Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (21 page)

The price tag would have kept Rachel away, but the shop owner informed her it was on sale. So she tried it on. And even with her black bra ruining the effect, it still looked hot.

Without the bra? It would scorch the halfback’s eyeballs.

“Buy it,” Kerrie pleaded. “All you need are cowgirl boots and you’ll be a rock star.”

Rachel nodded, bizarrely intrigued by her own reflection in the full-length mirror. She would wear this on her last Friday with him. He’d love it. And appreciate the gesture. And if it inspired him to add a few more weeks to the schedule, or whisk her away for a few days in Cabo over spring break, who was she to complain?

“We have these shoes,” the owner informed her, offering up some matching platform heels with sexy straps.

Rachel only tried them to be polite, but they felt like butter on her feet, and she actually loved them more than the dress. And when she heard they were marked down too, she mentally reallocated her budget for the next six months, then handed over her credit card.

You spent a fortune on Sean for nothing,
she reminded herself.
At least with this you know you’ll get something back. Not true romance, but your feet will love you forever.

• • •

Her experience with the hellhounds made her appreciate her class even more and so, on Monday morning, when Kyle wished out loud that they could move show-and-tell to Fridays so “Mr. Brammerman” could meet Mr. Whiskers, she couldn’t resist making a video to play for the halfback on Friday. It worked for everyone, didn’t it? Plus, the giant cat looked so cute in his Saint Patrick’s Day leprechaun outfit, transcending the age-old clash of orange and green.

Costumes. She had never really been the type, but life was changing that. And when she arrived home that night and found a package from Kerrie containing short, sassy cowgirl boots of pearly leather stamped with spurs, she realized
everything
had changed for her. At least for a while.

The new rhythm to her week—a rewarding career with her students, hot sex with Bannerman, and heart-to-heart talks plus shopping with her newest friend—made her glow. She didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that was true. She had never felt so healthy. So alive. And in an odd way, so necessary and appreciated.

Of course, Bannerman’s needs were the real issue thanks to the birth control pills. He would be relentless in his pursuit of condom-free sex, which would be hilarious. He’d bury her in roses and tell her how beautiful she was, and sure, she would resist, but she honestly couldn’t wait. She only hoped the show-and-tell video charmed him enough that he didn’t actually get annoyed when she insisted on protection.

Luckily, he never seemed to get annoyed. He just made jokes and moved on. And if he moved on from her—completely—she’d just have to live with that, wouldn’t she?

• • •

She had confidence in her plan. Still, when Friday rolled around, she was a basket case and she sensed the children knew it, so she busied them with new projects and lots of vitamin D time. If Bannerman showed up with roses, she would melt, and could only hope to pull herself together quickly.

The compliments—“you smell so good,” “you’re so beautiful”—wouldn’t really be a problem. He had called it right, hadn’t he? They were just pickup lines. Insincere to the bone. She planned to enjoy them, thanks to his husky intonation. But fall for them? Who was he trying to kid?

So why are you so flustered, Rachel?

She laughed at herself, then concentrated on the children, sensing they were almost as excited as she was. The video had turned out well, and since some of the children had forgotten to bring things on Monday, she had had them line up and perform their end-zone victory dances for the camcorder. Bannerman had encouraged each child to invent one and had shown them his own—wild yet also simple as he pointed toward the heavens, then pointed to his QB and Sean Decker in rapid succession. She had seen it several times during the Super Bowl, but it had been different—better—watching through the classroom window when he performed it for her students.

Priceless
.

Not to mention hot.

The children’s versions were even better. Alicia with her exaggerated happy dance. Mary with her ballet steps. Even Tommy, who folded his arms sternly across his chest, then marched in place like a demented soldier.

God, she loved these kids.

• • •

Bannerman knocked on the classroom door at precisely one thirty, so she should have been prepared. Instead, she felt her cheeks flame in anticipation of her roses.

Please let them be red,
she begged the universe.
Please?

But his hands were empty when he stepped into view. Because he wasn’t a needy, hopeful halfback after all.

