Chapter Ten

Charlotte had been on edge all day. For one, she’d climbed her balcony like some kind of lunatic last night, all to save a few measly minutes of being around Lance. Because she’d started to drop her walls. To drift closer to him. To reveal things she hadn’t meant to reveal.

So naturally she’d hurdled a too-tall balcony in a skirt and ended up stuck enough that he’d had to put his hands on her butt to help her over the rail. While he’d done it as respectfully as anyone could when it came to palming your ass, it’d made her way too aware of the size of his hands and the strength of his arms.

Even this morning as they’d been working, she kept getting distracted by his rounded shoulders. The dark hair on his corded forearms. Their interim office smelled like him, too, all masculine and divine, and she’d spent the morning on pins and needles, purposely putting space between them.

Now they were preparing to play football, where there’d be no space. Bonus, it’d also probably end with her falling flat on her ass or in an ungraceful nosedive.

The fact that Lance had gone from buttoned up to buttoned down wasn’t helping matters. The T-shirt and board shorts brought out his sporty side, and the Mustangs baseball hat managed to highlight his scruff even more.

He tossed the ball in the air and caught it, again and again, his movements precise yet second nature. No thought to the throw. The spin of the ball. The way it made those muscles she kept staring at stand out even more—the short-sleeved T-shirt could hardly contain his arms and pecs and omigosh stop checking out his body.

Several beachgoers were sprawled out on towels in scattered groups while others splashed and played in the waves. Families. Single people. Couples. Friends. People everywhere she looked. “So many witnesses.”

She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Lance glanced at her, a crooked grin on his face. “We’ve been out here for less than five minutes, and you’re already contemplating killing me?”

“That implies I ever stopped.”

He chuckled, juggled the football to his left hand, and then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Relax. We’re gonna practice catching and throwing, and like we said last night, we’re just gonna play for fun.”

“You and your brother were making bets on who’d win. Expensive bets.” It made her skin itch to think about the dollar amounts they’d thrown out. They were silly bets between brothers, but she’d been around her dad when he’d put a lot of money on the line and lost. As solid as her internal stats calculator was, occasionally players had an off game. Or weather or officials came into play—so many variables, not to mention that bitch, Lady Luck, or fate or karma or whatever you wanted to call it…

She’d been blamed for some of those losses. Thousands of dollars here and there, but then Dad would get up again. He’d crave that next adrenaline rush and risk more. Her gut sank as she recalled being yelled at over a Super Bowl game he’d lost five figures on. Or so she’d thought, because they’d had a fight about the amount he was gambling.

Then he revealed it was six figures, and money he didn’t have. His decision making turned from bad to worse, and she didn’t want to think now about the snowball effect of that loss.

“Okay, so my brother and I are super competitive. But it’s all in good fun, I swear.”

A band formed around her lungs, growing tighter and tighter as the memories and pressure began slowly suffocating her. “What if you lose because of me?”

“Wow, now who’s got the ego, thinking you can determine the entire outcome of the game?”

She fired a dirty look at him, which was starting to feel like her main form of communication with the guy, but after last night she couldn’t throw her usual fire into it, and his grin made it clear he was far from scared. Every moment since they’d dipped their toes into the ocean—even their bickering—was starting to feel less tension filled and more…more.

He stepped a little closer, plenty of taunting creeping into the curve of his mouth. “Haven’t you heard the no ‘I’ in team speech?”

She yanked the ball out of his hands and took a provoking step of her own. “Haven’t you heard the one about the HR rep who spiked a football in her boss’s face for being so frustrating?” She even cocked her arm as if she were going to follow through on her threat.

“With all these witnesses?” Another smug grin spread across his stupidly perfect face. “Think of the due diligence.”

Well, what do you know? He is pretty good at the jokes.

“Also, your form’s all wrong.” He maneuvered behind her and nudged her elbow down a few inches. “Think ninety degrees. If all your weight’s on the front foot to start, you’ve already lost your momentum, so”—he gripped her hips and swiveled the right one back—“you want about seventy percent on the back leg, thirty on the front.”

She set up, doing her best to ignore the way her blood rushed to his hand on her hip and focus on his instructions. “Take a second to aim, and when you throw, flip the weight distribution, going an extra ten or so percent on the forward leg.”

Lance guided her arm forward in a practice throw, his chest bumping her shoulder as his breath warmed her temple. “Make sure to follow through.”

A pleasant shiver tiptoed down her spine, and she forgot how to breathe.

Yeah, she’d forgotten how to do something vital to life, even with decades of practice, so she wasn’t going to hold her breath on her follow-through magically improving.

Or apparently she was going to, but in an incognizant way that…man, he smelled good.

“Charlotte?”

“Hmm?” His instructions and the reason they were standing so close, his body wrapped around hers, came barreling back to her. “I mean, yeah. That makes sense. Aim, swivel, throw. I think I got it.”

He stepped back to give her space, and she set up the way he’d showed her. The percentages on weight distribution helped—she was good at percentages. Silently chanting the things he’d told her in her mind, she hurtled the ball.

It didn’t go far, although it was definitely one of her better throws. Never mind that she’d given up on the sports thing as soon as they stopped torturing her with it in PE class.

“Good,” he said, and he retrieved the ball and had her try again.

