Thank you for reading Lip Service.
If you enjoyed spending time with these characters, be sure to check out
the books about Kiss Talent clients, and .
Also, be sure to check out my sports romance series, Going Deep.
Here’s a sneak peek of Book 1, :
DOWN DEEP Excerpt:
Prologue
Football players possess the ideal combination of strength and endurance.
And the best asses of any other athletes.
At least, that’s what Sheila, Camille Pollert’s best friend, once said. Sheila’s cousin Mindy had thought Sheila was crazy. She’d claimed no one could beat soccer players for sheer sexiness.
But with her gaze focused squarely on #24’s ass, Camille was definitely calling the play in Sheila’s favor.
Of course, since Camille had been in love with the boy currently wearing the #24 jersey since freshman year, she supposed she was a bit biased.
Football players grunted and tackled each other, and the shrill sound of a whistle filled the air. She quickly took a few photos before wandering around the outskirts of the field. Always looking for the perfect shot, she hardly even noticed the screams and shouts of the students in the bleachers or the off-key blaring of the marching band.
A senior in high school, she had been part of the yearbook staff since ninth grade, but this was her first big assignment. But she wasn’t just taking photos for the yearbook. Some of the photos she was taking for herself, to hide away in her box of photos documenting her crush on the most popular boy in school: Heath Dawson, player #24.
Camille heard one of the coaches yell something at the ref, and the ref warned him to back off. He didn’t. She walked over to the long bench where some of the home team was sitting, all of them watching the ref and coach argue. She took a photo, liking how the shot radiated the edginess that she could feel coming off the team in waves.
Finally, the ref made an offside call against the visiting team and instituted a five-yard penalty. The players on the bench cheered while those on the field began to huddle up for the next play. Camille stayed at the bench, snapping photos.
At one point, Heath jumped into the air to catch the ball. Turning upfield and toward the end zone, he weaved agilely around the cornerback. Out of nowhere, the free safety came in, lowered his shoulder pads, and hit Heath square in the chest, causing the ball to fall.
The defensive cornerback scrambled and fell on the ball, recovering it for the defense.
The angry screech of the whistle sounded.
Camille held her breath as Heath lay on the ground, unmoving, but then finally, he shook himself off and stood. Looking both angry and crestfallen, he jogged back to the sidelines.
She blushed, her heart picking up speed when she realized he was headed right toward her where she stood by the water table. He was still several feet away when he took off his helmet. He shook his head, his sweaty dark locks brushing across his forehead, and he smiled gamely when a teammate slapped him on the shoulder. But his expression grew cloudier when he glanced up into the stands at an older man—Camille had seen them together enough to know it was his father—glowering, yelling something that she couldn’t catch.
Heath walked right by her without even noticing her, which unfortunately wasn’t anything new.
Even though Camille’s father had coached Heath when he was just starting to play football, she’d never actually met him until ninth grade. That day, however, was forever burned into her memory. Their lockers had been next to each other, and when she’d been trying to reach up and place her books on the top shelf, Heath had stepped in and helped her. “Having trouble there?” he’d asked with a grin. His hand had brushed hers, and she had jumped away with a bright blush. He had looked her up and down, as if trying to place her, but when she was too tongue-tied to say anything, he had shrugged and turned back to his conversation with one of his buddies.
Heath smiling at her and helping her had made her heart beat so fast she was surprised she hadn’t passed out. Not many girls got to be so close to him, and her appreciation for his help quickly blossomed into a fully-fledged crush. She snapped photos of him around school, she dreamed of him asking her out and telling her he loved her, and she blushed every time she heard his loud laugh in the hallways. As locker buddies, she had the opportunity to see him almost every day, although she never had the courage to talk to him. Just being close to him had been enough for her.
Sadly, the next year they were no longer locker buddies, but she’d always looked for him. She’d wanted to see his smile and hear his laugh, even if he didn’t know she existed.
She was so preoccupied thinking about her history with Heath that she hadn’t realized he was standing right next to her until he shoved a water cup into her hand. “Dude, refill this for me?” he asked, his gaze on the field.
Camille stared at the cup, nonplussed, before stammering, “I’m not the waterboy.” She thrust the cup back in Heath’s direction.
His gaze jerked to her face, and for a moment, he looked embarrassed before he grinned. “My bad. You’re definitely not a waterboy.”
Amused more than insulted, Camille glanced down at herself—jeans and an oversized football jersey with stained tennis shoes—and she shrugged. “I can see how you’d think that.” She refused to apologize for being a tomboy or for how she dressed.
