Temporarily Yours (Shillings Agency 1)

“You were the guy who kept to the edge of the crowd, didn’t have any activities he excelled at, even though you were smart. I’d say you were into art and a loner. Maybe even a skater boy.”

He shook his head. “Wrong.”

“Not possible.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re lying.”

He laughed. “I’m not lying. Your odds were off, and you lost.”

“Impossible,” she said, her lips pressed tight. “What were you, then?”

“Hmm.”

He lowered his mouth to hers. But he didn’t kiss her. He just hovered there, enjoying the moment. Her hands curled into fists, but she didn’t fight his hold. “Tell me,” she demanded.

“I was the quarterback—the guy chasing down the cheerleaders. And they chased me, too.”

“No way. That’s not possible.”

He laughed. “I assure you it’s true.”

“If you were always moving around, how did you gain that position without knowing the coaches? The rest of the team?”

“I was just that good.”

She turned her head, a challenging light in her eyes. “Prove it.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” He looked at the area she’d been looking at. There was an errant football under the corner of the bleachers. “Ah. I see now.”

“If you can throw a ball and impress me? Then you win.”

“I already won.” He lowered his head towards her. “Be warned: I will be collecting my prize as soon as I throw that ball.”

She smirked up at him. “Consider me scared.”

He laughed at how she’d turned his words from last night back on him. He pushed off the fence, releasing her in the process, and then made his way over to the football. It had been years since he threw one with any seriousness besides fucking around in the desert, but he should still be able to prove he had skills.

Or that he’d had skills, anyway.

“We’ll go mid-field, and then I’ll throw it as hard as I can. Deal?”

“Deal.” She started running toward the field. “Let’s go, slow-poke!”

He shook his head at her silliness, and then easily caught up to her. Hell, he could have blown past her, but what fun would that have been? By the time they made it to midfield, she was out of breath and he was laughing.

“All right.” She bent over and rested her hand on her knees. “Impress me, quarterback boy.”

He grinned. “Done.”

“Wait,” she called out, holding a hand up. “You need a kiss for good luck.”

She straightened and then threw herself against him, kissing him full on the mouth, her arms snaking around his neck. He fumbled the ball as he wrapped his arms around her, hauling her close. Fuck football. He’d rather be playing with her.

But she broke away and danced out of his reach. “Go for it.”

He took a deep breath, picked up the ball, and gave himself a second to re-center his bearings. Once he had it all figured out, he positioned himself, eyed the wind, and then cranked back before letting loose. The ball arced across the field with a perfect spiral, then hit the ground and bounced a bit before landing a little bit in front of the ten yard line.

He turned to her with a raised brow, and she looked back at him with her mouth parted. “Do you believe me now?” he asked.

“Yep,” she sighed. “Damn you.”