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The crowd erupts into cheers, and we look toward the entrance.
Clay’s there, surrounded by people. He’s in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, his Kodiaks hat on backward. But as I watch, he sheds each item, stripping down to swim trunks.
“You need a towel for that drool?” Brooke offers, and I wave her off.
“What’s he doing?” I ask as I notice that he’s standing next to a tank of water.
“Some charity thing. The kids wanted to dunk Coach, but he wasn’t approved for that medically. So, Clay volunteered.”
I watch him sit in the chair, and Kyle goes up with a ball.
“Donation first,” Clay calls.
“I’d pay a lot for this.” He passes a check to the attendant, then chucks the ball at the dunk spot.
It doesn’t work. Clay grins.
Kyle goes up to the lever and hits it with his fist.
The crowd gasps and hollers, as many exchanging uneasy looks as laughing.
For the next few kids, I have one eye on the dunk tank and the other on my work.
“Can you take the next one?” I ask Brooke under my breath as I see Clay get out of the tank and motion that he’s done for the day.
“Sure thing.”
I grab a towel from my supplies and find my way over to the dunk tank.
Clay’s still only wearing swim trunks, and the water drips off his perfect form.
“Hi,” I say, holding out the towel.
“Hey.” He grins as he takes it. The fabric is woefully insufficient for his huge body. “You look good.”
His gaze settles on my cheek before coming back to my eyes.
“So do you.” A flush crawls up my face as I think of the last time we were together.
My skirt up around my chest.
His tongue doing wicked things between my thighs.
“Gonna get a win, Clay?” someone calls from the crowd.
“Hell yeah.”
I glance back over my shoulder, remembering we’re in public with thousands of people. “I, ah, should get back.”
Before he can answer, I turn on my heel, tripping as I make my way back to the face-painting stand.
“You guys are stupid cute,” Brooke says.
We’re back working for a few minutes—I’ve finished two Ks, three jersey numbers, and a special-request purple dinosaur when a hundred-dollar bill in the jar makes me snap my eyes up.
Clay stands by my chair. It’s hard to keep any distance.
“Take a seat,” I offer.
