Playing to Win

food or room service. To be able to eat a home-cooked meal is heaven for me. To cook it myself is a double bonus.”
    Women were odd creatures.
    No, Savannah was an odd creature. Most of the women he went out with were perfectly content to have him take them out for a pricey dinner. Not once had any woman offered to cook him a meal.
    She was unique.
    He led them into the living room. Savannah took a seat at the end of the sofa. He almost sat in the chair across from her, to maintain that professional distance and all, but decided on the sofa, too. “What you said about being at home? I know what you mean. Once the season starts we’re either on the road and when we have a homegame we’re at practice. Not that I’m a big cook to start with, but I’m tired by the time I get home, so I’ll grab something on the way. I eat a lot of take-out food. Don’t tell my mom.”
    Her lips lifted. “Your secret is safe with me.” She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her on the sofa.
    “You’re a woman of many talents, Savannah.”
    “Not really. I just like to cook. And men are easily impressed by a woman who knows how to cook. It caters to one of their base needs.”
    “Food and sex.”
    “Exactly.”
    “So you’re saying I’m easy?”
    “No. I’m saying you’re a man.”
    He laughed. She had a dry wit and could send a subtle zinger with her sarcasm using that sweet Southern voice of hers. He had to admit, he liked that.
    But he liked strong women, not ones who would cry if you looked at them the wrong way. She wasn’t the type of woman to manipulate a man with tears to get what she wanted. He couldn’t see her ever doing something like that, since she was so straight-up honest. She was sweet on the outside, but she was tough. He’d given her a hard time in a lot of ways and she hadn’t yet folded.
    She set her wine on the table and shifted to face him. “I want to talk to you about some suggestions I have.”
    “Work-related suggestions?”
    She cocked her head a little to the side. “Of course.”
    “Not tonight.” He stood and grabbed her wineglass, went into the kitchen and refilled it. When he came back, he could see she was confused.
    “Look, Peaches. I appreciate your cooking me dinner, and I enjoy your company, but I’m not all about working twenty-four hours a day.” He handed the glass to her. “Sit back and relax.”
    She took the glass from him. “My job is to work with you to repair your image.”
    “And we are working on that, aren’t we?”
    “We’ve barely scratched the surface. I have a plan.”
    “I’ll just bet you do. But we’re not going to get into that tonight.”
    “Really. And what are we going to get into tonight?”
    He liked the sound of her voice, the soft, sexy way she asked that question, almost in invitation. He didn’t think he was reading anything that wasn’t there. He was smart enough to know the difference between a woman who was interested and a woman who wasn’t. And while he’d promised himself he was going to keep it professional, she was the one opening the door now.
    “I thought maybe we’d just hang out together tonight. Get to know each other a little better.”
    The look she gave him almost made him laugh. She looked tense, maybe even a little horrified.
    “Okay, I can tell that’s not what you want to do. Did you have something else in mind?”
    She put her glass down again and stood. “Yes. Work.”
    He stood, too, came over to her. “No work tonight, Savannah.”
    “Then I should definitely go.”
    “You’re afraid of me.”
    She let out a snort. “I am definitely not afraid of you.”
    “So it’s just men in general?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play me. We had a nice night. Let’s just leave it at that.”
    She went into the kitchen and he followed. She grabbed her purse.
    “No, really. Is it all men, or is it just me?”
    “It’s just you.”
    “I make you—what? Uncomfortable? Or do I make you realize it’s been a while since you’ve been with a man?”
    Her eyes blazed hot. He liked to see the cool Southern belle spitting a little fire. “You’re presuming a lot, Cole.”
    “Maybe I am.”
    “Don’t.” He was blocking the doorway, so she laid her hand on his chest to move him out of the way. He grasped her wrist and she halted.
    He felt her pulse racing and he knew it wasn’t because she was mad. He could see it in her eyes, the way her pupils dilated, the way her lips parted. And when