Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(64)

Thomas fed a ball, and Kat made the move, angling her racket and shooting the ball toward him. It landed about four inches from his right foot. “Nice shot,” Michael said, smiling.

“She’s just getting started.” Gary nodded at Thomas. “Keep ’em coming.”

As Thomas fed, Michael had to dance out of the way more than once for several balls that came dangerously close to hitting his feet. Once or twice, he actually managed to use the racket to deflect a ball coming at his torso or—the worst one—his junk. But he kept returning to the same position, because otherwise Gary would yell at him, and Gary might just be scarier—and weirder—than any of his football coaches.

With every ball he barely dodged, Michael had the pleasure of watching her confidence grow. When Gary asked them to switch sides, so she now worked on backhand volleys, he noticed she was already bouncing on her toes, ready to roll when Gary scooted him to the other side of the T toward the front of the net.

“Watch yourself,” Gary said mildly at one point, and Michael looked up toward him.

Just as a ball hit him dead in the cheek. Sharp, instant pain exploded through his head like a bullet tearing through his cranium. He dropped to one knee, groaning, to avoid actually toppling over.

“Oh my God!” Kat dropped her racket with a clatter and launched herself over the net to rush at him. “Did I get your eye? Oh my God, oh my God, I blinded a Bobcat. I’m going to hell.”

She knelt down beside him. Cool hands cupped his face, tilting his head up, making him see stars. “Jesus, Kat, hold on a second.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit your face!”

“Better not have meant to.” Looking remarkably unconcerned, Gary wandered over, arms crossed. “It’s never a good idea to aim for the head. Too small a target. Too much risk of missing.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Kat snarled at him. “Thomas, could you go get some ice or something?”

“Sure thing.” The other man jogged off, leaving the three on the court.

“I’m fine.” Michael had no clue if he was actually fine or not, but he wanted her to stop roughly handling his head in an effort to examine him. “I just need to sit down a minute.”

Kat reluctantly let go, fingertips sliding over his skin as she relinquished her hold. And Michael realized he’d rather have her jerking his aching head around than lose the contact. He reached up and grabbed her hand, lacing fingers with hers.

Gary coughed. “I’m gonna go check on the ice situation.”



Kat waited until her coach was through the tarp, then ran her hands up and into his hair. “How much does it hurt?”

He didn’t say anything or even move for a moment, but his left eye—the one not hit by the tennis ball—closed for a moment, and he bowed his head. She worried he was hurt worse than she’d thought. Wasn’t nausea a sign of a concussion?

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No, just don’t stop doing that.”

“Don’t stop doing… Oh.” She continued running her fingers over his scalp, scratching lightly. He made a sound that was eerily similar to the sound he made in bed when they joined together. “So this was your plan all along, huh?”

“Yeah, risking broken cheekbones just for some snuggles. Sounds legit.”

“God, I didn’t really break… You’re kidding about that, right?”

He opened the left eye, then cautiously, the right, and pulled his hand away from that cheek.

She hissed in a breath. The skin was already bruising at the apple of his cheek, streaking toward his eye. While his eye was red, it didn’t look swollen. “Missed your eye socket, I think.”

“You did, though it’s gonna blacken anyway. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of knocks to the face. I know how the discoloration works.”

That made her laugh, just a little, before cutting off a sob. “I’m so sorry. I really wasn’t aiming at your head.”

“I know.”

She kissed him gently, first on the lips, then the bridge of his nose, before moving to leave a butterfly-light smooch on the injured area. He didn’t pull back in pain or wince, so she assumed that was okay.

“Your balls, however…”

“Yeah, I noticed a few aiming straight for the family jewels. You’re lucky I was quick with the racket, or I’d be moaning a hell of a lot more than over a black eye.”

She snorted.

“I’ve never hit someone in the face. It happens, that you notch someone during drills, and usually it’s unintentional. But I’ve never nailed a person above the shoulders before.”

“Coulda fooled me. You’ve got a killer volley there, Kelly.”

She realized they’d been left alone for a lot longer than it took to get ice. “I think they forgot about us. Let’s go get some ice from the kitchen.”

She led him behind the tarps and through the lobby, which was suspiciously empty, into the employee kitchen. The door swung closed behind him, and she started digging through the cabinets for a baggie to put the ice in. “You don’t have practice, do you?”

“I do. But it’s mostly a walk-through. We leave tomorrow for Cali.”

“Oh, man.” She hissed as she thought about him going to practice looking like that. “Your coaches are going to kill me.”