Out of Bounds

He’s beaten me nearly every single time. And this time too. As my round ends, I raise a hand and high-five him. “Taylor, you are the king of whack-a-mole,” I say, thrusting his fist high in the air.

From across the arcade, a photographer snaps a shot. I don’t mind, but I wasn’t playing this round for the sake of the picture. I was playing it because Taylor is a fun kid and deserves to have a good time. He’s a fierce competitor too, and I admire the hell out of that. I knock fists with him, and tell him as much. “Now listen, Taylor. When you get back to fifth grade, I want you to tell everyone you kicked my butt at whack-a-mole. Can you do that, my man?”

He beams. “I can do that, and can you win again next weekend against San Francisco?”

I laugh and clap him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna do my best.”

He heads off to join his parents, and I return to the game for a quick solo round.

As I clobber a mole, a pretty voice floats into my ear. “Careful. You don’t want to get an NFI.”

Slamming the padded hammer down on the wooden weasel, I answer with a grin. “You’re right.” The next mole submits to my speed with the hammer. “Can you even imagine the ridicule I’d suffer for a whack-a-mole-induced injury? That’d be one helluva nonfootball injury.”

Dani steps closer to the game and rests her hand on the back of the console. “So much ridicule. It would be the talk of the town,” she says with a playful shudder. I sneak a glance at her and my jaw drops. Hell, if she doesn’t look hot tonight. So hot, in fact, that I miss the next five whacks. Maybe ten. But the woman is wearing a goddamn red dress. It’s a tight sheath that hits above her knees, and she looks good enough to eat.

All I want to do is eat her.

“I thought you were a whack-a-mole pro,” she says, a teasing little lilt to her tone as she eyes the game board. The moles pop up and I miss nearly every one. I’d rather stare at her.

“I was, until Taylor gave me a good old-fashioned thrashing.”

“I saw that,” she says softly. “I was chatting with some of my colleagues by the Skee-Ball. And I love that you spent time with Taylor, and the other kids.”

“He’s a good kid. We had fun.”

“They adore you. All the kids here do. It’s great that you come out for this.”

A blush creeps across my cheeks, and I’m not a blushing guy. But I like hearing these sweet compliments from her. “Now, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t? It’s the right thing to do, and it’s also fun as hell.”

She smiles at me and all my appropriate thoughts fade away. My body says kiss her. My fucking heart says to do that too. This woman just does something to me, and like an invisible thread connects us, I feel a pull. Desire gets the better of me. It blots out everything else—the game, the rules, the team’s image. It erases all the reasons, personal and professional, that I need to be cautious. Right now, I want to be the opposite.

I inch toward her, and her eyes widen to saucer size. I freeze as she raises her chin, and mouths “smile for the camera.”

Damn. She distracts me with her beauty. Knocks me off my cool, calm center because I want her so goddamn much. I’ve got to be more careful.

I turn and flash a grin at the photographer who’s been making the rounds. Dani smiles too, and the guy gives us a thumbs-up before he heads off to another group.

“Close call,” I say under my breath.

“Were you going to try to kiss me?”

I nod. “I would think that was obvious.”

“It was obvious.”

I lean a hip against the game. “I know I shouldn’t have, but seeing as I was a good boy and restrained myself, let me ask the question—what would you have done if I had kissed you?”

A sweet smile tugs at her lips. “Probably kissed you back. Against my better judgment.”

I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “Screw judgment,” I say playfully and she laughs.

But a few seconds later, good judgment returns in the form of Stuart. He swoops in and shakes my hand. “Great night. Great event. Couldn’t be more pleased. You?”

I nod. “Everything is fantastic.”

“Wonderful.” He takes a beat, glances from Dani to me and back. For a split second, something inquisitive passes in his eyes, and a flurry of nerves race down my spine. Almost like how I feel when I can’t find a receiver and I’m about to get sacked. But that’s foolish, I tell myself. I need to chill out. Especially since Stuart’s next question is nice and easy. “We’ve got a request from eight-year-old Hannah, who just had corrective surgery on her ankle, for a round of Skee-Ball with the quarterback.”

“Say no more. I’m there.”

“He’s great at Skee-Ball,” Dani chimes in, and Stuart cocks his head to the side, as if he’s curious how she knows this little tidbit. That feeling starts up again, but Dani’s a pro at handling Stuart.

She narrows her eyebrows, and holds out her hands. “Duh. He’s the quarterback. If he can’t win at Skee-Ball, we should kick him off the team.”