“I’m not going to be throwing in the game, though, right?” Her second toss was better but still rather short in the yardage department. “I’d rather catch. Or better yet, just hold out my hands like I’m going to catch it while you throw to other people.”

“Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” Lance brushed the sand off the pigskin and fitted his pinky and ring finger between the laces. “I’ll start with a gentle toss.”

She lifted her arms, ducked her head, and squinted one eye closed. At the are you kidding me expression he gave her, she decided she should’ve closed both eyes—that way she wouldn’t have to see the incredulity.

“Eyes open, chin up. I’ll be gentle, I promise. All you’ve got to do is clamp your hands around the ball when it nears.”

“Sure, it sounds easy, but—”

He tossed it, even though she still wasn’t ready, and she automatically closed her hands around the football. It wobbled, but she managed to catch it with the help of her boobs. Ouch.

“See, I told you it didn’t take any effort to catch my passes.” The cockiness in his grin kicked it up a notch. “I’m just that good.” He blew off his fingertips like one would blow the smoke off a gun after firing it, then he waggled them in a hand-it-over gesture. “Toss it back and we’ll keep playing catch as we move farther and farther apart, until we figure out your range. If we have time, we’ll practice a few basic plays.”

…

Lance backed up, the football gripped tightly in his right hand as he surveyed the field—or beach, as it were. Charlotte had missed the two passes he’d thrown at her earlier in the game and had beat herself up after each time. He could probably wait for Jack, one of Mitch’s teammates, and the other groomsmen on their team to run his route. She was wide open, though, and if she’d catch just one pass, it’d do wonders for her confidence. He cared more about that than winning the game, in spite of bets and bragging rights with his brother.

Crazy, but somehow true. He couldn’t think about why exactly right now, nor did he want to.

Their eyes locked, and Charlotte’s practically screamed don’t throw it to me, her eyebrows punctuating the statement.

Just trust me, you’ve got this.

He lobbed the ball the five or so yards toward her, a gentle pass with extra arch to give her time to get under it.

She winced but kept her eyes open, her hands reached for the ball, and…

“I caught it!” Her mouth hung open, and she gaped at the ball like it was a foreign object she’d never laid eyes on before.

“Run,” he shouted, and she seemed to realize they were in the middle of a game. She jolted into motion, and he rushed forward to help block as she sprinted toward the goal line.

Since there were no refs to call holding and all he cared about was getting Charlotte into the end zone, he fisted a handful of his brother’s best friend’s shirt, holding him at bay. Hunter managed to gain a step on him, dipped his shoulder, and shoved him back.

A few more steps and Charlotte would score.

Lance wasn’t going to get to his brother in time to block, but as Mitch dived for her, she completed a beautiful dodge, pivot, and weave move he definitely hadn’t taught her.

She crossed the line and slowly spun to face him, shock still written across her pretty face. She glanced at the ball in her hands again. Then she spiked it into the sand and started the cutest celebratory dance he’d ever seen.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah.” Her hips shimmied back and forth, her booty getting in on the action. “How much longer do I have till I get called for unsportsmanlike conduct?”

“Another sixty seconds at least,” he said—mostly because he liked watching her dance. Liked the huge grin on her face and the way it made her cheeks stand out.

Warmth and pride mingled inside his chest.

The rest of their team came forward to offer high fives, including the bride-to-be, who joined in with her own set of celebratory dance moves. When they’d been forming teams and Stacy had said she wanted to be on his team as opposed to Mitch’s, Lance had said, “Seems like that might cause a fight.”

She’d replied with, “That’s the point. Then we can have makeup sex after.”

Lance’s gaze had met Charlotte’s across the huddle, his plan to roll his eyes and share a joke about it with her. Couples, am I right? But then he’d accidentally noticed her curves in that tiny tank top and thought about how long it’d been since he’d had sex, and suddenly he was ready to start a fight to find a way to make up. Only he knew that wouldn’t be the end result with Charlotte.

After doling out high fives to the rest of the team, she was standing in front of him once again. It was his turn to properly congratulate her on the touchdown, only in this instance, he didn’t know what was proper.

She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you. I didn’t want you to throw it to me, but that was really fun. Probably the only touchdown I’ll ever make, too, so I don’t even care if the other team gave it to me.”

“No one gave that to you. You earned it.” He hugged her tighter to him, basking in the feel of having her in his arms. “That pivot move was amazing.”

She pulled back, her forehead bumping the brim of his baseball cap, that amazing smile of hers still curving her lips. The second their eyes met, a zip of electricity shot through him. Another current coursed through his body as she inhaled, her breasts pressing against his chest. Her smile wobbled, and she quickly dropped her arms.

She felt it, too.

She swiped the strands of hair that’d fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. Then she punched his shoulder. “Thanks, coach.”

He lightly punched her shoulder back. “Anytime, James.”

As he’d hoped, her confidence grew from that completed play, and he was able to see her celebratory dance one more time before they called the game.

But as they walked back to the hotel, she stayed by Stacy’s side, close enough that he wondered if she was avoiding being near him after that moment they’d had in the end zone.

If he was smart, he’d give her the space and follow her lead. He told himself it was good that one of them had self-restraint or self-preservation or whatever the hell it was.

Even as he was also cursing it and the distance between them.

That’s it. From here on out, I’m going to shut those stray thoughts about her down.

They were finally getting along, and the business side was coming together. No need to ruin it all for a few days they’d both later regret.