Thirteen
Lucas began bouncingthe ball in readiness to take a shot, and Tess shifted her stance, setting her feet shoulder-width apart. For a moment, she was tempted to sway in place like she’d seen his opponents do when he served to them in those YouTube videos, but…no. Unlike them, she wouldn’t look ready for her return. She’d look like she’d been drinking too much.
Instead, she braced the racket in front of her. “Who’s going to start?”
“I will.” One more bounce, and then the ball was flying over the net toward her. “Truth or dare, Tess?”
As always, the ball landed near her, and she hit it over the net and into the back corner of his court by sheer accident. “A gentleman would let me go first.”
“I can be gentle. If and when that’s what you want.” Irritatingly, he reached the ball without seeming to hurry in any appreciable way. “As far as your going first—”
Another easy shot for her to reach. “Oh, Jesus. I set myself up for acoming firstjoke, didn’t I?”
“You really did. Although I consider it less a joke and more a promise.” With two giant strides, he reached the spot where she’d barely managed to get the ball over the net. “Assuming you decide to spend the night with me. If not, no problem. I’d be happy if we just—”
He cut himself off as she lined up her return shot.
“Just what?”
Wait. Were his cheeks becoming a little pink? “Went out to dinner and talked. Held hands, maybe.”
Oh, my goodness. They were. He wasblushing.
His mention of hand-holding had embarrassed him.Him. The same man who could cheerfully, shamelessly discuss for hours how her boobs might flee the harsh confines of her sports bra and roam free, crushing small towns in their wake.
For him, she supposed, a suggestion of holding hands might be more intimate—more revealing of who and what he really was—than any amount of sexual banter. And now he’d turned shy, his cheeks flushed and his gaze landing anywhere but on her.
The Sweet Swede had arrived for a visit.
“Holding hands should definitely be doable.” She smiled at him as they kept hitting the ball back and forth. “Depending on how our game of Truth or Dare goes. If you make me run around the court naked, you should anticipate a lonely evening ahead with only your own hand for holding. And I mean that in every possible way.”
His rumble of laughter crossed the court. “I promise I won’t make you run.”
“I notice you made no promises about nakedness.” Lord, Florida was an armpit in the summer. Tess was starting to sweat already. “An accidental oversight, I’m sure.”
He only grinned in response. “I repeat: Truth or dare, Tess?”
Another of Lucas’s perfectly placed shots. He didn’t even look like he needed to pay attention. Maybe she should try to hit a little harder?
The next time he sent the ball her way, she put more power behind her swing, and the ball promptly sailed into the net.
Good enough. That would buy her a moment to rest. “Truth.”
His question came immediately. “Why are you working so hard during your vacation?”
Leaning on her racket, she raised the hem of her tee to wipe her forehead. When she lowered it again, Lucas had frozen in place, and his eyes appeared glued to an area just north of her belly.
“My principal announced she was retiring at the end of this upcoming school year, and you already know I want her job. If Gary Enders gets it instead, the consequences will be disastrous for our school.” It was wrong of her to tease him, and she knew it. But she still lifted her shirt a second time and dabbed at her upper lip, pretending not to hear the faint groan from the other side of the net. “So I need to spend all my time for the foreseeable future proving myself. Working overtime, suggesting initiatives, spearheading committees.”
She frowned. “Also attending carnivals, where I’ll get dunked by the entire girls’ softball team. They’re vicious, they hold a grudge, and their pitches are pinpoint-accurate.”
He’d tilted his head, his brow creased.
“Why would the softball—” He shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. Forget about teenage softball-playing mafiosos, and tell me about an initiative you plan to suggest.”
She bit her lip, picturing the list she’d created in her notebook. “I want to break down our suspension statistics and analyze how they differ by race. I have a feeling our students of color get hit with suspensions, rather than verbal warnings or detention, much more frequently, much more rapidly, and with much less cause than our white kids. So I want to look at the data to confirm my suspicions. If I’m right, that needs to be addressed school-wide, pronto, because it’s not right, and I won’t allow it to keep happening.”
“That’s an important topic. I’m glad you’re tackling it.” He sounded sincere, and he was looking at her with such warmth in those olive-green eyes. Such patient concentration. “It’ll be a lot of extra work for you, I imagine.”