Heath squinted at her. “No, it’s not the clothes. It’s the hair. It’s too short. You should think about growing it out.” He returned his glance to the field, waving at a teammate before glancing back at her. “Have we met? What’s your name?”
Not surprised he hadn’t recognized her as his silent locker buddy from ninth grade, she fingered her hair. She had always worn it short—at the moment it was about chin-length— because she didn’t know a lot about hair or make-up. Her mother had died when she was five, and her single father wasn’t exactly into fashion. Plus Camille’s naturally wavy hair could be so temperamental. But maybe Heath was right. Maybe she looked too much like a boy with short hair like this. Then she bristled, annoyed with herself for even considering his suggestion. What right did he have to give her style advice? When he looked at her again, though, an eyebrow raised, she blushed and stuttered, “I’m Camille.”
“Well, Camille, you should eat something, girl.” Looking her up and down, Heath added, “You’re too skinny. You’d look great with some curves.” His gaze landed on her breasts—or lack thereof—and Camille crossed her arms over her chest. She knew she was flat-chested and scrawny and didn’t look like the kinds of girls Heath dated—curvaceous and blond and tan—but she couldn’t believe he was being such an ass.
He had no right to talk to her like that. He didn’t even know her! What kind of guy told a girl she needed to eat more because she was too skinny? Camille ate as much as any person.
Heath was still watching her, and a frown had overcome his expression.
Camille wasn’t quick to anger, but when she was truly pissed, her friends and family knew there’d be hell to pay. She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell when a harsh voice barked something from behind her, making them both jump.
“Would you stop talking to the waterboy and concentrate for once?” a man yelled.
Camille spun around, and saw Heath’s dad stalking toward them. He looked so incensed she immediately took a step back, bumping into Heath.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her behind him, as if he was actually trying to protect her from his father.
“What the hell was that out there?” Heath’s dad ranted. “When are you going to get it into your thick skull that without a scholarship, you aren’t going anywhere?”
Heath glanced back at her, concern and something darker overtaking the frown on his face. While part of Camille wanted to rush to his defense and tell his hateful father that Heath was the best wide-receiver in the state, she was too humiliated given Heath’s father, just like his son, had mistaken her for a boy.
She clutched her camera close to her body, like a shield. Heath said something she didn’t catch, and his dad replied, “You’re a girl?”
It was too much. She skittered off the field and even though she thought she heard someone call her name, she didn’t stop. She hid out under the bleachers for the remainder of the quarter, glad that no one bothered her as tears poured down her face. She felt silly for being so hurt by what Heath and his dad had said, but sometimes the barbs about her appearance became too much.
After the tears had dried up, anger took the place of her humiliation. Hatred for Heath completely eclipsed any kinder feelings she’d had toward him, and her crush on him disintegrated almost as quickly as it had started. So what if he’d helped her that one time and smiled at her? So what if he was the cutest boy in school and made her heart pound? She had no interest in being in love with a guy who was such a jerk, and if she’d known he was that awful, she’d never have fallen for him in the first place. He’d been the star football player, unattainable and handsome and popular, and she had idolized him from the moment she’d first seen him.
Now, though, she wanted to go straight home and tear up her journals where she’d doodled his name and hers in hearts across pages and pages of notebook paper. She wanted to burn the MASH game where it was predicted that she’d marry Heath and have 100 children and live in a mansion with him. And the photos she’d taken of him around school would go in the trash, too. All of it. She was done with Heath Dawson.
“Hey, what’re you doing down here?” Camille turned to see her best friend Sheila climbing in next to her, her bright red hair unmistakable. “I thought you had to take pictures tonight?”
Camille wiped her face of any tearstains, hoping Sheila wouldn’t see she’d been crying. “I was. I did. I’m taking a break.”
“Underneath the bleachers, below the marching band?” Sheila glanced up as one of the drummers dropped a stick and swore.
“It’s as good a place as any.”
“Uh huh. I’m supposed to believe you’re taking a break in the final quarter when you’d been wanting this assignment since you joined yearbook?”
Camille glared at Sheila, but her friend just smiled. Sighing, Camille rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m hiding out. Happy?”
“Not until you spill the details of who, what, when, where, why, and to what extent.”
“Heath Dawson is a jackass.”
Sheila’s eyebrows rose until they disappeared below her bangs. “Did he say something to you?”
Camille really didn’t want to have this conversation, but she also knew Sheila wouldn’t leave well enough alone otherwise. Caving, she recounted what Heath and his dad said about her, feeling the hot press of anger in her chest once again when thinking about it. “Who says stuff like that?” she asked in a huff.
