He laughs, the sound rich and full, and it eases the giant knot of tension in my chest. “All you need is help with the basics.”
“Story of my life,” I mutter, and he laughs again.
Snagging hold of my arm and positioning me in front of him, he takes over the glide of my racket. “It’s all in the wrist.”
The heat of his body seeps into my skin, tempting me to melt into his embrace instead of paying attention to his instructions.
“Unless you’re as uncoordinated as I am.” I twist my neck, acutely aware my lips are mere inches from his clean-shaven jaw, inhaling the crisp masculine scent of his aftershave. “Then it’s all in my butt, because if I’ll just sit my ass down on the sidelines, it’ll be safer for everyone.”
“You don’t strike me as a sidelines person.” His voice is a delicious rumble that sends aftershocks through my core, and without the hitting and swinging and chasing the ball, tennis really isn’t so bad.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, the loud hammering of my heart attempting to give me away. “If there’s a spotlight involved, I am. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes mastermind, coordinating and pulling the strings.”
The stretch and flex of his muscles transfers to me as he continues to guide my wrist and the racket through the motions. “But then you miss the rush of the game.”
“I’d rather put in the hard work prepping and planning beforehand, so I can spin, fix, and control every aspect I can.” I let my lips lightly graze his cheek as I add, “Even if that makes me too uptight.”
That dimple pops in his cheek, even swoonier from this close up. Neither of us are swinging the racket anymore, although I don’t dare let go because it’s brought me this far.
“As a fellow uptight person,” he says, and I immediately doubt it’s at the same level, but it also doesn’t sound like it’ll be a problem if things go any further. “I’ve gotta say, I find that refreshing. And passion and ambition like that? Total turn-on.”
My stomach takes the elevator all the way to the top.
“Right back at you,” I stumble over the words, completely flustered but attempting to flirt despite it. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, celebrating the bob in his throat as his eyes track the motion. “You were saying it’s all in the wrist?”
Victory screeches through me when he has to clear his throat.
“Right. Now, bend the knees a little—not that much.” Carlos winds his arms around my middle and lifts me into a barely there crouch that sends my butt right into his crotch. Second base for my second-ish date, and I’m as surprised as anyone it’s going so well. “Yep, that’s it. Staying low keeps you lighter on your feet so you can shuffle whichever direction the ball goes.”
Doing as instructed leaves me semi-seated on his lap. “That’s a theory I’ve heard before on the sidelines of a basketball court, yes.”
His huff of laughter stirs the hair at my nape as he puts my arm through the motions again, our breaths both faster and shallower than last time. “Just like that. Feel it.”
I feel it all right, along with another part of his body, if I’m not mistaken. My starved libido’s chiming in with unhelpful things likefaster, harder, longer.Heat flares, and between the tummy flutters and intoxicating zips of electricity, I’m coming a bit undone. I’m attracted and intrigued, yet I hesitate to toss back a racy retort that’ll get us in deeper—and not just because I can’t think of one.
The Cronies would be thrilled about me seizing and living in the moment so fully, but the overthinker in me is trying to complicate it before anything’s even begun.
Then his lips brush the shell of my ear, causing a full body shiver when he says, “See, you’ve got it.”
Idohave it, so I’m just going to go for it, but with the guy, not so much the tennis.
Loosening my grip on the racket, I begin to pivot in his arms…
The watch on his wrist rings, and he tenses slightly as he rolls the screen toward him to check who’s calling him.
“Emergency?” I ask.
“Hopefully not. I have a patient who ended up in the hospital while visiting her daughter, and she says she doesn’t trust the doctors there. She keeps leaving messages at the office, so I forwarded it to my cell for the evening.”
“You can answer if you’d like—or if you have to go, that’s fine, too.”
He appears torn, a look I’ve also worn when someone makes me choose, which is why I’d never ask.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, releasing me and jogging toward the bench.
By the time he jogs back, whatever intimate moment is gone, and while the lights are turning on for the evening, I’m a lot tired and a little unsure of myself.
But during the call, as he paced the court, another idea hit me, and I can’t stop thinking about it. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been organizing various workshops to help members of the community,” I say. “With health a major concern, I hoped you might be willing to put on a clinic where we train interested residents in CPR and other basic first aid care.”
