Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (27 page)

“You’ll be happy here,” she promised. “He’ll plant you on Friday. Or Saturday. With his shirt off and his muscles shimmering in the hot sun. It’ll be the best day of your life. And mine too.”

“That’s a beauty,” said a voice from behind her and she turned to see her neighbor eyeing her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harold. Did we wake you?”

“Not at all.” He smiled warmly. “It’s nice to see you making this place your own. I was hoping you’d stay in the neighborhood. But with the new boyfriend, it seemed like we might lose you.”

“I could never leave now,” she agreed, sighing with contentment.

“You might even have fruit this year, assuming the transplant doesn’t shock it too much.”

“We’ll
all
have pomegranates this year,” she said with a smile. Then she glanced reluctantly toward the house. “I’d better get ready for school.”

“April Fool’s Day,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling. “Will the children play tricks on you?”

“Not the kindergarteners. But the older ones—my former students—might do something to my car. Just to get a reaction.”

“Sounds like fun.”

She sighed again. It actually sounded obnoxious, but today, nothing could bother her. Not even the annual soapy drawings on her windshield. Nothing offensive, usually more like “2+2=5” or “WASH ME.” The older boys and girls would giggle every time they saw her for weeks, and she had a suspicion Mrs. Rayburn not only looked the other way but was the unofficial ringleader of the gang.

And now that she thought about it, it actually
did
sound like fun.

• • •

Her goal for April Fool’s was to teach a lesson about good-natured pranks versus mean-spirited or dangerous ones. As illustration, she brought her usual prop—half a golf ball in a flexible gel puddle. Once adhered to the white board, it looked like the ball had been driven into it, cracking it, and was now embedded.

Silly but harmless. And it had fooled last year’s class, so hopefully it would do its job again.

Good times,
she told herself sheepishly as she positioned the ball just right, then went out to help Betty with the disembarking children.

As hoped, they seemed horrified when they filed into the room, calling out, “Someone wrecked your board!”

Tommy marched up to it and announced, “It’s fake.”

“Well, what a relief,” she said, smiling. “Let’s all sit on the pads for a moment and say good morning, shall we?”

The little boy turned to her and said mischievously, “Good morning, teach.”

When she stared, honestly speechless, the others chimed in, laughing helplessly as they greeted her with, “Good morning,
teach.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s April’s Fool Day, so you
have
to let us say it,” Alicia explained, giggling, and the rest of them laughed even harder.

Rachel struggled not to smile. “Was this Mr. Bannerman’s idea?”

“He said it’s Digger’s idea,” Kyle told her, his smile broad.

“Not Digger,” Alicia corrected him.
“Deck
er.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She rolled her eyes in mock horror. “Well, I suppose it’s okay. But just for this one day.”

“Yay!!”

“But tomorrow, it’s back to Ms. Gillette. Promise?”

“We promise, teach,” Tommy told her, trying to sound solemn but grinning as broadly as Kyle.

• • •

After that, there was no point trying to teach them anything, so she let them play outside, laughing every time they found an excuse to run up to her and call her “teach.” And aching with love every time they slipped up and called her “Ms. Gillette.”

It was already a great day. Then at one thirty, the door burst open and an unexpected voice boomed, “Hey, sports fans. Happy April Fool’s. My favorite day of the year except for Turkey Day.”

“Yay!!” the children chorused happily.

Rachel stared for a moment, completely seduced by his handsome face and twinkling blue eyes. And on a Wednesday, no less. And so, without questioning the impulse, she walked right up to him, slipped her hands behind his neck, and kissed him with full-on heat.

He grinned down at her. “I thought I’d get detention for sure.”

“I love my tree,” she told him, smiling through loving eyes. Then she turned back to the students, who were staring in openmouthed wonder.

Then she explained triumphantly,
“April Fool’s
. I’ll bet you thought that was a real kiss.”

“It
looked
real,” Tommy grumbled.

But the rest of the children seemed completely charmed as they crowded around Bannerman, each insisting they had followed his plan. Or rather, “Decker’s” plan.