“Jackasses like Heath Dawson, for one. And quadruple jackasses like his father. The guy’s so hard on his son, I almost feel sorry for him. But I always told you Heath wasn’t worth your time. Would you listen to me? Noooooooo.” Sheila gestured toward Camille. “And now look at you. Heartbroken, discarded, a shell of your former self.”
Camille pushed her friend lightly, smiling for the first time. “You’re stupid. And I’m not going to let this destroy me. He’s not worth it.”
“Atta girl! So, did you get some good shots?”
Camille picked up her camera and began going through the photos, seeing if she had enough to give to Trevor tomorrow in yearbook or if she needed to get back out there and take some more. Most of the shots were mediocre, although Camille found a handful that were definitely nice enough to be featured in the yearbook. And then when she landed on the set she’d taken before Heath had insulted her, she burst out laughing.
“What is it?” Sheila scooted to Camille’s side and then hooted with laughter. “Oh my God, is that Heath? Why is Jason in Heath’s crotch?”
It was an action shot, and Camille had somehow taken the photo so it looked like Jason had his face buried in Heath’s groin. Camille and Sheila looked at the photo at all angles until they were red in the face and almost coughing from laughing so hard. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Camille said between giggles. She looked back at the photo, and the laughing fit started all over again.
Sheila gasped suddenly. “You have to publish this in the yearbook!”
“What? No. Mr. Andros would never allow it.”
“So what! You can swap it out for another photo and he’ll never know. I know you help design the pages and send it to the printer.”
Camille bit her lip. The temptation was almost too strong: it would be a great revenge on Heath to publish this particular photo. Camille, though, wasn’t as daring as Sheila, and she knew Heath would be humiliated if she included it.
“I don’t know, what if I get in trouble?”
Sheila scoffed. “For what? Including a picture you took at a football game in the football team spread? Last time I checked, you don’t get expelled for stuff like that.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“You’re way too nice. Heath humiliated you today and you’re worried about his feelings? Come on. He deserves this and worse.”
Camille looked at the photo again. Sheila was right: Heath did deserve to be taken down a peg, and he’d had no right to talk to her like he had. Heath always acted like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and having people laugh at him would be a sweet kind of revenge. Plus, he’d never know for sure who had taken the photo or who’d put it in the yearbook.
“I’ll do it,” Camille said, emailing the photo to herself to make sure she had a copy of it. “I’ll include it in the yearbook and Heath Dawson will wish he’d never been born.”
Chapter One
10 years later…
“You’re photographing who?”
Camille held her phone to her ear even as she kept packing. “The Savannah Bootleggers,” she said, answering Sheila. “The team and the cheerleaders. It’s for a benefit calendar. A couple of photoshoots in Savannah, a pre-season opener in South Carolina, then back to Savannah for one more game. Emma will be with Rich, and she’s thrilled to spend the extra time with him before school starts again.”
“She’s not the only one thrilled. Holy shit, Camille! How did this happen?”
“One of the league’s photographers quit unexpectedly and they’re looking for his replacement. They kept my application from last year and decided to give me a shot. I’m taking this job as an independent consultant, but if they like what I do…”
“Oh my God, oh my God, that’s awesome! But the Savannah Bootleggers? Heath Dawson’s the team’s wide receiver!”
Of course Sheila would bring him up right when she’d opened her underwear drawer. Now she was staring at a mix of practical cotton and silk and lace as images of Heath Dawson floated in her head. “I know his position and what team he plays for, Sheila. He’s Emma’s favorite player.”
“Right,” Sheila snorted. “Like that’s the only reason you know what team he plays for. Because your daughter likes him. Not because he’s twice as hot as he was in high school and thinking about him is the way you get off the hardest.”
“I said that one night when I was tipsy.”
Oh, how she wished she’d never told Sheila that little tidbit. Even more, she wished it had been any other team she’d been asked to photograph. It was a big opportunity for her, but her excitement about the job had been instantly tempered by the knowledge that the Bootleggers’ wide receiver was none other than her arch nemesis Heath Dawson, the man who’d left Peachtree ten years ago for UCLA, then played for a team on the West Coast before joining the Bootleggers two years ago.
It had been bad enough that her daughter loved him, mostly because he did a ridiculous dance each time the team scored, which meant Camille had had to endure Emma never missing a game, Emma talking about him incessantly, and Emma putting up posters of him in her room.
Oh, the horror!
“Oh my God. You’re going to finally sleep with him.”
