim Wolfe’s daughter I had certain responsibilities. In marrying Eric and giving up my career I shirked them. He hasn’t forgiven me.”
    “How do you know that?” he demanded. His voice was low under the insistent music, but rich with annoyance. “If you haven’t spoken to him, how can you be sure how he feels now?”
    “Ty, if his feelings had changed, wouldn’t he be here?” She shrugged, wishing they could have avoided the subject for a while longer. “I thought, at first, that when I started playing again it might make the difference. It hasn’t.”
    “But you miss him.”
    Even that wasn’t so simple. To Ty, family meant something warm and loving and eternal. He’d never understand that Asher looked not so much now for her father’s presence or even his love, but simply his forgiveness. “I’d like him to be here,” she said finally. “But I understand his reasons for not coming.” Her brow clouded for a moment with a realization that had just come to her. “Before, I played for him, to please him, to justify the time and effort he put into my career. Now I play for myself.”
    “And you play better,” Ty put in. “Perhaps that’s one of the reasons.”
    With a smile she lifted his hand to her lips. “Perhaps that’s one of them.”
    “Here’s your pizza.”