The halfback nodded approvingly, then walked over to the golf ball stuck to the wipe-off board. “This is your idea of a prank? Go on outside so we can set up a
real
April Fool’s zinger.”

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Rachel objected. Then she took him by the arm and led him aside. “They’re excited. But so am I. Are you here for the rest of the week?”

“I wish. But one of the guys is having an effing bachelor party. So I can only stay a few hours. Long enough to take you out to dinner.”

“Oh, no.” She smiled wistfully. “More pranks?”

“No. Like a date.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Plus I just knocked off the third grade ahead of schedule, so it’s a win-win.”

For a moment, she didn’t understand. Then she felt a twinge of foreboding. Why would he want to finish ahead of schedule? Was he tired of coming down every Friday?

If that were true, he wouldn’t come twice in one week,
she scolded herself.
And he wouldn’t buy you the most beautiful tree in the world. So stop being paranoid.

He turned back to the students. “We’re gonna do this thing, right?”

“Right!”

“Go outside,” he told Rachel. “Count to a hundred. And try not to look so pretty. It’s gonna ruin the prank.”

Rachel laughed in defeat. “Nothing dangerous. Or suggestive.”

“Got it.”

She stared into his laughing eyes for a long moment, then did as he asked, reminding herself not to be paranoid. How bad could this be? He had a deft touch when it came to the appropriate level of humor for these children, always pushing the boundary but never crossing it.

So she stood in the sunlight and counted to one hundred, then hurried back inside and was instantly confused. For one thing, the children were sitting perfectly still on their lily pads, their faces expressionless. More focused than she had ever seen them.

Then she shifted her attention to Bannerman and exhaled slowly. He was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket now, so he must have brought it in his gym bag. It looked amazing, reminding her of Jason Spurling’s attire for his hot date with Beth.

Maybe Bannerman really planned on taking her out after all.

She was so beguiled by his electric eyes, she almost didn’t notice the fake hand protruding from his right sleeve. Pink and puffy and plastic looking. Too small to be his, yet also too big in terms of flab.

“We think that kiss was inappropriate,” he told her with mock condemnation. “So let’s try it again. With a handshake. Good afternoon, Ms. Gillette.”

Struggling not to laugh, she played along, wishing him good afternoon, then accepting his handshake and shrieking when his hand came off in her own. It brought the house down, with a few of the children actually gasping for air as they rolled on the floor, helpless with laughter.

“You’re a sport, teach,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll wait in the parking lot, and we’ll drive up the coast to a place I know. Then I’ll show you how it’s done.”

She glanced down at her green skirt and beige top. “I can’t go to dinner like this. I’ll meet you at home.”

“Who’s in charge of this date anyway?” he complained. Then he caught the glint in her eye and agreed to her terms.

Turning back to the class, he told them, “I gotta run, short stuff. Be good to Ms. Gillette. We gave her a real scare with that hand.”

• • •

Armed with wet wipes, she got rid of the soapy scrawls on her windshield as soon as she reached the parking lot. But she left some of the hilarious graffiti on the hood, knowing Bannerman would like such classics as “Chill Mizz Chillette.”

She almost suspected him of adding it himself.

He was reading the
Los Angeles Times
sports page when she pulled into the driveway, and when she approached on foot, he waved her away. “Not here.”

“Pardon?”

“The point is to bang you at the resort,” he explained solemnly. “So keep your distance. You wanted to change your clothes, so change. I’ll wait here.”

“Did you see the tree?”

“I picked it, didn’t I?” His tone warmed. “Are you okay with this date thing?”

“I like it. I’m not sure I understand it,” she added with a fond smile. “You’re going to bang me at dinner at a resort?”

He eyed her fondly. “I got us a room. We can only stay for a few hours, because of the effing party, but it’ll be worth it. So wear something hot. Like the one you vamped Sheriff Bannerman with.”

“Oh, my God.” She shook her head, amused but also disappointed. His idea of a dinner date was apparently room service in a fancy hotel. For a few hours. After which, he would run off to a bachelor party.