“What? Are you crazy! I haven’t seen the guy in ten years and the last time we talked, he mistook me for a boy. Not to mention you always thought he was a jerk. Of course I’m not going to sleep with him.” Hand hovering above her underwear, she finally grabbed several of her prettiest panties; not that anyone, let alone Heath Dawson, would be seeing them, but if she was going to faceoff with Heath at some point, she wanted to feel her most confident; not like the skinny tomboy he’d humiliated all those years ago. Of course, she didn’t look anything like a skinny tomboy anymore, but inside, that’s how she’d always feel, at least where Heath was concerned.
“Never say never,” Sheila teased.
“Oh, I’m definitely saying never,” Camille shot back. “Heath Dawson was a cocky jerk back then and from what I can tell from all the press he gets, he’s still a cocky jerk today.” Well, at least cocky; the press actually went out of its way to point out that even as the league’s top wide receiver, Heath was extremely well-liked by everyone, especially the ladies.
“Who cares if he’s all cock as long as he can do the walk. And he most definitely can. Besides, you say that now, but then you’re going to get a good look at him, and he’s going to get a good look at you, and… Lordy lordy, can I go with you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine. But I want details when you get back.”
“There aren’t going to be any details worth sharing. But I should go. Rich is picking up Emma in about an hour and I need to finish packing.”
“Take something sexy!”
“Goodbye, Sheila. Love you!” Camille hung up the phone, then started folding blouses and pants into her suitcase. Should she take the white blouse or the purple? The white was boring but standard, but the purple brought out the green in her eyes…then again, they were both serviceable, straight-forward button-up shirts.
She decided on the purple just as her seven-year-old daughter Emma walked in and sat on the bed.
“Can you get his autograph for me?” she said, her face lit up with excitement. “You know he’s my favorite!”
“I’ll try, honey. But he’s a busy guy.”
Emma’s bottom lip pushed forward, and Camille had to hide a smile. She looked so much like her ex that it was almost disconcerting. Camille sometimes wondered if Emma had gotten any genes from her or if she were just a clone of her father. Thankfully for everyone, Camille and Rich had split up fairly amicably (well, as amicably as possible given Rich had cheated on her), co-parenting Emma with only minimal bumps for two human beings trying to raise another, smaller human being. She had to admit the fact Rich spent plenty of time with Emma when he wasn’t on the road had gone a long way toward healing old wounds.
Camille reached forward and poked that pouting, bottom lip. “I told you I’d try. But you know I have work to do, so it’s not going to be my number one goal, okay?”
“But you will try?”
Camille smiled wider—at least Emma got her stubbornness from her. “Yes, I’ll try.”
Emma squealed and began bouncing on the bed, but when her bouncing almost bounced the suitcase right off, Camille gave her daughter The Look. Emma was smart enough to know what that meant and settled down—as much as a seven-year-old could settle down at any given time—only bouncing lightly as Camille finished packing.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she’d talked to Heath. She’d hidden it from Sheila, but now that she was going to come face-to-face with him after not seeing him for over a decade, she was a mixture of anxious and…excited? No, she told herself, rolling her panties and placing them neatly inside her suitcase. She just didn’t want to have some awkward conversation about high school and yearbook photos and waterboys…
She cringed inside, telling herself that had been a long time ago. Still, it hadn’t been so long that the memory didn’t occasionally rear its ugly head and make her feel the humiliation all over again. At least she’d gotten her revenge.
After that horrible night, she’d avoided Heath for the rest of the school year. She’d taken great pains to make sure she never got within twenty feet of him, not caring if she wracked up tardy slips or detentions given they had math class together and classrooms close to one another for three other subjects. She consistently arrived late to math, heading directly to Sheila, who always saved her a seat on the other side of the room from where Heath sat. She stayed behind to talk to the teachers or took the long way to classes just to avoid him. Her grades had actually started to suffer as a result, but that hadn’t stopped her.
She’d also gone through with her plan to publish that photo of Heath in the yearbook, Sheila egging her on. When Camille had first opened the printed yearbook and saw the photo, she’d laughed and laughed. And she’d laughed even more when the entire school laughed at football star Heath Dawson, nicknaming him and Jason “Crotch Buddies.” To her surprise, Heath had taken it in stride, although she’d thought he’d looked at her with a small amount of anger more than once. Jason hadn’t taken it as well and had tried to get the yearbook reprinted, but at that point, it was too late. Trevor, the student yearbook editor, had tried to find out who’d done it, but Camille had refused to spill. Just after the school’s graduation ceremony, Camille had seen Heath walking toward her with a determined expression on his face, and she’d practically run away.
“Do you think his girlfriend will be there?” Emma had stopped bouncing and was now attempting to help Camille fold the rest of her clothes.
“Whose girlfriend?”
