“Relax,” Will ordered. The way Zoe grabbed the back of her right thigh, Will knew exactly what hurt and what to do. He moved her body to lie flat and wedged himself between her legs. With his right hand he lifted her right leg, his thumb grazing down her calf, roaming behind her knee; with his body, he pressed her thigh toward her. “How does this feel?”
“It hurts,” Zoe whined. “I think I broke something.”
“You didn’t break anything. Breathe through it.” His face hovered over hers and her sweet breath blew across his face. “You got this.”
The way her eyes squinted at the corners did something to the blood in his head. It fueled his body. Will blinked and focused on Zoe’s face. For a makeup artist, she wore very little. And yet she still radiated beauty. Zoe winced once more. Will encouraged her, stroking the hard muscle against her femur. He nearly buckled when her body melted in his arms and a moan of satisfaction oozed from her parted lips.
Zoe inhaled into the stretch. The more limber she became, the closer Will’s face came to hers. He leaned his body forward and somewhere in the move Zoe’s leg slipped from his hand and wrapped around his waist. Will placed his hands in the grass on either side of her head. Once more Zoe’s lips parted; this time, she arched her back toward his frame. Her eyes focused on his mouth, and with the closeness of their bodies, the pitter-patter of her heart slammed against his chest. This was it. This was going to be the moment they put their business aside. He felt it. She felt it. They both wanted it.
A pair of hummingbirds buzzed in the air in front of them. At the sound of a high-pitched whistle the birds flew off. A black-and-white soccer ball sped by them and chasing it was a group of teenage boys. Will sprang to his feet, bringing Zoe with him. He nudged Zoe behind him so the boys did not catch sight of her disheveled clothes but kept hold of her hand.
“Boys, boys,” began a man with a whistle dangling from his neck and a clipboard in his hands. He wore a pair of red coach’s shorts and a white T-shirt with the initials SHS across the front. A red visor shielded his freckled face from the blistering sun. “Watch where you’re going. You almost knocked these people down.” The man jogged to them and apologized, then backed up. “Holy crap! You’re Will Ravens.”
“Guilty as charged.” Will extended his free hand for the coach.
“Jesus, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said the man. “My name is Barney, Barney Chatman. I’m such a fan of yours.”
Behind him, Zoe made some noise and stepped forward. “A fan, you say?”
Barney nodded his head eagerly and pumped Will’s hand. “Am I ever. I followed your career at Stanford.”
“Stanford,” Zoe said, her interest piqued, and the corners of her mouth turned down.
This tidbit of information didn’t need to be shared right now. Not when he was trying so hard to prove he was a regular guy. Regular guys attended regular colleges, not universities competing with Ivy League schools. Will didn’t consider himself as privileged as his cousins. He’d worked hard to earn everything he had.
“And, of course, in Germany when you were with the Teufels. I was in Germany your second year with them and got the chance to watch a match.”
“Thanks,” Will said. “It’s great meeting people who know the sport.”
“Well, not like you.” Barney stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “I can’t believe I’ve got you standing here. I can’t believe my boys just ran right by you without recognizing you and paying their respects.”
Will waved off the honor. “When I was young, the only thing I saw in front of me was a ball.”
Barney’s thick brows rose. “You don’t think…could I interest you in checking out the boys? I mean, they’d really get a kick out of meeting you.”
A gentle nudge from Zoe dug into his back when he looked to her for permission. “Go on and do, like, a scrimmage thing with them,” Zoe encouraged him.
“You’re better?” Barney asked, inclining his head toward Will’s ankle.
Not wanting to appear weak in front of Zoe, Will straightened to his full height and nodded with confidence. He was. He’d recuperated. Of course, his days of playing professionally were over, but where was the harm in running around on the field with a few high school students?