Page 56 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“You need to experience the games for yourself. The aching muscles afterward and the rush of scoring a goal or touchdown or basket,” he says.

He’s making sense.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

He takes a breath and then lets it out slowly. “Give me back my playlist and I’ll help you.”

My heart races at the thought. More time together. Another excuse to see one another? Get physical and sweaty together? I want to hate the idea. But there are a bajillion reasons I want to say yes.

Focus on the one that makes sense—this could help your career.

I reach into the pocket of my shorts and pull out his soaked playlist. I bite my lip as I hold it up. “You may need to write a new one.”

A full day of sports with Hailey Harris.

Spending time with her willingly, doing something other than engagement party planning. I need to have my head examined.

I drop my bag of sports gear onto the field and open it. Inside is a football, baseball and gloves, tennis rackets, and a basketball. The key sports she’s trying to break into.

I don’t know why I want to help her out, but I sensed a genuineness in her yesterday and the offer just slipped out.

But I’m determined to keep things—meaning my thoughts and my hard-ons—in check today. Unlike yesterday in the water where the temptation to kiss her was so strong, I know I would have risked the punch in the face if her cell phone hadn’t rung.

I thought that interrupted kiss cliché shit only happened in TV movies.

Probably for the best, though, as it would have been a huge mistake. We’ve finally reached a point where we don’t want to murder one another and may be able to pull off the engagement party without disappointing Liam and Sonia.

Best to keep this stalemate we’ve silently agreed to as platonic as possible.

Which would be easier if she wasn’t so damn hot.

Striding across the field in tight athletic short shorts and a bra top, her blond hair in a swishing ponytail and bright pink runners on her feet, she looks like SportsPro Barbie. I choose to believe she’s wearing this particular outfit because of the hundred-degree heat and not because she’s hoping to elicit another near kiss out of me. That is absolutely not going to be happening.

“Hi!” she says, sounding excited and happy to see me, which is a first, and it throws me completely off guard.

“Hey,” I mumble. “Ready to get started?”

She bounces excitedly and her breasts are a major source of distraction. “What’s first?”

She needs to calm the fuck down before I get excited.

I reach into the bag and take out a football. Something that requires us to be as far apart as physically possible. I toss the ball back and forth in my hands as I nod for her to head across the field. “Let’s see if you can throw a spiral.”

She nods as she backs away. She holds her arms out, ready to catch the ball.

Oh God, she’s adorable.

Which is arguably worse than being sexy. Sexy hits me in the groin area, whereas this cuteness radiating from her warms something in my core.

I don’t like it.

I throw the ball at about ten percent my usual speed and she catches it. “I caught it!”

Her excitement rivals mine over winning my first pro championship. “Okay, throw it back.”

She positions her hands correctly on the threads and I’m grateful I don’t have to teach her that. Distance is my friend today. She raises her arm and throws.

The ball is wonky and wobbly, but it makes it to me. “Shit. Sorry!” she says.

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