He was someone else entirely. An authority figure from the top of his black Stetson to the rugged sheen of his black leather vest—complete with bronze star—to the heels of his shiny boots.

Oh. My. God.

Alicia was the first to speak, calling out, “Mr. Brammerman, are you a cowboy?”

Rachel knew what he would say now, and she literally couldn’t survive it. So she rushed to him and begged desperately, “Don’t say it. Please?”

His blue eyes sparkled. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

“Don’t say you’re the sheriff.” She exhaled the pent-up arousal from her lungs. “Don’t say it, and when we get home, I’ll surprise you with something. Something really nice.”

He nodded, then eyed Alicia over her head. “Yep, I’m a cowboy.”

“Do you have a horse?” the little girl asked, her eyes wide.

“No, but one of my buddies has a horse ranch.”

“So much for that,” Rachel interrupted. “Let’s say good afternoon to Mr. Bannerman.”

They chorused warmly, and she could see he loved it.

Or maybe he loved the idea that Ms. Gillette had just promised to give him what he wanted.

She couldn’t help appreciating his brilliance. Red roses? Slavish compliments? Not from
this
guy. He was going to make her beg for the privilege of pleasing him. And if she hadn’t bought the cowgirl dress, she might have found herself in a bind.

But she could wear the dress as an amazing substitute. And unless he had no imagination whatsoever, he’d go with it, at least for this weekend.

“I’ve got a present for you,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

She spun, illogically certain he was going to pull a pair of her panties from the pocket of his jeans. Instead he rustled an envelope from inside his vest and handed it to her, explaining, “My permission slip.”

“What?” She shifted her gaze from his teasing smile and saw that the return address was a clinical testing lab. “Oh, my God, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m clean,” he explained. “Just like I promised.”

“Stop talking. And take off that hat.
And
the vest.”

When he handed them over, she rushed to her desk, put the Stetson and vest on top of it, then opened the bottom drawer and stuffed the envelope into her purse. Then she stood up and tried for an innocent smile. “Class? Should we show Mr. Bannerman our video?”

The children jumped to their feet, excited but well-behaved, and she smiled proudly. Not a hellhound in the group. Except maybe Sheriff Bannerman.

But even he seemed quiet with anticipation. So she instructed him to sit in her desk chair, then fired up the video on the monitor on the front wall.

He was so cool about it. So complimentary of every show-and-tell item, especially Kyle’s cat. And when the children on-screen did their end-zone dances, she knew it touched his heart.

“Show me that in person,” he told them solemnly. “Because it was freaking awesome.”

The students looked to Rachel, and when she nodded, they were on their feet again, dancing with sheepish enthusiasm.

“Awesome,” he proclaimed again.

Then he fixed Kyle with a grin. “You’re right about Whiskers. He’s huge.”

Kyle pulled a photo from a pocket of his cargo shorts. “This is him. When he was little.”

Bannerman nodded as he studied the picture of an orange kitten. “He’s the best. You carry that around, huh? What else do you have in there?”

Kyle didn’t need further prodding.

Neither did his classmates, who gathered around, knowing what would come next.

Rachel tried not to smile as Kyle began his solemn ritual, emptying the top right pocket first by extracting a tiny felt mouse filled with catnip. “This is Mr. Whiskers’ favorite toy.”

“Awesome,” Bannerman assured him.

The little boy continued, producing a candy bar from pocket number two. “In case I get low energy.”

“Yeah, I do that too,” the halfback said.

Encouraged, “Cargo Boy” displayed the contents of the third pocket.

A handful of birdseed and nutrition pellets. “For the petting zoo. ’Specially the goat.”

He was on a roll now, displaying pocket after pocket. A handful of coins. His father’s business card with their home phone number scribbled on the back. Some seashells. A creased photo of himself and his extended family.

And finally, some raisins.

“That’s it,” he told Bannerman proudly.

“You’ve got your priorities straight, kid. That’s for sure.”

Rachel beamed. “Should we let Mr. Bannerman go? We still have our story, don’t we? Odysseus arriving back in Ithaca after ten years at sea? The moment we’ve all been waiting for.”

Tommy raised his hand. “What about football?”

