Page 50 of Not Just a Trick Play

Even not knowing anything about the game, it’s impossible not to get swept up in the excitement. When Jake and Logan swagger in, their uniforms streaked with the sweat of success, the atmosphere hits fever pitch.

As I eye Jake, my lingering anxiety is replaced by an exhilaration that has nothing to do with the Titans or my job or the rush of the win. Victory is a good look on him.

Handshakes, backslaps, and bear hugs ensue. There’s animated talk about the game, dissecting the plays. Starry-eyed children stream forward for autographs and selfies with the players. Rani and I wrangle them into more orderly queues, promising each of them a moment with their heroes.

Bit by bit the event winds down. Sponsors make their exits with parting pledges of funds for Nurture NYC. Chaperones round up the youngsters, their energy spent in the whirlwind ofthe win, and lead them out. Once internal management leaves, the cleaning staff takes over.

Jake sidles up to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “So, Sweets, what did you think of your first taste of American football?” His voice is a low rumble along my spine, and he’s all testosterone and victory. He’s close enough that the grass stains on his uniform stand out, and I can smell his sweat mingling with his familiar scent. One would assume it would turn me off, but it only ramps up the heat in me.

My gaze inevitably drifts down to his broad chest before springing up. “Well, I’m thrilled you won. And that you managed to carry the ball into the…ending zone?” I stumble over the words, as out of depth as a fish in a tree.

He chuckles softly. “End zone.”

“That’s what I said,” I grumble. I’m drowning in frustration, sick to the teeth of my ignorance. Lowering my voice, I confess, “The game is illogical. None of it makes sense. I need to spend more time on YouTube ahead of the next event, or Jessica will have my head on a pike.” Another heavy sigh escapes me. There’s only a week to cram.

“I can teach you.” His offer floats between us, wrapped in an easy smile.

“You could?” I blink.

“Sure, nothing beats hands-on help. Though I do remember someone saying something about consulting a book.” He smirks.

Touché. I smother a little laugh at this.

His proposal is tempting. So tempting. And sweet, really, given how busy he is. But any time with him will chip at my resolve to keep things strictly professional.

“This week’s nuts with the away game in Wisconsin, but we could squeeze in a session on Friday after I land, around six?”

“Thank you for the offer. I can’t that day.”

“Hectic social life?”

“Yvonne’s booked us for a Stride and Seek after work.”

His brows furrow. “Stride and Seek?”

With a blush, I admit, “Some sort of walking tour designed for single people. Two birds with one stone—her words.”

His frown deepens. “Is this part of your ‘sextervention’?”

The heat in my cheeks intensifies. I shrug. “Seems like it.”

“You could say no, you know.” There’s reproach in his face.

I raise my brows. The bloke cuffed to a bed doesn’t think I should go on a stroll? Lovely. “It’s just a tour, Jake. No handcuffs involved.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JAKE

Stride and Seekbills itself as the premiere speed-dating-on-foot-experience—their words. The rendezvous point is at the steps of Federal Hall, right by the New York Stock Exchange building in Lower Manhattan.

I spot Amelia and Yvonne chatting with an assembling group. A couple of guys in suits and loafers look like they just clocked out of their Wall Street grind. Two women are dolled up as though they’re ready for some clubbing, teetering on high heels that won’t stand a chance against the uneven cobblestone streets of this area.

A handful of obvious tourists are also present, complete with hats and camera and “I love NYC” tote bags. Amelia’s in a short yellow skirt that ends mid-thigh over stockinged legs, and the lapels of her denim jacket frame the deep neckline of a silky black top. A twinge of annoyance hits me at the idea she might have dressed to impress potential dates.

The girls catch sight of me at the same time. Y’s features twist into a surprised grimace, while the alarm in Amelia’s face grows as I approach, tugging my cap farther over my face.

“You’re here. Again,” Yvonne comments once I’m a few feet away.

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