Ranger's Baby Surprise (Special Forces Elite 2)

“Dreadful as usual.” She hung her bag next to the door and looped her keys on a hook. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Bacon always smell

s good. I was getting ready to make an omelet for you.”

She laughed. “So if I took pictures of you right now making breakfast for me I couldn’t use these as blackmail.” She leaned up to kiss me on the cheek.

“First of all, you wouldn’t do that. And second, yes, the guys don’t know about my culinary skills. So don’t blow my badass cover.”

“Oh, that’s what you call yourself?” She sat at the table to watch me with the whisk.

“You’re looking at the tight end with the most yards, most catches, most touchdowns, and most blocks in his rookie season and I’m on schedule to beat that this year.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

I stared at her. “Really? No idea?”

She shook her head. “It was never a line. I seriously know nothing about your career or much about football, but I have picked up a lot as a Goddess. We have to go to football class during our summer training camp.”

“So if I quiz you, you think you’d pass?” I added cream to the eggs and whipped furiously. How could she not have heard of my record?

“I think I would. I can hold my own in a conversation with the girls.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, but those girls aren’t professional football players.”

“True, but I’d bet I could pass.”

“Want to make a bet?”

She twisted her pouty lips together. “What kind of bet?”

“If you win.” I stopped. “What do you want if you win?”

She pressed her finger to her chin. “I want a full-body massage. Naked.”

“That sounds like a win for me, but okay. If you win, you get a massage.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

“If I win, you try on those pointe shoes for me and let me watch you spin around the studio.”

The smile fell from her face. “Sam, I was trying to be funny.”

“I’m being serious. Take the bet. Prove to me you can pass a football quiz.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. And you’ll be thanking me, because your hands will be all over this body you own.” She eyed me.

“Either way I win.” I winked at her. I turned toward the stove to layer in the first omelet. “Here’s your first question. How many quarters are in a game?”

“Really? That’s insulting. Four.”

“Ding, ding, for the ballerina.” I watched to make sure the edges on the omelet didn’t brown too much. “Second question. How many players are on the field during a play?”

She scrunched her nose. “Twenty-four?”

“Err. No. Twenty-two. But that’s okay. It’s one to one.”

She folded her arms. “Next.”