Page 37 of The Perfect Pass
She plunked the ball on the wooden counter that separated them from the line. Mayor Pearl had snagged the very first spot, but stood a respectful five feet or so away, thank goodness.
“I know how to hold a football. It’s not a big deal.” She crossed her arms. “Everyone does.”
Jackson shook his head. “Not everyone. Trust me on this. I’m a coach. You’ve got better hand positioning than some of the freshman on the junior varsity team, and you weren’t even trying just now. It came naturally to you, didn’t it?”
“It was a coincidence,” she said crisply.
“So you’re saying if you tossed the ball at one of the targets, you’d miss?” His gaze flitted to the wooden ghost sign with the hole in its sheet.
“By a mile.” Calla glanced around, desperately looking for another task that needed to be completed before their booth opened. Unfortunately, everything already seemed to be in order.
Jackson dipped his head until their gazes caught. His eyes blazed bluer than ever. “Show me.”
“Show you?” He couldn’t be serious. He wanted her to toss a football?
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Just give it a try. We should probably test out the targets to make sure everything is in working order before the booth opens, anyway.”
Right. And she was the logical choice to throw a ball instead of the actual professional athlete.
Calla was going to refuse, obviously. This was silly, andbesides, half the town was standing nearby, witnessing the entire exchange.
She picked up the football again, intent on shoving it at Jackson’s manly chest and telling him to throw it himself, but there was a spark in his gaze that stopped her. His eyes glimmered with mischief, but there was something else, too…an unspoken challenge that tugged at her sense of pride, daring her to rise to it.
Don’t,she told herself as her fingertips twitched against the firm ridge of the ball’s leather laces.Don’t fall for it. Don’t fall forhim.
“There’s no shame in missing,” he said with a wink.
He was baiting her, and they both knew it. Calla had zero intention of letting him get to her. She could see right through him. He was being ridiculous and trying to prove to her that not only did she secretly like football, but she might actually be good at it. The best thing she could do right now was throw the dumb ball directly at his head.
But that’s not what Calla did. Ethan had always teased her about being too stubborn for her own good and clearly, he’d been right. Because instead of telling Jackson exactly what he could do with that silly football, she pulled it back and flicked her wrist. She didn’t even watch to see where it went. She didn’t have to. She kept her gaze fixed with Jackson’s, and she could tell just by looking at the delighted grin on his face that she’d done it.
Calla Dunne, the one person in Bishop Falls, Texas, who couldn’t stand the sport that everyone else in town loved, heart and soul, had just executed a perfect pass.
Chapter Eleven
Half 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 couldthrow.
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 targetas 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.”
