The Long Shot. Ellen Hartman

the door, confident anyone who needed her would knock.

       She backed all the way up against her desk in an effort to put some space between her and Deacon. They’d barely spent an hour together, but she’d already realized something very dangerous about him: his eyes were lethal.

       Somewhere along the way someone had told Wes he had cute eyes, and he didn’t hesitate to deploy their power, but she spent her days dealing with kids trying to get out of consequences or obligations. She was immune to begging eyes, even if they were as cute as Wes’s.

       Deacon’s, however, were a deep, dark blue and they went to navy when he ducked his head, letting his hair shadow them. They were wary, guarded and hit her in the place in her soul that wanted to save people.

       Before she’d seen him, she’d worried she and Deacon wouldn’t be able to work together if she couldn’t stop viewing him as a former student. Now that he was in her office, taking up most of the available air, making glasses look sexy, for God’s sake, she knew that fear was groundless. No one would ever mistake Deacon Fallon for a boy. His shoulders alone had enough powerful sex appeal to make her believe he’d been born a full-grown man, because certainly someone who looked the way he did had never been anything but strong and secure.

       Even when Ty with all his bulk and bluster was in her office, the space didn’t feel this small. She’d never been so aware of the location of her thighs and chest in relation to Ty’s the way she was with Deacon.

       “So you want to explain about these promises?” he asked.

       The bet with Ty painted her in a ridiculous light; she hated to explain it. But she had to. After all, Deacon was key to the girls winning.

       “It’s more of a bet than a promise. When Ty told me the board had taken away funding for the team, I bet him we would make it to States this year.”

       “You bet him you would win States?” Deacon’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

       “Not win. Just get there.” Four teams went to States, but only one could win. She much preferred the odds for getting there.

       “With this team? The one I just met?”

       “Yes.”

       He gazed at the ceiling as if expecting to see some other team descending from the sky to prove she’d been teasing him all along.

       He put his fingers up to his temples. “Okay. So you bet him the girls would get to States.” He was almost talking to himself. Talking himself down, out of his anger. “Heat of the moment. He got under your skin. I can relate. They could be better than they look. I haven’t watched them play yet.”

       She wished she could let the issue go there, but she owed Deacon full disclosure. “I also bet Ty the girls’ boosters would fundraise to pay for the trip.”

       “Why do I think there’s something I don’t know about the girls’ boosters?”

       She had to move. Standing there letting him pick this sorry story apart was making her itch. Yet there wasn’t enough room for her to create a safe distance from Deacon. It seemed that every time she shifted, she brushed against his thigh or hip or one of those wonderfully defined arms. He was making her insane.

       “The girls don’t have boosters. We aren’t very good, but that’s not the real problem.” She lifted the foam basketball she kept on her desk and aimed it at the hoop mounted on the back of the door. It missed and bounced off a stack of textbooks, right at Deacon. He caught it out of the air without even looking. He’d known where it would be and just grabbed it, because playing basketball was his magic. Deacon Fallon was helping her coach. That she’d pulled off a huge coup was sinking in. Maybe the season wasn’t out of reach. “The problem is no one believes in them. Not even the girls themselves.”

       “I noticed.” He returned the ball to her—a snappy little pass with just enough force to land it neatly in her hands. “You’re telling me the bet had nothing to do with the fact that you’d rather set yourself on fire than be nice to your principal.”

       “He’s wrong saying the girls’ team doesn’t matter.”

       “Just remember that Ty is your enemy, not me. I don’t like mind games.”

       She wanted to protest that she hadn’t been playing mind games, but she swallowed her defensiveness. He had a point.

       “Most of the girls didn’t seem too excited about basketball.”

       Julia pressed the ball between her hands. “We’ll change that. Now that you’re here, we can make it all work.”

       “You hired a coach, Julia. I’ll coach, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

       She was right up close to him again. She didn’t remember moving closer.

       When someone knocked on the door, she started back guiltily. He settled against the desk.

      * * *

      WHATEVER THE HELL spell was building between them was broken when a kid knocked on the door. Deacon bumped into a wall shelf as he ducked back, trying to give her space.

       Ms. Bradley…Julia…was right next to him and he felt the silky cotton of her skirt brush against his jeans as she leaned forward to hug the girl in the doorway. The thin sweater Julia was wearing pulled tight across her back, outlining her trim waist.

       He tried not to listen in on their conversation, but he couldn’t help overhearing it. The girl needed help finding a person to interview for history class and Julia said she’d email her a list of possibilities.

       That girl left, but a hulking boy of the no-neck football-lineman variety came in behind her. Deacon stepped around behind Julia so she could talk to the kid, and he watched as she scanned the paper No Neck handed her, then gave him a high five. No Neck had raised his science grade to passing.

       So many of his teachers had let so much slide, but he remembered Ms. Bradley checking back until she was satisfied. She was apparently still working double time to connect with the students.

       He’d noticed Julia’s toned legs and her round hips, the warm brown hair hanging soft and loose on her shoulders and the way her big, deep blue eyes took in everything with a kind of intensity. When she interacted with the kids, her whole face was alive with interest.

       As she leaned back to high-five No Neck, her backside brushed Deacon’s leg and he had a vivid flashback to her silhouette at the podium and the thong. Wes was absolutely correct: Ms. Bradley was hot.

       Not that he could do anything except look.

       Sure, he hadn’t been with anyone in a while. His last serious relationship had ended more than a year ago.

       So yeah, he couldn’t help appreciating Julia’s looks. But he was here to help Wes. Anything else, including legs and hips and intense blue eyes, was irrelevant.

       When she was finished with the kids, Deacon said, “What time tomorrow?”

       He surprised himself by holding out his hand for her to shake. He pressed her palm lightly. A little innocent contact wouldn’t hurt anybody. “Three o’clock, right?”

       She nodded.

       He’d be back for certain—even if he had no idea what to expect.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      HE’D RESERVED A suite for them at an extended-stay hotel while they were in Milton. It was about an hour away, back on the highway near Jericho. The GPS was programmed, but he disliked using it. The little voice telling him to turn right or left usually just confused him, especially when someone else was in the car, and he was liable to go the wrong direction. Rather than making a fool of himself in front of Wes, Deacon let him drive.

       Wes, who rarely got to drive the Porsche, took full advantage of the accelerator once they hit the highway.