Down Too Deep (Dirty Deeds, #4)(25)

I brought Oliver into a huddle.

“What’s the plan?” he whispered. “I mean, obviously it’s boys against girls.”

“Obviously. We rule, they drool.”

“Yeah…I’m eight. I don’t really say that anymore.”

“Cool. Me either. I never say that.”

“So, what am I doing?”

“Just run. I can put the ball wherever I want—I’ll get it to you.”

He cocked a brow.

“What?”

“You mean, just like the last time I ran for it?”

The kid had a point. “It’s been six years since I’ve played,” I argued. “Cut me some slack.”

That excuse was a bald-faced lie. But Oliver couldn’t know the real reason I overthrew.

Jenna walked back over to us. “Talking strategies?”

I gave Oliver’s shoulder a squeeze, then released him. “Like we need any. Right, O?” I held out my fist and he bumped it.

Jenna looked between the two of us, arms crossed under her chest, appearing amused as hell. “O?”

“What, Mom? It’s cool,” Oliver scoffed.

“Yeah, shorty. Don’t hate,” I added with a smirk.

Smile teasing her lips, she held up her hands in surrender. “Not hating.”

“Let’s do this!” Oliver tossed me the ball. We spread out on the beach.

After taking my instruction, Oliver slid out to my right so he was playing wide receiver. He was excited—it was a position he hadn’t played before and one I was confident he’d excel at. He didn’t have any problem catching the ball. As long as I put it somewhere near him.

I slid my fingers between the laces and faced off against Jenna, who was crouched down, hands on her knees and expression cold. She looked cute as hell.

“Is that your game face?” I asked, smiling.

“Yep.”

“I like it.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” I dropped down and held the ball out in front of me like I was taking a hike. Then I tipped my head toward Oliver. “Do you think he’s having fun?”

Jenna smiled then, all soft and sweet. “Yes. Thank you again for this.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hut! Hut! Hike!”

Even with the count, I still caught her off guard. Jenna shrieked and lunged forward, stumbling a little as I shuffled back.

I faked left, spun, and cut right, anticipating Oliver’s run, and put the ball into the air before Jenna could touch me.

Oliver caught it and kept running like he was headed for the end zone.

“Ugh!” Jenna pushed against my chest as I grabbed on to her hips, slowing her so we wouldn’t collide. We were both laughing. “I almost had you!” she said, hands gliding to biceps and holding there.

My fingers slid over warm, smooth skin. Her shirt had ridden up during the sprint or it had shifted when I’d grabbed her. I wasn’t sure. But now I held on to bare hips, the shape of them fitting just fucking right in my hands, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to hold on longer than necessary, which was solely decided by her. The second Jenna dropped her arms, I dropped mine.

“That was awesome!” Oliver hurried back over and tossed me the ball. “Let’s go again!”

We repeated the play. Oliver broke across the middle. I stayed just out of Jenna’s reach, put the ball into the air, and spun around, hands gripping hips while hers braced on my chest, then slid over to squeeze my biceps as we slowed. Oliver caught the ball and took off running.

Jenna was laughing.

I was laughing.

We touched for only two, three seconds before she pulled away and forced me to do the same. Most guys would want more than that. Some would’ve tried for a different play, hoping for an outcome that allowed for longer contact, hands in other places. I didn’t want to change a damn thing. I’d run this play all night.

“It’s my turn to throw!” Oliver announced on his jog back in, excited for the opportunity to switch.

I could feel Jenna’s touch fading from my arms. I almost knew the curve of her waist. I wanted more of those two, three seconds. Just a few more passes…

Oliver stood at our mock line of scrimmage, loosening his arm up, and grinned at me when I asked, “What’s your number going to be when you’re quarterback?”

I let him call the plays the rest of the night.

*



Marley was still awake when Jenna and her kids left.

I almost asked for help putting her to bed. I thought Jenna was close to offering it before she told me good night, but neither one of us said the words. She was confident I could handle this on my own—that was clear—and strangely enough, I was too. And that was solely because of Jenna.

After getting Marley ready for bed, I sat in the chair with her beside the crib, held her against my chest as I rocked, and rubbed her back as if another hand were still on top of mine, coaxing me to move. Within seconds, Marley was breathing slowly and nearly asleep. I pressed my mouth into her freshly bathed hair and thought back to a memory.

“Your mom rocked you in this chair,” I told Marley, keeping my voice soft. “She loved sitting here with you…She loved you so much, Marley. I’m going to make sure you know her. I promise, okay?”