Just as the two of them start to realize they might be perfect for one another, reality rears its ugly head. Can Heath and Camille score a touchdown for their love? Or will they fumble the play and be parted once again?
“I’m feeling the need for some inspiration. Do you know any jokes?” Heath asked.
“I’m not really the type for jokes,” Camille said shortly.
“That’s too bad. You look like you could use some loosening up.”
There he went, making his unsolicited observations again. She placed a hand on one hip. “I suppose you’ve got a bunch of jokes you’re just dying to tell me?”
“I like to make the ladies laugh as much as the next guy.”
She flashed him a tight smile, determined not to let him get to her, when what she really wanted to say was, Yeah, but usually they’re laughing at you, not with you. Of course, that wouldn’t be very professional of her, so she simply said, “Go for it.”
More people laughed, although the leggy blond with Heath looked annoyed, pushing her bottom lip forward.
Heath held up his hands to quiet his friends. Then he studied Camille from head to toe, taking his time, making her flush, before he said, “How do football players do it?”
God, why had she challenged him? She could tell by the teasing glint in his eye, and the type of joke, that the punch line was going to be sexually charged, but she’d been around ribald football players long enough to know if she gave the slightest hint of being uptight, it would only go badly for her. “How?” she asked gamely.
“For over two hours in eleven different positions.”
Delighted in spite of herself, Camille had to fight hard not to laugh. Instead, she shook her head, as if he exasperated her, and waved a hand. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, can you guys give me the shots I need, please?”
“You deliberately didn’t laugh.”
Camille took a picture of him, liking the way he frowned when she ignored him.
When she kept snapping pictures, he approached her and held his hand up in front of the lens.
“Come on, admit it. You thought it was funny.”
Camille sighed. He hadn’t even given her the time of day years before, and now he couldn’t stop flirting. Why? Because she was so different from his blonde cheerleaders? Because she represented a challenge? That had to be it. But she’d teach him that even sexy football players didn’t win every challenge. “The only thing I’ll admit is you like to hear yourself talk too much. I’m surprised you can stop doing it long enough to score.”
They were having a good old-fashioned showdown, and many of the other football players and cheerleaders had gathered around them. Kyle whooped and congratulated Camille for her putdown. Then Alec shouted out, “Looks like you’re definitely not scoring today, Dawson!”
Heath, though, wasn’t one to let up that easily. “How’s about we bet on that?”
Camille frowned. He just wanted to get a rise out of her. And he was: her nipples prickled with his words and she had the stupidest desire to let him touch her all over. She’d never felt like this with any guy—not even her ex-husband—and she still didn’t understand the hold Heath had over her.
“Here’s a bet,” Camille finally replied. “I bet you can’t keep your mouth shut for an entire hour. If I win, you have to be quiet for the rest of the day.”
“And if I win?”
“It won’t matter, since you won’t be able to do it.” Of course he wouldn’t, Camille thought, truly convinced. The guy was a total attention hound.
“But if I win?”
“You get whatever you want.”
Camille instantly regretted her words, especially as the girls tittered. Heath’s eyebrows rose, and his gaze landed on her breasts before moving to her lips. Then he moved closer to speak in her ear. “I get a kiss,” he finally said slowly, and surprise and heat filled every inch of Camille in equal measure.
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