Page 57 of Her Favorite Fumble
Nick wasn’t sure what ready looked like for Lucy, because an hour later, she’d managed to catch barely half the passes he threw to her. Of course, his reception rate wasn’t much higher, but that was because she had the aim of a blindfolded drunk.
When she started to look less like she was having fun and more like she was discouraged, he lobbed an easy one to her. She caught it easily, and then started running toward him. Because they didn’t have flags to grab—he hadn’t thought full-contact tackling was a good idea—they’d decided on a rule that if the defender was able to touch the ball, it counted as a tackle.
“What is it they yell on the TV when somebody runs?” she said as she ran across the sand, determined to get by him this time. “She. Might. Go. All. The. Way.”
Laughing, Nick reached out and easily slapped the ball. It slipped out of her grasp and hit the sand, so he scooped it up. “Fumble!”
He tucked the ball securely in his arm and ran, the muscle memory kicking in as though it had been days and not years since he’d played the game. It felt good, but when he reached the driftwood marking the goal line and turned, Lucy was still standing at the spot of the fumble recovery, hands on her hips.
She was clearly peeved. “You could let me have a little win here and there, you know.”
He grinned, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it easily in one hand. “Is there anything about me that made you think I wouldn’t be competitive when it comes to football? You’re the one who wanted to play against the former golden boy of Wayward Harbor.”
She blew at a wisp of hair in her face. “Fine. Throw it again. I’m going to get a point, dammit.”
Laughing, he tossed her the ball again, putting it right into her hands. She didn’t try to tuck it under her arm this time, but just ran straight toward him. He started toward her, but before he could reach out for the ball, she stuffed it under her sweatshirt and crossed her arms over the fabric to keep it from falling out.
“You can’t touch it now!” she said, trying to fake to her right to get past him.
“Penalty,” he said, and then he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her to the ground, ball and all.
He twisted as they went down, so his back took the brunt of the impact. There were enough rocks mixed in with the sand so he knew he’d have a few bruises to show for it, but he didn’t care. Lucy in his arms, laughing so hard she couldn’t escape him, was worth a few black and blue marks.
“You cheated,” she squealed, trying to wrangle the ball that was trapped under her sweatshirt.
“No,youcheated.”
“I never heard any rule banning me from putting the ball under my shirt,” she argued, smiling down at him. Her entire body was pressed along the length of his, but she shifted so one of her knees was in the sand. “But there was definitely a no tackling rule.”
They were both smiling and slightly breathless, and her sun-kissed cheeks were pink with exertion. He brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, and her gaze softened, dropping to his mouth.
Then she lowered her head, and everything but the need to kiss her faded away. Her lips were gentle, almost tentative, but he cupped the back of her neck and let her feel every bit of the hunger he’d suffered since the last time he’d kissed her. She moaned against his mouth, the delicious weight of her body relaxing onto him.
Letting go of her neck, he slid his hands under the sweatshirt, skimming over the warm skin of her back. His right hand brushed the football, and he closed his hand around it, while the other stroked her back. His fingertips ran over the closure of her bra strap, and his body tightened as he imagined freeing her breasts. Pulling her sweatshirt up and—
She pulled back, resting her cheek against his for a moment before lifting her head so she could look down at him. “There might be people in those houses. They might be looking out their windows.”
“I got caught making out with a girl on this very beach when I was sixteen. The lady who lives in that blue house down to the left? She called the police, and the chief followed me home so he could tell my parents all about it. I don’t recommend it.”
She laughed. “And even I know there’s no second base in football, Nick.”
He grinned and tightened his fingers around the ball, his fingertips denting the leather, before yanking it free of her sweatshirt. She gasped and tried to reach for it, but he held it just beyond her reach.
“Interception,” he said, and then he kissed her again—hard and fast—before rolling out from under her and pushing to his feet, the football secured.
Chapter Fourteen
Reminder: Any parking signs reading Reserved For Locals Only are neither sanctioned by the town nor enforceable. Any person caught installing one of these signs in any manner will be subject to fines and/or arrest.
—Callie Devens, Town Manager
It’s not worth the risk because tourists ignore them, anyway. —Harold Rollins, Chief of Police
—Wayward Harbor Online Community Group
The next day, Nick got home a half hour after Lucy expected him and told her to put her shoes on. While she had no idea what was going on, she was always up for going somewhere.
“Where are we going?”
