Chapter Eleven
H alf an hour later, with the carnival in full swing, things at the Frankenstein Football Toss had gone decidedly off the rails.
Jackson knew he was at least partially to blame. The instant he’d handed Calla a ball, she’d grasped it in a way that immediately captured his attention. Was he really supposed to ignore that grip? Impossible. And then that pass…
Calla could throw .
It took a lot to surprise Jackson, but when that ball sailed through the air and directly into the center of the ghost-shaped target, he could’ve been knocked right over with a feather.
For weeks, he’d been coaching his players to keep their eyes focused on the intended receiver when they threw the ball.
Calla hadn’t given her target a cursory glance.
Her eyes remained locked with his, and still, that toss had been a thing of beauty. She’d nailed it.
Then, while he was still reeling, she’d arched a brow and issued her own challenge.
“Think you can do better, Coach Knight?”
A few people waiting in line jeered, egging him on.
It had all been in good humor, of course.
So Jackson had grabbed another football, announced his intended target as the mummy cutout and let the ball fly without looking, just as Calla had done.
He’d kept his eyes locked with hers, and in the excruciating seconds after he’d let go, the anticipation had been delicious.
When he heard the ball clip the edge of the opening, Calla’s lovely mouth had curved into a smile he felt all the way down in the pit of his stomach.
The ball ricocheted into the narrow hole, but his toss wasn’t anywhere near the bull’s-eye hers had been.
The crowd went wild, and then amid the pandemonium, the school bell rang, marking the official start of the carnival.
The first person in line had been the mayor, and she’d plunked an entire string of tickets onto the counter and demanded that Calla take her turns.
The next person in line bustled up next to her and did the same, insisting that Jackson throw on their behalf.
And so on, and so on, until Jackson’s throwing arm began to smart.
But the burn in his rotator cuff didn’t compare to the way his face hurt from smiling so hard or the ache in his chest at the sight of Calla throwing her arms up in victory.
She was having the time of her life. Anyone and everyone could see it.
“Go, Coach Knight! You’ve got this,” one of his players said as he slapped four tickets onto the counter.
“No way, Miss Dunne is crushing him,” the backup quarterback said, peeling off four tickets from his own roll.
Jackson tossed a football from one hand to the other, grinned at Calla and tipped his head toward the vampire cutout. He issued the next challenge. “Dracula, all four times in a row, with our backs turned.”
Laughter bubbled up her throat. “I think I’ve embarrassed you enough, as is. Now you want to challenge me to four over-the-shoulder passes?”
Embarrassed? Hardly. He was holding his own…mostly. “Scared?”
A smile danced on her lips. “Do I look frightened to you?”
Not at all. On the contrary, she looked completely, 1000 percent kissable. “I like your confidence, Calla.”
She pressed her lips together like she was trying her best not to smile, and there were a few titters from the crowd of onlookers. They hadn’t crossed any actual lines, though. This was simply a friendly game between two volunteers. Nothing more.
Keep telling yourself that.
His eyes darted to the vampire cutout and back to Calla. “If you’re so sure I can’t make an over-the-shoulder pass, how about we make things a little more interesting?”
Her gaze narrowed. “It sounds like you’re suggesting a wager.”
“Indeed I am, but the terms aren’t anything to be nervous about.” He tossed his ball up into the air and caught it with a grin. “If I make all four over-shoulder passes, you just have to say three little words.”
A blush crept across her heart-shaped face. “And what might those three little words be?”
He ticked them off with his fingers, one by one. “I. Love. Football.”
The boys on his team cheered, oblivious.
Calla snort-laughed and ticked off three words of her own. “In. Your. Dreams.”
“You must really think I can make all four passes, then,” Jackson said.
She glanced at the vampire cutout. It wasn’t even at shoulder level. “No possible way, not in a million years. No one could do that.”
“So do we have a bet?”
A few more of his players waved carnival tickets.
“Come on, Miss Dunne! Please? We really want to see Coach try a backward throw,” Tommy Riess called out.
It warmed Jackson’s heart to see the kid hanging out with some of other boys on the team, especially Stokes, Collier and Brown.
He’d put Tommy in again toward the end of the two most recent games, but he hadn’t managed to score since the dramatic game-ending touchdown in the season opener.
