Page 20 of Love Everlasting

“Sorry, guys, but our time’s almost up, and Miss Myra will have my head if you’re not cleaned up in time for chapel, so we’ll play a game next Saturday, okay?”

Groans filled the air as the kids—a motley mix of pre-teen boys and girls—trudged from the court while Shannon gave Lauren a hug. “Thanks for filling in for Cat, Lauren—you were a huge help, and I think the kids had a lot of fun with a game between the guys and the girls.”

Lauren tugged the basketball from Shannon’s hands before shooting Sam a smile. “My pleasure, Shan, but I think the fun started when the real competition arrived. I’ll put the ball back in the gym closet for you so you can head out early for that special dinner you mentioned.” She tossed a wink over her shoulder. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Lauren.” Without a word to Sam, Shannon marched to the fence where a backpack hung over the post. Looping it over her shoulder, she took off for the parking lot, forcing Sam to catch up.

“Special dinner, huh?” he said with an easy grin, falling in step beside her. “Sounds like a hot date. Hope you’re not wearing stilettos …”

She whirled around with a tight-lipped smile, which he realized was her version of a scowl. “Are you following me?”

“Bite your tongue,” he said with an innocent lift of brows, hand to his chest. “I’m a player, not a stalker, remember?”

“Same difference,” she muttered, turning on her heel to practically sprint to her car. “Both put the fear of God in me.”

“Well, lucky for you we’re friends, right?” He reached to take her backpack, grinning when she screeched to a halt to play tug-of-war in the middle of the lawn. “Come on, Teach, let me carry your books for you, will you?”

She sighed and let go, mouth clamped as she picked up her pace. “Thank you.”

“Hey, where’d you learn to play hoops like that?” he asked. “You’re good.”

The tiniest crack of a smile appeared as she tramped over the lawn, eyes straight ahead. “When you’re the quiet twin with an overly competitive jock for a sister and an older brother who hates to lose, one becomes adept at holding her own.” She gave him a cursory glance. “Survival of the fittest.”

He grinned and rubbed his chest. “Yeah, I know, and I have the holes in my chest to prove it.”

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, her pace slowing as she gnawed at her lip. “Did I really hurt you?”

“Only my pride,” he said with a smile, grateful she was actually talking to him at all. His mouth took a right. “Oh, and my backside, but I won’t show you that bruise ’cause it ain’t pretty.” He made a great show of rubbing the back of his head. “Not to mention the lump on my skull that, amazingly enough, lingered long after the bruises on my face.” He adjusted her backpack on his shoulder. “Which kind of gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘head over heels,’ you know?”

A smile squirmed on her lips despite the haze of color that dusted her cheeks as she picked up speed, eyes trained on the parking lot like a heat-seeking missile.

“Hey, I have a proposition for you,” he said, loping after her while her backpack bounced on his back.

She never missed a beat as she hit the pavement of the parking lot, homing in on her car. “You want me to teach self-defense to the women you date?”

“Cute, but no.” He waited while she fished her keys out of the backpack and opened her car, leaning in to start it so she could roll down the windows. “I’d like to pick your brain as a woman about how to get Jasmine back because I’m obviously doing something wrong.”

She slacked a hip, arms in a fold as her smile tipped off-center. “You think?”

“Yes, Miss Smarty Pants, I think. Wednesday’s my day off, and I know you get through here about three, so how about a quick coffee consult after—say, four at Cutter’s Point? Because I need a coach, and you’re perfect.”

“Because I’m immune to your charm and see all your faults?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, her casual assessment stinging more than it should. He rubbed at his chest as if those stupid heels had spiked him all over again. “But I’d wish you’d sugar-coat it a little more, kiddo, because I’m starting to get a complex. So … are you free next Wednesday afternoon at four?”

“I don’t sugar-coat, Sam.” She reached for her backpack, attempting to tug it off his shoulder. “Or coach anything but basketball and softball.”

He tightened his hold on the backpack, giving her the half-lidded smile that usually worked wonders on the nurses at Memorial. “Come on, Shannon, one hour of your time over a cup of coffee is all I’m asking—is that so difficult?”

“With you, yes,” she said with a pull of her backpack, which didn’t budge beneath Sam’s iron grip. “Sorry, Doc, but I’m allergic to players, so I can’t because I’ll break out.” She gave the backpack another yank.

He held the backpack out of her reach, reduced to begging. “Shannon, please? I need you bad, and I’ll pay whatever price you say.”

One perfectly shaped brow jagged high. “A little privacy, maybe?” Heels digging in, she tried to wring the pack from his grasp. “Sorry, Sam, I’m not your girl, so I’ll thank you to give-me-my-backpack …”

“Nope, not till you say yes,” he quipped, digging in some heels of his own.

“Over-my-dead—” She gave one final wrench that sent her and the backpack flying backwards, her butt hitting the pavement hard.