Page 82 of Their Greatest Strength

I attempt to replicate the stance I watched the player from last night’s game do and shove the ball down into the turf. The entire pose feels ridiculous in my dress and boots, but I’m not in the mood to question it.

With the whole fan-meets-player thing, it makes sense. Even if Jamie doesn’t even play this position in football.

“Blakely, maybe don’t push on the ball so hard. We need the ball to look natural,” Kye says.

It would look natural flying through the air on its way to hit you?—

A hot palm grabs my waist, and I jump, nearly falling forward on my face. Jamie’s cologne hits me before he’s catching me, steadying me with his body.

“You’re killing me right now,” he mutters, slowly easing back.

His arm stays wrapped around my middle like an anchor that I didn’t know I needed. Too bad I’m feeling incredibly pissy right now and don’t want it there.

“Would you prefer cremation or a burial?”

“There won’t be anything left of me to bury. I’ll already be up in flames by the time we’re done in this position.”

I peel his arm off and grit my teeth, letting up on the ball. “I don’t need help right now.”

“Alright. But you don’t have to lean so far forward. Just enough that you can touch the ball to the ground.”

“I’ve got it.”

I refuse to look back at him. Not when I’m clearly feeling off. Maybe it’s just Kye’s lack of professionalism. This isn’t something I’d be choosing to do today if it weren’t for our contract, so the least she could do is focus and stop flirting with an engaged man.

Jamie moves back, and a moment later, Kye is clapping.

“Smile and laugh, guys. Here we go. Throw the ball back in three . . . two . . . one!”

I use more force than necessary as I paste on a smile and glance behind my shoulder. Jamie grunts, his grin wobbly as he cradles the ball I’ve just launched in his hands.

“Great! Now, Blakely, run at him and jump into his arms,” Kye instructs, her camera in her face.

Jamie recovers quickly enough to shoot me a wink and hold the ball above his head. I narrow my eyes and palm my waist.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I demand.

“Nope. Come here, wife. The ball is all yours. You know you want to send me on my ass.”

“And why would I want that?”

“You tell me,” he coos, waving the ball.

There isn’t much distance between us, but I make the most of it. Clutching onto my frustration, I barrel toward him, the heels of my boots digging into the turf.

Excitement makes his eyes sparkle, the blue becoming lighter with every inch I erase between us. By the time I’m jumping, he’s so, so close.

I know he won’t drop me. The trust that erupts in my chest is almost as startling as the act of him abandoning the ball and expertly gripping my thighs, guiding them around his waist.

The strong expanse of his chest and hips keeps me steady as I engage my thigh muscles to hold myself up. His arms shift, onecoiling around my back while the other holds my cheek in a lovers’ embrace.

Kye’s camera flashes and clicks with every photo she snaps. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t give instructions, so I continue going with the flow.

“You’re beautiful when you’re jealous, Bandit,” Jamie muses, his thumb learning the shape of my bottom lip.

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“I’m thinking of getting these photos blown up and put on the walls at home. Maybe in the locker room here too. Thoughts?” He switches topics without a fight, letting the jealousy thing go.

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