Fourth and Goal by Jami Davenport Page A

the rim of his glass. His chocolate eyes found a secret, secluded corner in her heart and curled right up in front of the fire as if he belonged there. Her smarter half attempted to give him the boot like an unwanted stray cat.
    "Tell me what you really thought."
    "Of your game?” If she ever needed her shell of professionalism, she needed it now. With the exception of one good play, his performance didn't stack up against the other wide receivers.
    "Yeah.” He looked at a faraway spot on the wall.
    "Do you want my honest opinion?"
    "Was I that bad?” He looked up. His earlier enthusiasm sucked right out of him. “I need to know. No one except Ty knows me like you do. Ty's too narcissistic to be of much help."
    "What do you think?"
    "I'd rather hear what you think. I'm too close to it to be objective. Don't pull any punches; give it to me straight."
    Rachel sighed and took a sip as she contemplated the best way to let him down. “I think you're trying too hard to protect your knee. You know, too worried about getting hit again. I don't think it's conscious, but your routes aren't crisp and tight. They're round. You're not hitting your spot and making your cut. You're not focusing on the ball, not catching it with your hands. You're trying to trap it with your body. You need to relax. Flow with it. Not be so tense and tight.” She paused for a breath. “Derek, you know this stuff."
    "So do you. Your dad taught good basics. He's one of the best coaches around. This whole thing sucks.” The reverence in his tone sickened her. She'd never noticed what an excellent actor he was—just like his mother.
    "You're the one catching the ball, and right now you're not doing a great job of that."
    "I got nailed on that last touchdown play, but I held on."
    " That play reminded me of the old you."
    He absorbed her critique for a moment. “I'm struggling with getting it back."
    "You know what it takes. Drills. Practice. Mental strengthening."
    "It's the mental part that's not working for me. You used to help me. Why don't you do that now?"
    She hesitated, warring with her conscience and her sense of family loyalty. He'd given her an in, a way to get close, to earn his trust.
    Those eyes, as welcoming as a box of expensive chocolates, held her and wouldn't let go. So much for kicking out the tomcat. Next thing she knew, he'd be curled up in her bed and she'd be purring for all she was worth.
    "Dare, I don't need your charity.” Or your physical proximity . Plus her brothers would commit a capital offense if they hooked up again. They didn't forgive, and they didn't forget when it came to their baby sister's broken heart—or their father's destruction. Visiting the state pen on holidays wasn't her idea of a good time.
    "It's hardly charity. I need you, Rae. I know you can help me.” He paused and stared at the corner where his dog had made himself at home on a braided rug. “I see Simon didn't take long to move in."
    "He stole the key and helped himself. Take him home with you tonight. I can't afford any more missing objects.” Simon thumped his tail at the two of them but didn't move. From his perch on the couch, Charlie hissed at the lower life-form. Simon cowered and whined.
    "He means well. Besides, your cat is the true villain. He's the neighborhood bully.” He continued to watch her with those hot eyes that didn't miss a thing, almost like he wanted to take her home tonight instead of the dog. She stood up straighter and kept her mask in place.
    "He thinks he's Fido Hood, stealing from the poor and giving back to nature in the form of burying all my prized possessions."
    Derek threw back his head and laughed, a warm, inviting sound that almost melted her resolve. “I've missed you."
    She pursed her lips and kept her mouth shut. She didn't need him missing her any more than she needed to miss him.
    "Rae, I really need your help. At least through the season—then we can revisit it."
    "I don't know.” Oh saints in heaven