Page 6 of The Perfect Pass
“You know I’m only joking, right?” Bailey whispered, forehead puckering.
“Stop. Of course I do.” Calla wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “But just so you know, if you tossed a pair of your days-of-the-week underpants at that man right now, I wouldn’t judge.”
“Yes, you would,” Bailey countered. “And so would the rest of this town.”
“But my judgment would be solely based on the intended target.” Calla scowled as Jackson made eye contact with her. “Nothing else.”
Recognition sparked in Jackson’s dreamy blue eyes, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. Or was that a smirk? It was hard to tell. Either way, the only possible response on Calla’s part was a hearty eye roll.
Jackson winked at her as another pair of ladies’ underpants went airborne.
Bailey’s paper cup from Huddle Up Coffee paused halfway to her lips. “What was that?”
“A lace thong,” Calla said.
“Not that. Ew.” Bailey pulled a face. “I mean the wink.”
“What wink?”
“Don’t pretend Jackson Knight didn’t just wink at you. I saw it.” She gestured at the surrounding parade-goers with her coffee cup. “Everyone did.”
Sure enough, a few heads swiveled in Calla’s direction. Even Dad was side-eyeing her all of a sudden.
“I’m sure it was just some sort of tic,” Calla said. He had no business whatsoever winking at her.
Just like the butterflies swirling in her belly had no business taking flight like they did.
“That wasnota tic. It was a wink,” Bailey said definitively. “And it’s kind of exciting. You have to admit, he’s awfully cute.”
“Cuteisn’t the first word that springs to mind,” Calla muttered.
Bailey pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. “I suppose there are better adjectives.”
Chief among them:undatable.
“He’s still staring.” Bailey nudged Calla with her elbow. “That is some intense eye contact. Does he know who you are?”
“Sort of. Not really.” Calla glared at the cocky football star. She’d never backed down from a staring contest in her life. Plus, she wanted to make it clear that there was no scenario in this universe in which she’d ever throw an article of clothing at him. Unless it was one of her leather Lucchese boots…directly at his face. “We sort of met earlier. And just like I suspected, he has no clue what he’s signed on for.”
After the announcement yesterday about his hiring, Calla had immediately banged out a thousand-word editorial about why bringing the bad boy of the league to Bishop Falls to coach high school kids was a terrible idea. He was hardly a role model. Jackson Knight was famous for his cocky touchdown celebrations and spent more time dating supermodels and reality television stars than he did on the practice field. He had a habit of disappearing without explanation, opting to pay the team fines for missing practice instead of offering even the thinnest excuse for leaving his team in the lurch. Once, he’d missed a midseason game, which had resulted in a fine totaling twice as much as Calla made in an entire year. Most recently, he’d skippedout on the Cyclones’ mandatory training camp to live it up in Vegas. Then, after another hefty fine, he’d dragged himself to camp only to flame out and tear his ACL during his very first exercise. SportsSphere had chronicled the whole affair with a prime-time special called “Knight in Tarnished Armor: It’s Time for the Cyclones to Cut Jackson Loose.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was here. He was using Bishop Falls to make himself look like a halfway decent person and get back in the public’s good graces. But Calla’s editor didn’t want to hear it. He’d rejected her opinion piece without bothering to read it.
“Give the boy a chance,” Dad said, red-faced from whooping it up with the rest of the crowd. “This is just what the Bulldogs need to take them all the way to a state championship. All the other teams in the district are shaking in their boots right now.”
Jackson finally tore his gaze away from her as the float moved out of view, and the irritating tightness in Calla’s chest loosened.
She cleared her throat. “It takes more than a splashy name, a pretty face and intimidation to win football games.”
It took grit. It took dedication and accountability. It took strong values, a clear vision and unwavering commitment. Above all, leading a team to a winning season took heart.
But all of that sounded overly romantic, and Calla no longer talked about football in flowery terms. If she’d had her way, she’d never talk about it at all.
Besides, Dad was no longer paying attention to her. He was too busy fist-pumping and yelling along with the varsity cheerleaders as their float crawled by.
“Let’s go, Bulldogs, let’s go.”Clap, clap.“Let’s go, Bulldogs, let’s go.”
Calla half-heartedly clapped along at the appropriate intervals until she spied Bailey watching her through narrowed eyes.
