“I’m not.” She glared at him.
“Sure sounds that way though.” Newman continued to needle her as he threw the ball long for Jake. He caught it, and Buster tackled him seconds later. Newman heard Hope mutter, “Mother of God, that had to hurt.”
“It’s not for girls, except Annabelle, Hope. So maybe you’re better off sitting out.”
That was the final nudge she needed. He watched as she pulled off the hideous shirt in an as yet undetermined color, though maybe “carsick yellow” was accurate. Underneath, she wore a plain baby blue tank. Low on her hips were khaki shorts that actually showed off her legs, the hems resting midthigh. She bent, giving him a fine view, and unlaced her boots, and then jerked off her socks.
“Now, Hope, I don’t want you to get hurt,” he added, in a patient and annoying tone.
“Yeah, Hope. I’d hate for you to get hurt,” Buster mimicked.
“Don’t listen to them, honey. You come and join the Texans, we’re always a winning team.”
Newman watched Brad sling an arm around Hope’s shoulders. She didn’t stiffen, which he found interesting. Brad led her to where Ethan stood.
“The Texans and Hope are one team. Buster, Jake, and Newman, the other,” Annabelle said.
“Who made you ref?” Newman asked.
She stuck out her tongue.
“I’m sure you should be responsible, now you’re going to be a mother.”
Branna had refused to play, and Mikey had one of Hope’s cameras and was taking pictures like she’d told him to, so it was just three each side.
They stood facing each other, Hope directly across from him. He smiled; she bared her teeth. He looked down her top, and she hoisted it higher.
The first play had him running decoy. Jake set up the pass, and Buster caught it with ease. He then did his requisite touchdown dance.
“I hate that dance, it makes me want to ram his teeth down his throat,” Brad growled.
“Now, now, young’un,” Buster crowed. “Just watch and learn from your elders.”
It was true, Hope had been good at sports in school. She also did a bit of running and the occasional gym session when she had time, but hadn’t for a while. She’d been an idiot to let Newman bait her, because now she was sucking in oxygen and her shirt was sticking to her ribs. They’d been playing for what felt like a week, but was only thirty minutes, and she was about done.
“Aww, what’s the matter, sweet cheeks, this all a bit much for you?”
She looked into Newman’s sweaty face, and her first instinct was to jump him. His clothes clung to his big hard body, and for a man who made his money in a suit and tie behind a desk, he looked far too primal. Dragging her eyes away, she looked at Jake McBride. She felt nothing.
“Don’t smack talk me, pretty boy. You concentrate on perfecting your pasta sauce.”
Hoots of laughter greeted Hope’s words. Newman simply sent her a sizzling look, and called the last play.
This time Brad was running decoy, Tex had the ball, and Hope was zigzagging all over the place like they’d told her to. She faked, dodged, and went up for the ball. Making the catch, she slammed it down and shrieked.
“Touchdown!” She danced to the left on her toes, then to the right with her hands in the air, and had to admit it felt good. She’d not done anything frivolous for years.
“You cheated.”
“Like hell.” She gave Buster the eye. “You just don’t like losing.”
“There is that,” he groused.
“Swim time!”
Hope watched as the men stripped off various items of clothing and leapt into the water. Annabelle and Branna were seated on a blanket in the shade with Macy, looking at the photos Mikey was showing them on her camera.
“You coming in?”