She wanted to blame April Fool’s Day, but this was pure Bannerman, wasn’t it?

And she
loved
pure Bannerman, didn’t she? So she told him, “Wait here.”

Dashing into the house, she inventoried her wardrobe in her head. Not the pole dancing dress. Not the mermaid dress. No jeans. No school clothes.

That left the two sundresses she had recently purchased. One was chili pepper red, and while it was her favorite, she could just imagine how it would play into an April Fool’s prank. The other was basic black and showed a lot of bare skin, so hopefully he’d find it acceptable.

She knew she should pair it with her sexiest black heels, but hadn’t worn the butter-soft buckskin platforms yet, and decided it didn’t really matter if they clashed a bit. And since they made her a full inch taller than he had ever seen her, and he had often told her she was “almost” the perfect height, she didn’t waste another second thinking about it.

So she dressed quickly, refreshed her makeup and brushed her hair, and finally returned to the front porch. “All ready.”

He stood to face her. Then he scowled. “Why are you taller? Dammit, teach. Now I’ve gotta bang you here after all.”

Chapter 11

Two hours later, they arrived at a golf resort north of San Diego. It was so tucked away, she had never even noticed it from the interstate, but Bannerman had played in something called a “pro-am” with Jason and some famous golfers there and insisted the food was great. The golf course was on one side of the road, the clubhouse, restaurant and small hotel on a secluded stretch of private beach on the ocean side.

Still thrilled from their lovemaking, Rachel didn’t care that they were booking a room for a few hours, or that their dinner date would be a naked one, courtesy of room service. Her gratitude and amazement over the pomegranate tree still dominated her emotions. And he looked so good in that bomber jacket . . .

When he led her up a ramp to the restaurant, she murmured, “Aren’t we going to our room?”

“Have some self-respect,” he said teasingly. “This is a date, not a hookup.”

“What?” She was honestly confused, especially when the hostess led them onto a deck stretching over the water. Most of the tables were empty—probably because it was a Wednesday. Not to mention April Fool’s. But all of them blazed with candles, and the one in the far corner had champagne cooling beside it.

She looped her arm through his and asked in a throaty whisper, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we’re really doing it. They guaranteed me we could see the sunset from here.”

She stared out over the gentle surf, not knowing what to think. Then he held her chair for her, giving her the direct view, but shifting his own seat slightly so he too could witness the upcoming display. He was still across from her, though, and she was glad of that because he looked so amazing. The rugged face and high cheekbones. The killer smile. The killer shoulders.

The killer everything.

The waiter poured champagne then left without a word. No menus, no chitchat. Seen but not heard, and she suspected that was per instruction.

Bannerman raised his glass. “To you and me.”

She stared for a second, waiting for the punch line. But it didn’t come, so she touched her drink to his, daring to say, “This is unbelievable, Vince.”

“You’re not allergic to lobster, are you? That’s their specialty.”

“It’s my favorite.”

Her chest was already tight, and when violin music wafted from some unseen source, carried by soft breezes and blending with the gentle crashing of the incoming tide, she almost swooned.

“You look good,” he told her quietly. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Her heart pounded. Could this really be a date? Did he see them as an ongoing couple? Not exclusive, of course. She didn’t even
want
that. But she could get used to a little romance.

He felt bad about that last sunset, so he’s doing this. Trying to make you happy. Buying you trees. Toasting you.

Before she could stop herself, she reached across the table, took his hand, and asked breathlessly, “Will you take me to Sophie and Jake’s wedding next month?”

“Are you a bridesmaid?”

“No, why?”

“I usually bang bridesmaids at weddings,” he said in a solemn tone. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

His eyes were twinkling, and she wanted to splash champagne into them. But he would
love
that, wouldn’t he?

So she just choked on the bile of humiliation, pulled her hand back and shrugged. “Never mind. I’ll go with Sean. Then you can bang me
and
the bridesmaids.”

He chuckled nervously. “I’m kidding, Rachel. I’ll take you. Did they pick a date already?”