you.”
“I’m not that crazy about his ponytail.”
“Well. Good.” Not that the ponytail was the biggest worry by any stretch of the imagination.
“Jeffrey likes you a lot.” She smoothed out a patch of sand with her palm, then traced her fingertips in a pattern through it.
At the moment, Mitch couldn’t say he was exactly returning the favor. What if Jeffrey decided to cut his ponytail? Mitch would cut off a ponytail. For the right woman.
Wait a minute. What was he saying? There was no right woman. There were only women. Plural. Sophisticated and uncomplicated, and in keeping with his pro-football lifestyle.
Jenny smoothed out the sandy patch again, then drew a big heart with her index finger.
Mitch found himself waiting for her to draw initials.
“Jeffrey says you’re psychic,” she put in instead.
Mitch glanced up. “He what?”
“He told me you were psychic.” She pushed the sand off her hand and held it out to him, palm up. “Go ahead. Read my future.” She came to her knees looking decidedly earnest. “Tell me about the tall, dark, handsome dream man I’m going to marry. I’d like two kids, a white picket fence. And throw in a dog, will you?”
He took her hand, realizing it was just an excuse to touch her, but not particularly caring.
She looked so sweet in the dappled light.
“What kind of dog?” he asked, pretending to take her seriously.
“A Dalmatian.”
“Isn’t that a little big?”
She gazed up at him. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. You tell me what kind of dog.”
“Oh. All right.” He obediently looked down at her outspread hand.
He gave in to the temptation to run the pad of his thumb over her palm, tracing the faint lines on her soft skin. “I predict a long and happy life.”
“That’s lame.”
“I thought everybody wanted a long and happy life.”
“You need to be more specific.”
“Okay.” He squinted. “Here we go. Next Tuesday.” He paused. “You’re going to buy a purple dress.”
She tipped her head, peering closer. “Will it help me snag a man?”
“Tall, dark and handsome,” he put in, ignoring the jolt of emotion at the thought of her on a honeymoon with some random stranger. It was bad enough watching her dance with Jeffrey.
A serene smile grew on her face. “That sounds nice.”
Mitch found he didn’t like her reaction, not one little bit. “Wait a minute,” he elaborated. “He cheats on you and you kick him to the curb.”
“What? No. No way.”
Mitch shrugged. “Afraid so.”
“You’re lying.”
“I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”
She tugged her hand away and gazed out across the bay. “You’re a terrible fortune-teller.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her outrage. To make amends, he held out his own hand. “Here, you predict mine.”
She didn’t even bother to look at it. “You’re going to die alone and lonely.”
“What did I do to deserve that?” Not that he was denying it. It was most likely true.
“You’re a heartbreaker, Mitch.”
“Not on purpose.” There had been a few women who’d expressed disappointment that he didn’t want to get into a serious relationship. He’d always chalked it up to the fame and money factors. He knew he wasn’t enough of a prize that a woman might actually miss him for himself.
“Result’s the same,” she told him. And she looked so dejected, that he found himself desperate to put the smile back on her face.
“How ’bout I make up for being such a cad,” he teased. “I could get you a Dalmatian puppy. Or a kitten. Kittens are a lot less work.”
She gave him a look of exasperation. “I don’t want a pet.”
She wanted a man. He got it. He hated it, but he got it. She wanted the kind of man Mitch would never be. He knew what he should say, knew what he had to say and what he had to do.
His tone was decisive. “I’ll help you find one.”
“A pet?”
“A man.”
Jenny’s eyes went wide.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” His voice grew stronger. “I’m here for you, Jenny. I know a lot of men. Jeffrey’s a bad choice, but-”
She jumped to her feet, swiping the sand off the back of her denim skirt. “Have you lost your mind?”
He watched the strokes of her palms for a moment, but then quickly checked his wandering imagination. “I’m happy to help out,” he lied, rising with her.
“You are
It certainly wasn’t his first choice, but it was a perfectly practical approach to her problem. And to his. Since mooning after her like a lovesick adolescent wasn’t getting him anywhere. “I don’t see why not.”
“Because it’s insulting, for one.”
“How is that insulting? I have nice friends. Most of them are physically fit. Most have money. Many of them are considered handsome.”
“Read my lips.” She stared up at him in the dim light.
His gaze went obediently to her mouth.
“No,” she enunciated.
“Wow. Such a coherent and cohesive argument.”
Her eyes crackled emerald. “Hell, no.”
He couldn’t help but grin.
“Mr. Hayward?” came a stranger’s voice.
Mitch swiftly cut his attention to a cluster of teenage boys tentatively approaching across the sand.
“Is that you?”
Mitch inwardly sighed but mustered up a hearty professional smile for the teenagers. “It sure is.”
There were five in all, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. Barefoot, they wore knee-length, brightly colored shorts topped with an assortment of team T-shirts.
“Wow,” one breathed, while a couple of the boys elbowed each other playfully.
“We play varsity for Gulfport Collegiate.”
“Took State last year.”
“I’m a quarterback, just like you.”
Mitch widened his smile. “Congratulations,” he offered to them collectively.
“Man, I wish we had something he could sign.”
“I wish we had a ball.”
The tallest jumped up and made a mock catch. “Mitch Hayward, right on the money.”
His friends chuckled at their own cleverness.
“Except for Davey, here,” one spoke up, taking the smallest of the group in a headlock.
The short boy struggled to get out.
“Davey doesn’t play,” said the tall one.
“Too puny,” voiced another.
“One of my best friends is your size, Davey,” Mitch offered, and the larger boy immediately let him go.
“He played baseball in high school.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest. “But he spent most of his time in the computer lab. His software company now owns twenty percent of the Texas Tigers.” Mitch’s gaze took in the rest of the group. “You’ll want to treat Davey with a little respect. One day, he might be signing your
