An After-Hours Affair. Barbara Dunlop

bruised ego. As Emily had said on the drive home last night, Mitch had no idea what he was missing.

      The outer office door opened with a rattle, and a uniformed courier entered, a white cardboard envelope in one hand and his electronic tracking device in the other.

      “Delivery for Mr. Hayward,” the young man announced. He crossed the room and perched the envelope against her upright in-basket, holding out the tracking device.

      Jenny took it and scrolled her signature across the grayed window. “Thanks.”

      “Have a good day.” He gave her a salute of acknowledgment while he turned to leave.

      As the door swung shut behind him, she ripped the perforated tab and reached into the depths of the cardboard pouch, extracting a smaller manila envelope. She retrieved a letter opener and sliced through the paper. Inside, she discovered four VIP tickets to tonight’s football game in Houston. The Texas Tigers versus the Chicago Crushers.

      Her mood slipped another notch.

      Like any good Texan, she loved football. And the last three times Mitch had been sent complimentary tickets to a nearby game, he’d invited her to join the group. But those days were obviously over.

      A folded note slipped out of the envelope, and she opened it up. The jet will be at the airport at four, it read. Bring a date. It was signed by Mitch’s friend and teammate Jeffrey Porter.

      “Jenny, can you please look up—” Mitch stopped short.

      A jolt of guilt hit her. Which was ridiculous. She opened Mitch’s mail all the time. There was nothing on this package to indicate it was personal. And it wasn’t. He was a football player. He received packages from his team with some regularity.

      “The tickets?” he asked, moving forward.

      She nodded. Bundling them along with the note back into the manila envelope, pretending everything was perfectly normal in her world. “They say the jet will be at the airport at four.” For a split second, she wondered who his date might be, but then she quickly cut off that line of thinking, mentally admonishing herself.

      She rose to deposit the empty cardboard packaging into the recycling bin.

      She heard Mitch behind her, the envelope rustling. He was clearly reading the enclosed note.

      Determined to banish the annoying jealousy, she turned and moved briskly back to her chair.

      But she no sooner sat down than perversity made her speak out. “So, who are you taking?”

      He went still, and she had to fight the urge to glance at his expression. She focused on picking up the scattered bits of cardboard from the envelope tab. She rolled them between her fingers and tossed them in the wastebasket.

      Then she straightened a stack of papers on her desk, returned her letter opener to the drawer and lined up three pens in front of her phone.

      Mitch’s voice was a deep rumble. “Do you want to come to the game, Jenny?”

      She forced out a little laugh. “Of course not. That would be silly.”

      “You can join me if you’d like.”

      She looked up to where he stood above her, tone tart. “I would not like.”

      Her words dropped into silence.

      His gaze held hers, and for a long moment she couldn’t breathe. He seemed to be searching deep into her eyes.

      Then his lips compressed, and his broad shoulders drew back beneath his suit. “You do understand why I’m no good for you, right?”

      “Absolutely.”

      He was no good for her because there were hundreds of beautiful women out there who were perfectly willing to throw themselves at a star quarterback. And Mitch was a star quarterback who wanted to be in a position to catch them.

      She was a fool to ever think she could hold his attention. She wasn’t a movie star. She wasn’t a supermodel. And she sure wasn’t a bored debutante looking for a walk on the wild side.

      “It has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you,” he said.

      “You do know that’s the oldest line in the book.”

      “In this case, it happens to be true.”

      “Well, that would be a first.”

      His eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard it before?”

      “Not me, specifically,” she admitted.

      He snorted out a cold laugh. “Can we stop?”

      “Sure.” She turned to her computer, pretending to read an email while she waited for him to walk away.

      “That’s not what I meant,” he finally said.

      She didn’t turn back. “Then what did you mean?”

      “I’m inviting you to a football game.”

      “And I’m turning you down.”

      Mitch tapped the envelope against the desktop. “You’re making way too much of this.”

      At that, she did turn. “You’re the one who won’t go away.”