“Yeah, teach?” Bannerman gave her a playful smile. “What about football?”

She paused but couldn’t really resist. “Five minutes. Then Mr. Bannerman needs to go.”

He quirked a teasing eyebrow. “What about my surprise?”

She smiled shyly. “I’ll come straight home. And you’ll like it, I promise.”

• • •

She drove like a sex maniac on the way home, so hot to get into her cowgirl outfit and pose for him she could barely stand it. He hadn’t brought her flowers, and she respected that. He wasn’t a romantic. Wasn’t even a boyfriend.

He was her Friday night lover. Why was she fighting it? It was so perfect.

It took every ounce of strength for her to keep to the speed limit, and when she saw a steel colored, hard-bodied pickup truck at the curb, she almost couldn’t stand it. He was playing this to the hilt, so why shouldn’t she?

Easing her Civic into the driveway, she saw him in the back corner of the yard, standing in front of her dead walnut tree as though studying it. But he turned to her right away, his expression cheerful. And since he was wearing his Stetson and vest again, she knew exactly why he was so confident.

“Stay right there,” she told him, holding up a hand as she slid out of the driver’s seat.

When he started toward her anyway, she walked to meet him halfway and said, “Stay here, please? It’s part of my surprise.”

She loved the frustration in his eyes. He wanted to do his sheriff routine. To kiss her, bind her to his will, convince her to give him anything he wanted. And what he wanted was sex without a condom.

“Two minutes,” she assured him. “Please?”

When he nodded, she turned and sprinted to the porch, unlocked the door, and was inside in record time. Pulling her top over her head as she moved, she catalogued the steps rapidly. First, get naked. Second,
stay
naked except for the obscene dress. Brush her hair, brush her teeth, and choose between the sexy buckskin heels and the slightly more authentic cowgirl boots.

And pray he didn’t get curious and come inside too soon.

It took less than forty seconds to complete all necessary operations except the shoes, so she dragged the footwear in front of her full-length mirror, then laughed. There was no mistaking the lack of underwear under the dress. Her shoulders and back looked outrageously bare. Her skin radiated a pre-sex glow. She wanted to complete the effect by wearing the platform heels, and tried them on first, appreciating the way they lengthened her legs so provocatively. Plus, they were so comfortable she could live in them forever.

But in fairness to Kerrie, she gave the boots a try as well, and had to laugh. Definitely better. The three-inch heels were adequate, and the way the boots hit just under her calf created a leggy look that beat regular shoes cold.

I bow to your genius,
she told her absent friend. Then she raced back to the kitchen, fluffing her hair with her fingers until she reached the door to the porch. One peek through the curtained window told her he had done as she asked, although his back was to her again, and she realized he was still fixated on the dead tree, probably wondering how she had killed it.

With a deep breath she opened the door, then stepped out onto the stoop. “Sheriff Bannerman?”

He turned, an expectant smile on his face in acknowledgment of the title, then the smile faded and he just stared at her as though rooted to the spot.

Pleased, she tossed her hair and pretended to pout. “Sheriff? I need you. There’s trouble in the Wild West.”

She didn’t hear him say “Fuck” but could see from his lips that he did so as he threw his Stetson to the ground and strode over to her, grabbing her by the hips, pulling her down into his arms, kissing her ferociously. Before she could catch her breath, he swept her into the house, where she expected him to attack her as always, with or without the aid of the butcher block. They would devour each other wildly, and he’d wear a condom because he couldn’t spare the time to argue.

Which was lucky, because in her aroused condition, she might just lose that argument.

But he surprised her by continuing straight to the bedroom. Dumping her onto the bed, he pushed her skirt high on her thighs, then pressed her legs apart with his huge hands and lowered his head, going down on her with a red-hot mouth.

She was too stunned to react and, almost immediately, didn’t bother trying. Her pelvis was already shuddering, desperate to keep up with the insane pace. She could hear herself shrieking with pleasure as she laced her fingers in his hair, not just to keep him in place but as a way of bracing herself as the climax roared through her. And it didn’t stop there. She came again. And again.