Page 7 of Thoroughly Innocent Intent

“My Momma,” I drawl, amused by her sudden burst of inspiration. “She said if I was gonna play a game where people tried to knock the sense outta me, then I better make sure I had enough sense to lose.”

I see a hint of a smile drift across her lips, and I swear she squirms in her chair. She’s warming up to me after that rocky start. A boy who respects his momma has that effect on people.

“Was she always focused on your education, or just in college?” Her tone is softer now. Inquisitive.

“Always.” I smile, thinking back to my mom’s rants about school. “She wouldn’t let me play if I didn’t keep my grades up.”

“Are you glad you followed her advice?” Samantha makes another note.

“I am. I enjoy my down time in the off season, but I don’t want to be idle when the game’s done with me. This gives me more options. What are you writing over there?” Curiosity gets the better of me.

“Just a few thoughts about messaging,” she says distractedly.

“Messaging?”

“Yes.” She looks up from her notes. “The message we send to kids about what it means to be successful and how to get there. As you pointed out, there’s a belief that playing pro ball will take you out of poverty, but that’s not reality for most kids. They’ll need an education to succeed, and the earlier they hear that message, the more likely they are to listen to it, like you did,” she elaborates.

“Can’t say I listened so much as I was afraid of Momma following through on her threat to keep me out of the game."

“It worked, didn’t it?” Samantha cocks her eyebrow again, those gray eyes daring me to disagree. Damn, that’s hot.

I must be doing a poor job hiding what her expressions do to me because she shifts slightly in her chair again. I lean forward and rest my arms on her desk, trying to get closer to some of that energy she’s throwing off.

“It did work.” I chuckle, coming back to the conversation. “I tried to walk to practice one time when she wouldn’t take me because my homework wasn’t done, and she sent the sheriff to collect me before I set foot on that field. I learned real quick things had to be done her way if I wanted to play.”

Another smile. A sweet one this time. I don’t usually get sweet smiles. Sexy, coy, suggestive, those smiles I’m used to. Sweet is a different ball game altogether. I wonder what else would make her smile that way?

“Well, not everyone has a mother to stress the importance of education. This could be the initiative you get behind. Helping kids understand they’re more likely to improve their lives through education than through professional sports,” she rambles excitedly as she writes.

“You want to tell kids to stop dreaming about being a professional athlete?” I balk.

“No, of course not,” she objects, sounding slightly hurt. “I want to tell kids even professional athletes realize the value of education.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah.” I relax, liking this idea much better than the thought of crushing their little dreams. “I can get on board with that. Maybe give some money to teaching programs or record a video message or something. So, what sorts of organizations out there are doing this?”

“Off the top of my head, I’m not sure, but that doesn’t matter,” she insists, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “You’re going to build your own.”

“I am?” I sit straight up in my chair.

“Who better to champion the need for kids to focus on education than a professional athlete who didn’t give his up, even though he could have?”

“Whoa, Chase didn’t say anything about championing stuff.” I hold my hand up. “He said to get more involved. I thought that meant adding my name to a cause. Maybe showing up at a few events and donating money. I don’t really have time to build something during the season.”

“Isn’t the whole point of this meeting to get you to do things outside of football?” She frowns.

“Yeah, but not during the season. We’re projected to go all the way. I can’t divide my attention right now.”

“So, what? This is just for publicity?” Her eyes show no trace of the spark they had just a minute ago. They sort of look confused. And hurt.

“Uh, not publicity, no. We want to demonstrate that I bring more to the table than just football knowledge.”

“Financing something or putting your face on it accomplishes that goal then?” Her tone is cold now. What the hell?

“Yeah. But I’d volunteer too, after the season is over. I like kids and stuff,” I add, hoping that will get her to look at me all friendly again.

“You want to throw your name or your money at something and call it a day I can’t stop you, but you could have a bigger impact if you were actually involved. You should also know people have a tendency to see through lip service, so pretending to be involved usually backfires.” She stares me down, her chest straining against the buttons of that suit jacket as she tries to keep her breathing steady.

I’m both turned on and baffled by her little outburst. “Whoa there, honey.”

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