Page 13 of Playing With Temptation

West executed a figure eight between his legs before passing the ball to Brice and asking, “Why is it, the donut eaters always feel the need to trash talk?”

Brice easily caught West’s pass before Ethan could get in a block. “Jealousy.”

“Yep,” I agreed, moving to cover West. “Must be nice being able to nap on the job.”

Jackson took his place under the basket near Echo. “Don’t forget the comfy couches and the eighty-five-inch TV with surround sound.”

West’s hand landed on my shoulder in a bone-jarring smack. “Good to see you, Jase. How are the munchkins?”

“Good. Back home today after school,” I told him.

“Excellent. Tell them their Uncle West says hey.”

“Absolutely, but you could come over and tell them yourself,” I reminded him, knowing full well he’d blow me off but hoping he wouldn’t.

“Maybe next weekend.”

West Myers was one of my closest friends—had been for a long time. He and Ethan had helped me through my divorce, Ethan by listening to me bitch and giving sound wisdom on how to help my kids adjust to the change.

West had helped me drown my anger in a bottle, then drove me home from whichever bar we’d planted our asses in. Even if it meant West had to go back to pick up whoever he was going to take home for the night. Not that the women he picked up ever got more than a few nights. Shay cheating on me was all the reinforcement West needed to cement his theory that all women were liars. Unfortunately, at the time, I’d played into the notion, and seven years later West was so deeply entrenched in this belief all he did was work, go to the gym, show up to our weekly basketball game, occasionally he’d have a drink with a friend or troll a bar looking to get laid, but mostly he’d turned into a loner.

Seeing as I knew West as well as I did, I knew trying to nail him down to come over would only piss him off, so I let it go and focused on the game.

Not even ten minutes later Jackson launched into another round of shit talk. “Looks like Chels got smart and hit up the station for volunteers for her fundraiser. Care to make a wager? Station 57 versus the 6-10?”

Echo, Ethan, and I worked out of the 6-10. Brice, West, and Jackson were out of fire station 57. I would’ve taken him up on his bet if I wasn’t actively dodging Chelsea’s efforts to corral me into an auction that as feared would end up with me out to dinner with a stranger. And a few days ago another buddy of mine, Dalton, told me Chelsea was also considering doing some sort of calendar.

Hard fucking pass.

“Dude, you better make it fair and give them all the local precincts,” Brice put in. “Quinn made her rounds and worked her magic.”

I had no doubt Brice’s wife got plenty of firefighters to sign up for the cause. Not many people could say no to Quinn and not only because the woman was gorgeous, but she was also downright tenacious.

I glanced over at West. “Did you sign up?”

“Against my will.”

And there you go, proof no one could say no to Brice’s wife.

Now I was royally screwed. There was no way I was getting out of this.

“Damn, old man, you forget your glasses?” Jackson taunted when Echo missed an easy pass from Ethan.

When he didn’t immediately snap back, I glanced over my shoulder to see what grabbed Echo’s attention.

All I caught was a glimpse of a woman in profile, yet there was something familiar. Hell, even the way she moved reminded me of…Rainy.

Christ, now I was imagining the woman, as if dreaming about her wasn’t enough. I never should’ve mentioned her to Ethan. It had taken me years to accept I would always regret letting her walk away. Make peace with the knowledge that for the rest of my life I would love a ghost. With effort, I’d managed to push the memory of her back into the back of my mind. Unless of course, my ex-wife was throwing Rainy in my face, but in the seven years since Shay, I’d done a damn good job not dwelling on a past I couldn’t change.

I felt West bump my shoulder, drawing my attention from the now empty hallway back to the court. “You know that woman?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not yet I don’t.”

No doubt he’d have the chick’s number by the time he exited the Hope Center, and if she was the kind of woman who was up for a good time with no strings and no promises, he’d nail her sometime in the next forty-eight hours.

My gut clenched at the thought.