She stood as I neared, her eyes lighting up. Man, this was going to be tough.
"You shouldn't be here." I glanced over my shoulder, though I'd already scoped the surrounds to make sure no one was watching us.
"Good morning to you too," she said, the spark in her eyes fading. "Got beaten at practice?"
"Not bloody likely." I opened the back door and gestured her to enter in front of me. "We need to talk."
"You know," she said, her tone flat as she stepped past me and I gritted my teeth against the urge to bury my face in her fruity scented hair. "About my dad."
"Yeah." I flung my workout bag in the corner of the kitchenette. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
She spun on me so fast I backed into the wall. "I was thinking maybe you wanted to cut loose for a few hours last night."
She jabbed me in the chest with her index finger. "I was thinking you were attracted to me as much as I was attracted to you."
She stepped in real close, almost treading on my toes. "I was thinking you were the type who wouldn't give a rat's ass about a person's parents."
She stuck her face into mine, mere inches away. "Guess I was wrong."
I couldn't think with her so close, the tantalizing strawberry scent of her body wash or shampoo teasing my nostrils and making me want to imprint that smell on my skin again, the way it had last night.
I needed to push her away, to ensure she wouldn't come hanging around again and to do that, I'd need to give her some semblance of the truth.
Just frigging great.
"You weren't wrong," I said, ducking past her before I hauled her into my arms. "Drink?"
"No thanks." She crossed her arms and perched on the arm of the sofa. The same sofa we'd had sex on last night. A vivid image of the two of us flashed in my head. Not helping. "So what's your problem? You hanging out with me shouldn't change anything—"
"Bullshit." I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, twisted the top off and chugged half of it. "You're not that naive. You must have some idea how pissed off your dad would be to find you with me."
I slammed the bottle down on the kitchen counter, spilling the remainder of the water. "Listen up, Princess, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm on my last chance here. Screw up and I'm done. No more tennis career. So the fact Dirk is your dad" —I shook my head— "it's a pretty big fucking deal."
Her shoulders slumped. "I'm twenty-one. I can date whoever I want."
My upper lip curled. "So tell me, how many tennis jocks have you dated that weren't handpicked by your old man?"
Her hesitation told me all I needed to know before she answered. "He wants me to be happy."
"As long as it's someone he approves of, right?" I thumped a fist against my chest. "Me? Your dear old dad would have a shitfit if he knew we'd hooked up last night. No fucking way would he approve of me."
Her mouth twisted into a stubborn grimace. "You don't know that. My dad's fair. He wouldn't have given you a spot here otherwise."
A derisive snort burst out of me. "The only reason your dad gave me a spot here is because my dad probably promised him a sizeable donation to expand the courts or clubhouse or whatever."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't have a very high opinion of people, do you?"
"Let's just say where I'm from, I've seen it all. Mixed with all types. Rich or poor, educated or dumb-arses, people are mostly lying scum." I shrugged. "So excuse me for doubting your dad's motives for accepting me here."
I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she thought up a suitable response to my bluntness. But I wasn't in the mood for any more of her trite platitudes. The sooner I stopped noticing the way her nipples were outlined beneath her tight red T shirt, or the way her denim mini ended mid-thigh, or the way she absentmindedly nibbled on her bottom lip when she was thinking, the better.
"Look, last night was great." I could've sworn her lower lip wobbled so I rushed on. "You're great, but I can't afford to piss off your dad and I need to focus on my tennis."
"So that's it?" She spoke too softly, too calmly. I didn't trust women when they were like this. My mum used to be the same when she was livid about something. The eerie calm usually preceded a shit-storm. "I don't get a say in any of this?"
"What's to say?" I'd have to be harsher to drive her away before I did something stupid, like relent. "You wanted a little walk on the wild side last night. You got it. I think you're hot and I took advantage of what you were offering. Let's just leave it at that."
She stood, even her posture unnaturally relaxed and calm. "What if I say no?"