Page 21 of Kiss Me Tonight

“This is just a game for you,” she snaps, yanking fruitlessly at her captive hand. “You don’t care about those boys down there. I don’t even know how you gotthis job, but I can tell you right now that—”

“Boys like your son?” I lower my head, tugging her imprisoned hand down to her side until I’m intruding in her space. “Brien—college teammate, by the way—told me all about how the Levis are football royalty around here.” Her lips tighten at my mention of her boss, like she hates the idea that she might be stuck with me.The feeling is entirely mutual.“Grandpa Levi kicked the whole family legacy off, is what he told me. Then your dad, and now . . . you.”

Her brows furrow. “So what?”

“Looks to me like London has a little taste for nepotism.”

That gets her hackles roaring. “Nepotism? I’m sorry, but you did not just say that we’re . . . that I wouldeverstoop to—”

“Should I remind you that we don’t know each other?”

Letting her go, I recline against the side of my truck, crossing my legs at the ankles and my arms over my chest. Like I’m ready to stand here all day and hash this shit out with her. I could, too. There’s nothing that gets me more fired up than a good debate. Probably because I spent so many years not talking to anyone before LSU pulled me out of the hell I’d been living in.

“Should we anticipate Topher taking your spot in about ten to fifteen years? Four generations of Levis all owning this town’s successes.” I whistle low, heavy on the sarcasm. “From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look too good, Coach. You need some fresh blood. Just offerin’ an opinion.”

“Youropinion.” She growls the words seconds before she pushes past me to yank open the back door to her car. She bends over, ass up in the air, andJesus fu—

My fingers curl in, blunt nails biting into the calloused flesh of my palms. Completely unaware that I’m halfway to a full hard-on, she grabs her belongings and innocently—correction:unknowingly—sticks her perky ass up and out as she digs around for whatever the hell she’s gathering in her back seat. The hem of her shorts creeps north, revealing more creamy, pale skin.

My dick, traitorous bastard that it is, goes from half-mast to instant erection.

Look away. Right now. Donotkeep staring.

I hike my chin up, eyes lifting to the sky, because it’s either that or crawl into the backseat with her, and, amazing ass aside, I’m not interested in a woman like Aspen Levi.

Single mom.

Ball-buster extraordinaire.

So damn cheerful—the last ten minutes notwithstanding—that I’m just waiting to learn that she commands both the sun and its rays, along with the happiness of all humanity.

“—And for the record,” she rants, turning with a bag hanging from one shoulder and a clipboard clasped to her breasts, “I don’t carewhatthis town thinks of me.” The clipboard escapes the confines of her embrace to prod me in the center of my chest with its rounded corner. “I don’t care whatyouthink about me. You might have played for the Bucs, you might have shiny Super Bowl rings that you kiss and coddle every night before bed, but no one knows this game better than I do. No one.”

I quirk a brow at the vehemence in her tone. “Sounds like you’re worried you have something to prove, Coach.”

Another bump of that clipboard against my chest. “Kiss my ass, DaSilva.”

The end of her ponytail thwacks me in the chin as she whips around to head toward the field. Her hips sway angrily, her gait short and clipped like it’s taking everything in her power not to jump in her car and finish off what her son started. Given the right circumstances, I have no doubt she’d run me over and not lose any sleep because of it.

I glance at the two vehicles, to the mirror-image paint scratches.

Once she’s almost reached the path that leads down to the fields, I holler, “Good thing you have that head coach’s salary, Levi!” She darts a suspicious look over her shoulder while I point to my truck. “You’re gonna need it.”

For the second time in less than an hour, she flips me the bird.

And then, because I can, I pretend to catch the “bird” mid-flight, cup its invisible tiny body in my hands, and kiss its furry little head.

“See you when I see you!” I call out, throwing her own words from the other day back at her. I’ll be seeing her within minutes for the Wildcats’ first practice, but knowing it’ll rile her up? Knowing that she’ll be seething all damn practice and thinking of ways to get rid of me when we both know Brien won’t allow it?

Yeah, there’s something about messing with her that feels real damn good.

And if that makes me the asshole she so wants to believe that I am, so be it.

6

Aspen

Surprise, surprise—the players love him.

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