Jackson knew the younger boy wasn’t part of the popular group at school, but maybe his efforts at building more unity within the team were finally coming to fruition.
He flashed Tommy a thumbs-up and then turned toward Calla with a shrug. “You heard the kid.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Fine. But there’s no chance you’re making a single one of those throws, much less all four.”
“We’ll see about that.” He handed her a football. “Ladies first.”
Calla studied the vampire cutout for a beat, then turned around, took a deep breath and threw the ball over her shoulder. It bounced off the wood and went spiraling into the crowd.
Jackson intercepted it and handed it back to Calla. “Nice try. You’ve got three more throws.”
She fired them off in rapid succession, thrilling the onlookers when the last one actually made it.
“Yes!” Calla pumped her fist and did a little victory dance.
“Wow,” Jackson said. She’d obviously spent way more time tossing a football around than she wanted to admit. No one was that lucky.
“Your turn.” She grinned up at him, and if they hadn’t had an audience, Jackson would’ve wrapped his arm around her waist and swept her off her feet, red boots and all.
She handed him a ball, and when their fingertips accidentally touched, they both lingered just a little too long.
“Good luck,” Calla said, and the sudden breathiness in her tone turned his knees to water. “You’re going to need it.”
He blinked. He’d almost forgotten about their little game. And the wager…
Which he still had every intention of winning.
“Go, Coach Knight,” one of his players yelled.
When Jackson turned his back to the vampire target and prepared to throw, his gaze snagged briefly on the boys.
There were about eight of them pressed right up against the counter—all of them older first-string players, except for Tommy.
For a second or two, he thought he spied something sinister about Watson Stokes’s expression.
But he chalked it up to the Halloween face paint that made the teen’s mouth look like it spread from ear to ear in a chilling grin.
Besides, he needed to focus. There was a vampire behind him with his name on it.
“Come on, Coach! You’ve got this,” another kid called out.
“No way. Calla’s been besting him all day,” Cade said with a shake of his head. He’d strolled over from the dunk tank after word had spread about the spectacle at booth number 8.
Jackson had sort of assumed his friend had shown up for a little moral support. Not so, apparently. “Seriously, bro? You’re my quarterbacks coach.”
“Exactly.” He flashed a grin at Calla. “That’s why I know a good arm when I see one.”
A round of playful taunts went up from the crowd as Calla slapped Cade’s palm in a high five. Jackson just laughed and shook his head.
“You ready, Coach? Time’s a wastin’,” Calla said.
“Are you ready?” Jackson lifted a brow and tossed his first ball over his shoulder.
It glided effortlessly through the hole in the vampire cutout. Calla’s mouth dropped open in shock as a roar went up from the crowd.
Jackson slung his hands on his hips and shrugged. “Did I forget to mention that the Cyclones had a pregame backward-toss battle with the Vipers last season?”
They’d practiced for weeks, and in the end, the six players with the best backward accuracy had faced off against a half-dozen players from the Vipers.
Jackson had been the very first player picked to represent his team.
It was just a pregame demo for the fans, nothing serious.
But when it came to their rivalry with the Vipers, the Cyclones didn’t mess around.
“Funnily enough, that didn’t come up.” Calla’s eyes narrowed in a lighthearted glare.
“Oops. My bad.” He picked up another ball and propelled it over his shoulder, just like the last one. Again, it flew through the target.
Cade crossed his arms and winced at Calla. “That’s two down, two to go.”
Jackson could barely hear him over the cheers and jeers from the throng of spectators. When he easily made the third shot, things finally quieted down as the crowd held its breath.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Calla murmured. But despite the fact that he was poised to win, she still had a fresh-faced glow about her that told him she was having fun.
The reporter with the stony expression who’d perched at the top row of the stadium on the first day of football practice had completely left the building. In her place stood a woman with a radiant smile and wind-tossed hair that framed her face like a golden halo.
Jackson would’ve moved heaven and earth to keep her there…
With him.
So much for avoiding each other. How could he have possibly thought that was a good idea?
“Believe it, sweetheart,” he whispered with a sly smile.
Then he launched the last ball over his shoulder, the motion smooth and confident, as if daring gravity—and real life, where he and Calla would never be together—to catch up.
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