Page 28 of Love Game

He wasn’t some ego-driven ex-pro-turned-coaching-wunderkind anymore. He was older. Wiser. And best of all, he had virtually nothing to lose. Money wasn’t his motivator. He wanted his good name back.

Pausing in front of one of the trophy cases, he thought back to booze-fueled inanities Donner’d babbled at the awards dinner. Most people didn’t even bother adding the gender qualifier to the athletics around here. A phenomenon particularly unusual in collegiate sports, where the sting of Title IX still smarted.

The topic of the federal regulation that prohibited sex discrimination in education was a sensitive one for a lot of men, but not for him. He’d been at schools where the disparity in funding between women’s sports and men’s was so blatant it was shameful. Not that he was about to give up any of his funding to buy the field hockey team new sticks. There were times when having the best helmets and pads saved life and limb, and his job was to make sure his players had every damn thing they needed to play hard and safe. But when Dickie dared to dismiss those amazing athletes—those champions—as nothing more than mere “girls,” Danny’s blood had boiled.

A muffled thunk followed by a series of high-pitched squeaks drew him up short just as he reached the doors. The steady drumbeat of a ball hitting hardwood drifted up the concrete ramp that led to the arena. Curious, he hooked a right and started down the corridor toward the court. The pulse of continuous dribbling grew louder. The squeal of rubber soles on varnished floor made the tiny hairs on his neck stand at attention, but it was the sight of the lone shooter that stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was slim and supple, her body curved into an airborne C as she launched the ball from her fingertips. The spinning orange orb arced through the air, but she landed almost silently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The cotton-nylon netting sang its siren song as the ball passed through, a soft, seductive taunt, daring the shooter to try it again.

Kate caught the ball after a single bounce and trapped it against her hip as she walked toward the foul line. The textured orange rubber pressed against the gauzy spring skirt and sleeveless sweater she paired with blindingly bright sneakers. Warmth gathered in his belly, and a slow smile crept across his face. Somehow, neither the gaudy shoes nor the utterly feminine clothes looked the least bit out of place on Kate Snyder.

The shoes were an impulse buy. It seemed that since the moment he took her hand in his, every reaction Kate elicited from him was completely beyond his control. He had no other way of explaining why he wanted her to have those crazy clown shoes. He just knew the minute he saw them that they belonged with her. From the looks of things, he hadn’t been wrong.

The soles squealed again as she made a break toward the basket. Long, loping strides made her skirt swirl around her knees. Incongruous as they were, the outrageous sneakers couldn’t hold his attention. Not when the taut muscles in her calves were on display and he had the opportunity to watch toned biceps flex under smooth skin.

She took the layup in stride, oblivious to her audience. Drawn like a fly to honey, he set his briefcase aside and made his way courtside. She dribbled around the top of the key and shook her hair back as she toed the foul line. The nylon netting hissed as she sank free throw after free throw without grazing the rim.

The woman was magnetic. Mesmerizing. Magnificent.

Like him, the ball kept coming back to her time and time again. He stood on the sideline, entranced by the glow the exertion gave her skin. The ball bounced wide, and she snagged it easily, bringing it under control with the barest flex of her wrist. Dribbling sure and easy, she kept her gaze fixed on the goal as she backed to the top of the arc.

Danny found himself holding his breath as she let the ball fly, but he didn’t follow its trajectory. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was a dull thud followed by a soft swish of net, but Kate shook her head in disgust as she reclaimed the ball. An incredulous laugh rumbled in his chest, but he didn’t dare let it out. Her perfectionism didn’t surprise him. He lived with the same drive.

“It was a beautiful shot.”

Kate froze, her arm wrapped protectively around the ball, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she cast an assessing glance at the basket. “A little short.”

“Still a beautiful shot.”

Danny knew he was taking a chance, stepping onto her court without permission, but there were forces stronger than common sense at play here. He needed to move closer. Needed a better look at the well-defined muscles in her arms and intimidating brace she wore on her right knee. His fingers itched to touch that filmy skirt, to smooth the thin sweater where it bunched at her flat stomach, to feel those small, high breasts in the palms of his hands. She pivoted, and he stopped, arrested by the sight of her. Pink lips, damp and parted. The pearly flush of exertion riding high in her cheeks.

He liked what he saw in her wide-set eyes. Wariness. Welcome. Just a flash of something he didn’t recognize but wanted to know better. Much better.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He couldn’t help but smile. He heard the proprietary note in her voice. “I work here, remember?”

The smart-assed reply seemed to give her the boost she needed. Rolling those beautiful eyes, she shifted the ball to her hip. “I meant now. I thought everyone was gone.”

“I had a little heart-to-heart with Dickie Donner.” A wry smile twisted his lips. He was gratified when Kate returned it with a smirk of her own. “You’ll be glad to know you aren’t the only one manning the welcome wagon.”

Her nose wrinkled when she grinned. Just a little but enough to make him want to kiss her senseless. “He didn’t come over here and lick your cleats?”

He managed a sage nod. “He had some plays drawn up.”

“Oh, I bet he did.”

An optimistic man might think he saw sympathy in those amber eyes, but Danny had given up optimism years ago. This woman was more likely to skewer him than offer consolation. Still, he stubbornly refused to step back when she gave the ball a couple of hard bounces.

“Play your cards right, and he’ll keep you in Gatorade and mouth guards for years to come,” she said.

“Play them wrong, and I’ll be lucky to get a job striping the field,” he finished.

Her smirk transformed into a smile so brilliant he had to resist the urge to shield his eyes. “I bet you’d be so good at it. I hear you’ve been working real hard on walking the straight and narrow.”

Torn between the urge to flee from another fruitless confrontation and the other urges wreaking havoc with his self-control, he shifted from defense to offense. He let his gaze roam down her body and slowly back up again.

“Love the new uniform. Of course, see-through or not, everyone in the place will be hoping that skirt flies up when there’s a jump ball.”

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