Out of Bounds

A grin spreads on his face, a sweet and sexy smile. He licks his lips. Speaks softly. “That I had a nice time with you. That I messed up your number. That I wanted to know if you’d have any interest in giving me a surfing lesson.”

The note must have gotten lost in all the menus and coupons. I bet Mrs. Fitzsimmons picked it up accidentally when she watered the plants. Probably tossed it in the recycling like she does with the flyers.

In an instant my frustration seeps away. All I want to do is kiss the daylights out of him. But I can’t do that. Instead, I meet his hazel gaze and say, “I would have said yes.” Shivers spread across my skin from my own admission.

His voice is soft and smoky when he answers. “I like it when you say that word.”

I say it again, even though it’s far too risky to use with him. But I inch closer and let it fall from my lips in a soft whisper. “Yes.”

He draws a sharp breath. His eyes darken. “Sounds so fucking good on your lips.”

Those shivers turn into heat, like a fire has ignited in my chest, and it spreads everywhere. Filling me with lust and desire all from that one word.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

How I want us to say yes.

“You really didn’t get my phone number?”

He shakes his head. “I really didn’t get your number.” His hazel eyes twinkle. He looks happy, and it’s a look he wears extraordinarily well. I cast my eyes around the room, cataloguing the din of all my colleagues in the front office as well as the guys on the field, chatting, drinking, nibbling on appetizers, posing for photos in front of the banner. I’m glad that the noise and hubbub of the conversations are keeping everyone else busy. “Trust me, Dani. If I had that last digit I would have texted you five minutes after I left, and again that night. And after I got home. And before I fell asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His words light me up. My whole body is humming. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you either, and I had a great time talking to you on the beach and at the bar. I could tell you wanted to just be a regular Joe, so I wanted you to be free to do that with me. But I swear I didn’t know you were going to be traded to Los Angeles. I really do think it’s terrific to have you on the team. I know what you did last year. Top-ten quarterback rating in the league, and only one interception. That was impressive,” I say, and he blushes.

Holy shit. Drew Erickson blushes when I compliment his stats.

“Who would have thought we’d be playing on the same team? But maybe later, we can pick up where we left off?” he suggests. “Or perhaps we can get a Slurpee and test my brain-freeze cure again. Cold heads seem to be our thing.”

That’s when the sexy flirty feeling fades away. The bubble bursts. The awareness of what a mistake this would be sinks down on me like an anvil.

Chuck. Bambi. Sex scandals like they’re a regular daily routine.

“Shoot,” I say, heavily, like it has twenty syllables.

“Shoot?”

I shake my head. “We can’t. With the trouble the team has been through in the last year . . . I can’t take a chance of anything that would be”—I pause, hunting for the word—“inappropriate. Even remotely inappropriate.”

No way in hell would management want a lawyer diddling with a player. I may not be waving pom-poms on the field, and I’m not wet behind the ears like Bambi, but I know a bad idea.

And this is a world-class-variety bad idea.

He strokes his chin. “We don’t want to put the team in a bad light.”

“And it’s your first year here,” I add because I don’t want to seem like the buzzkill. We both have a lot at stake. My job, his job, the team’s reputation.

“Exactly. Gotta keep everything above board. But, I bet there’s no rule that we can’t be friends,” he says, with a playful glint in his eyes.

I can’t help it. I smile too. This man can charm the panties off me any day.

I mean, the pants.

He’s totally not charming my thong off. That little lacy number is staying where it belongs.

In fact, we spend the next ten minutes chatting about the new place he rented in Santa Monica, and I tell him how the Santa Monica Pier is one of my favorite spots in the world to watch the sunset. “Plus, there’s whack-a-mole games,” I say.

“And Skee-Ball?” he asks, pressing his palms together in prayer. “Please say there’s Skee-Ball too.”

“Of course. I did say it was one of the greatest places in the universe.”

He cups his hands around his mouth like he’s about to tell me a secret. “I feel I should let you know. I’m fucking awesome at Skee-ball.”

I laugh. “Well, I should hope that magic arm of yours can work wonders”

He wiggles an eyebrow. “I have good hands too.”

And tingles rush down my spine. “Why do I feel like you can turn anything into a naughty comment?”

He blows on his fingers. “Because I can.”