Passion Overtime. Pamela Yaye

shorts and wraparound sunglasses clogged the bike trail at Centennial Park. Pressing down the heel of her Rollerblade skates, Kyra slowed and waited until she was past the ten-man group before resuming her speed.

      Chest heaving, arms swinging like a skier catapulted off a mountain, she shot down the hill on her Rollerblades, feeling as light and as free as a jaybird. Seagulls squawked, dogs barked and the sound of children’s laughter rippled on the sultry, red-hot breeze. After a stressful day, in-line skating was just what Kyra needed to clear her head.

      Invigorated by the scents and sounds of summer, she skated up the winding path and decided to do a third lap through the park. Kyra didn’t know if she’d be able to get out of bed tomorrow, but she wasn’t ready to pack up and go home.

      Kyra plucked her tank top with one hand and wiped her forehead with the other. Sweat dripped off her face and chunks of hair clung to the back of her neck. Insects buzzed around her, but she was feeling too good to be bothered. Next month, her sorority sisters would be back in town for their ten-year reunion and there was no telling what trouble they’d get into this time.

      Punching up the volume on her iPod handheld, she moved her shoulders and hands in tune to the beat. The Destiny’s Child song made her reflect on her college days. Lately, she’d been doing a lot of self-examination. Ever since Terrence showed up, she’d been having one flashback after another. Turning away from her thoughts, she chose to admire the bright, fragrant flowers swaying in the breeze.

      Joggers ran alongside their dogs and seniors strolled leisurely along the narrow trail. A bare-chested man in shorts and a baseball cap came into view. The corners of Kyra’s mouth drooped slightly. He was perfection. A ten. A living, breathing, dream. Six feet four inches of sexy. The word beautiful was the most abused word in the English language, but the man jogging towards her was gorgeous. Muscular arms, pert nipples, a chest begging to be touched. Following the hard contours of his waist, her eyes moved slowly up his shoulders to his lips. His cap shielded his forehead, making it impossible for her to see his entire face, but she’d recognize the familiar shape of Terrence Franklin’s mouth in the dark.

      Her heart swayed like a daisy in the breeze. Should she pretend not to see him, or dive into the bushes? Kyra wiped the perspiration from her face. Sweat wasn’t cool, neither was funk. Her tank top was damp and she smelled as if she’d slept in a men’s locker room. Since Kyra wasn’t sure whether he’d even seen her, she decided to just keep on trucking.

      When they were just a few feet away, he stopped and fell into step beside her. “Funny seeing you here,” he drawled. “What a pleasant surprise.”

      Kyra slowed but didn’t stop. He sounded sincere, but the expression on his face said touchdown. The roguish sparkle in his eye matched his wide grin. Kyra had no proof, but she had a sneaking suspicion Terrence had orchestrated this meeting. But as she considered the likelihood of it, she realized it was next to impossible. Terrence was good, but he wasn’t that good. There was no way for him to know she’d be on this trail at this time of the day. “Hey, Terrence.”

      He pointed with his chin to the trail. “Mind if I join you?”

      “Actually, I was just leaving,” she said, skating backward out of his reach. “I promised my mom I’d come over for dinner.”

      “Then I’ll walk you to your car.”

      Her legs shook like a straight man in heels, and she suddenly didn’t have the energy to stand, but she stayed shoulder to shoulder with him all the way up the hill. His cologne had notes of cedar and stimulated her senses. Then there was his chest…his nipples…the slope of his rock-hard abs.

      Kyra fanned her face. It was hotter than a Texas heat wave, but where on Earth was his shirt? Was he an exhibitionist or had some crazed female fan mauled him in the parking lot? “What does SKW stand for?” she asked, spotting the scripted initials on his right bicep.

      “Selma Kay Williams.”

      “Was she an ex-girlfriend?”

      “Nope. My great-grandmother.” The expression on his face was one of pride. “She was an integral part of my life when I was growing up, and this tattoo is my small way of honoring her memory.”

      Kyra almost melted onto the hot pavement. It was the sweetest, kindest thing she’d ever heard a man say, and she was touched deeply by his confession.

      “How’s work?” he asked, feeding her another gorgeous smile. It was definitely one of his best. “Get all that paperwork done that’s been keeping you so busy?”

      Her eyebrows knitted together. What, was he psychic now, too? “Things are fine.”

      “I can tell you’re very good at your job.”

      His gaze was powerful, crippling, more potent than a double shot of whiskey. Good thing I have my sunglasses on, she thought. I’d be blinded by all that sexual energy.

      “I hope your boss knows how lucky he is to have you.”

      Her gaze slid down his physique. Wrong move. Toned arms, muscles as hard as steel, long legs. Terrence Franklin was dark, fine and broad. The kind of man even a woman with amnesia wouldn’t forget. There was nothing sexier than a guy who’d just finished working out, and Kyra felt a swoon coming on.

      “I spoke to my agent this afternoon,” he told her. “Teams have been calling to see if I’m interested in coming out of retirement.”

      “Are you?” Kyra felt like the ground might slip out from under her. How could anyone withstand this heat? she wondered, running her tongue over her lips. Wanting to put all those Psychology 101 courses to good use, she tore her eyes away from his nipples and asked, “Is returning to the NFL a viable option?”

      Silence fell between them.

      “When I first busted my knee, I thought I’d be out for a couple months, maybe three, but as time passed, I realized it was a lot worse than the doctors originally thought.” He pushed out a ragged breath. “I miss the game, but my surgeon made it clear that continuing my career could result in permanent damage.”

      “That must have been hard to hear.”

      Head down, he tugged at his baseball cap, pulling it down past his eyebrows. “I had another five, six seasons left in me, and it was tough walking away from a game I’ve loved since I was nine.”

      His voice was hollow, his tone flat. “I never won a championship and that kills me more than anything. More than my knee, more than my friends who turned their backs on me, more than all the women who…never mind that.”

      “What do you miss most about the game?”

      He lifted his eyes to her face, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m embarrassed to say this, but I miss everything about playing in the NFL. The thrill, the excitement, the energy. Out on that field, I’m invincible. Fans surround me on every side, screaming just for me. There’s nothing like it, Kyra. It’s a constant adrenaline rush. It never ends. Long after the game is over, I’m still hyped up and ready for more.”

      “You had an incredible ten-year run, Terrence. Few players can say they walked away from the sport at the height of their career, healthy, sane and whole. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

      For a moment, he didn’t speak. “It’s all good, though,” he insisted, with a firm nod. “I might be down, but I’m not out. I read for a small part in the new Robert De Niro movie, and my agent assured me I’d get the role.”

      Her heart fell. A Robert De Niro movie? When was he going to tell her about his acting aspirations. Kyra had dozens of questions, but before she could ask a single one, he said, “Did you like the bouquet?”

      Kyra shot him a look. Goodness gracious, how did he know about that? Choosing to keep her personal life private, she dodged his question by playing dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “It never came? That’s weird. I got an e-mail confirmation hours ago.”