To Professor, with Love (Forbidden Men #2)(59)

A couple families were already enjoying the day, spreading out picnic blankets or walking their pets, or letting their children chase each other across the wide-open expanse. And beyond that sprawled a strip of small kiosks and vendors, peddling their wares on either side of a cobbled walkway.

“How’d you ever learn about all this?” Aspen asked, opening her door as I opened mine.

“My roommate, Ten, brought me here once. He lives in this area and wanted one of their corn dogs they sell. I think I made fun of him the whole way he dragged me here until we actually made it.” I grinned at her. “But the damn corn dog wasn’t half bad, so I had to shut up.”

She laughed. “So you brought me out here because you were craving a badly processed meat sausage on a stick deep-fat fried in cornmeal batter?”

“Hell no.” Snagging the ball I’d thrown into the backseat before heading to her house this morning, I held it up and twirled it on my finger before catching it. “You, my dear professor, are going to learn how to play football.”

Aspen arched an eyebrow, seemingly interested instead of horrified. “Really? What makes you think I don’t already know how to play?”

Okay, that one caught me off guard. I arched a suspicious eyebrow. “Do you?”

Her lips curved, and they looked so hot with that knowing little twitch tightening them. I had to remind myself again I wasn’t going to touch her today. Nothing sexual. Just friendly bonding. Getting to know each other.

Realizing what that smile meant though, I groaned. “Hell, you do know.”

Her entire face lit up. “I kicked ass in fantasy football last year,” she confessed, sounding rather proud of herself.

I threw back my head and laughed. “Holy shit. I had no idea you actually liked the game. I mean, the way you acted in class, I thought you hated everything to do with football, but...” Then it dawned on me. Her behavior hadn’t had anything to do with her opinion of the sport itself, but with her history with a certain player of the sport. I blew out a breath. “Right. Well, wow. If I’d known you were a fan, I would’ve bugged you into coming to our scrimmage we had a couple weeks back.”

“Don’t worry, I went.”

“So you saw...?” My eyebrows lifted as I pointed at my own chest. She nodded and I had to know. “Well, what’d you think?”

Eyes lighting with flirtation, she strolled around Ten’s truck to meet me on the other side. “I thought you could be the next Rodgers.”

“Shit,” I said, shaking my head. “No way.”

She slipped the ball out of my hand, and I watched her, frankly turned on by her interest in it.

“Hmm.” She practiced holding it different ways before glancing at me. “You know, I just now realized I’ve never actually touched a football before.”

I couldn’t believe it, and yet I could. Shaking my head, I took it back from her. “Well, this calls for a lesson, then.” Reaching for her hand, I started us off toward the grass. “I’m going to teach you everything you need to know about how to throw a ball.”

For the first five minutes, I just talked and demonstrated how she needed to position her shoulders and waist, where to keep her elbow, and how to hold it in her hand. When it was time to show her an actual throw, I spotted a boy about twenty yards away.

“Hey, kid,” I called. “Catch this.” When he immediately nodded and scrambled into position, I wound back my arm and sent him a nice, slow, lob. He caught it without any effort and threw it back. Aspen cheered and clapped for him, telling him what a nice job he’d done.

When I handed the pigskin over to her, she began to look nervous.

“I feel ridiculous,” she admitted when I stood behind her and basically got her into position.

I wiggled my eyebrows. “Trust me. You look hot.” I was very glad I’d only let her put on a pair of shoes and a bra along with what she was already wearing before I’d dragged her out of the house this morning because her outfit was casual and comfortable and perfect for both our practice and my view. The ensemble broadcasted the best features of who she really was.

With a laugh, she jabbed her elbow back into my gut. “I’m probably going to throw like a girl.”

“You are a girl, so who cares?” Satisfied with how she was set up, I took a step back and let her throw to the kid. He had to run and jump for it, but he caught it with a happy shout. “Not bad,” I said, nodding my approval.

She turned to send me a skeptical glance, but I just grinned at her. She totally threw like a girl. “Want to play now?” I asked.

Our catcher and a couple of his friends were up for a game of touch ball. And they didn’t seem to mind letting the “girl” in on the fun. Actually, I think they all grew crushes on her within the first five minutes. She was just so fun about the whole thing. She laughed at her own mistakes, and playfully bantered with her opponents whenever we lined up before a snap, telling them she was going to take them down. And f*ck, she was adorable to watch whenever she got the ball. She’d laugh as she dodged away from someone. I’d never in my life seen someone laugh while playing football before.

It was a little impossible to believe she was the same strict, no-nonsense, straitlaced woman who taught my literature class. But when Aspen Kavanagh loosened up, she loosened up.