Emma huffed, like Camille was the dumbest person in existence. “Heath’s! She’s the blond cheerleader, you remember?”
Ah, right. The latest blond cheerleader who looked pretty much identical to the one Heath had been photographed with last month. And the one six months before that. Blond, tall, thin, built, and gorgeous. Certainly no one who could ever be mistaken for being a boy whether she was wearing an old jersey and jeans or not.
“Honey, I think all of the cheerleaders are blond.” Camille went to the bathroom, rummaging around for her toiletries. She gathered everything she’d need—shampoo, face soap, lotion, contact solution—then placed her bag of toiletries on one side of the suitcase, her bag of makeup on the other. Should she bring her own hair dryer or would the hotel’s work? She mulled it over, as her hair dryer could dry her long hair faster than most hair dryers. Then again, she’d probably put her hair up when she was working…
“Do you think he loves her?” Emma asked abruptly, with the guilelessness only small children possessed.
“Do you mean does Heath love his girlfriend?” Camille was about to give a noncommittal answer, but seeing the hope on Emma’s face, Camille softened. “I’m sure he does, honey. He seems like a good man, despite the ridiculous dancing.”
Lately, Emma had been asking if certain couples loved each other—did Bill and Sandra love each other? Did Tim and Felix love each other? Did Daddy love Michelle? Or Bettina? Or any of the other women he’d dated through the years—and Camille couldn’t help but wonder if Emma were trying to figure out why her own parents didn’t love each other anymore.
The thing was, Camille had never loved Rich and he hadn’t loved her. They’d had fun together in the beginning, but Emma had been a surprise discovered the summer after their freshman year in college, just after Camille’s father had died. He’d instantly offered to marry her, and she’d been too afraid to go it on her own to refuse. Somehow, with the help of Rich’s parents, they’d managed to finish college, and she’d done her best to be a good mother and wife, one that supported Rich’s dreams of being a professional hockey player. And even though Rich had attained his dream, the harsh reality of being married to a professional athlete who traveled so much had quickly led to the demise of their marriage. Rich’s cheating hadn’t devastated her, but it had taught her a painful lesson. Or rather, it had reinforced the lesson she should have taken to heart after her run in with Heath so long ago: she needed to resist her attraction to athletes and focus on herself.
Her career. And Emma. Those were the only things that mattered.
She zipped up her suitcase, glancing at the time. She had a half hour to kill before Rich picked up Emma. She spent the time chatting with her daughter and making sure she had everything she’d need for the week. When Rich arrived and parked his flashy sportscar at the curb, she waved to her ex, then hugged Emma tight and gave her a kiss. “See you next week, baby, but we’ll talk every day. Lots of birthday party planning to do. Have you thought more about a birthday party theme?”
“Still thinking. Bye, Mom. Have fun with Heath!” Emma said even as she skipped to meet her father. After they drove away, she stood on the front porch to get her bearings and give herself a little pep talk. She could do this. She could have fun.
Not with Heath Dawson but in spite of him.
She could take her photos and chances were he’d never know she was the waterboy who’d made his life hell during senior year.
Then she’d come home, collect her paycheck, land her dream job and hopefully never think about him again.
* * *
Two hours later, Camille arrived at South Beach on Tybee Island, about thirty minutes outside Downtown Savannah. As she watched, several members of the Savannah Bootleggers played an impromptu game on the sand, tossing a football back and forth as the cheerleaders watched.
“Going wide!” one of the shirtless men yelled—Camille recognized him as Kyle Young, the Bootleggers quarterback. He was the superstar of the team, featured on shows and magazine covers and even appearing in a movie or two. Kyle was tanned and muscular, and Camille couldn’t help but appreciate his six-pack, even from yards away.
Heath was nowhere to be seen. She frowned, wondering if he had heard who was taking the photos and had bailed.
“You’re the photographer?”
She looked up to see Alec LeBrun, tight end, jogging up to her. He was huge, shoulders broad and muscular, but his warm smile gave him a boyish air. According to the tabloids, he’d just gotten engaged to his gorgeous girlfriend a few weeks ago.
“Yep, that’s me,” she replied, gesturing to her camera hanging around her neck. “How’d you guess?”
Alec laughed, flashing bright white teeth.
“Okay, okay, let’s get everyone together,” a pretty redheaded woman yelled, her hair pulled into a tight bun.
“Heath’s not here yet,” Alec said.
The redhead smiled tightly and though she looked in Alec’s direction, she seemed to focus on something over his shoulder rather than meet his gaze straight on. “No, Mr. Dawson has yet to grace us with his presence, but we wait for no man. Or woman.” She turned to Camille, holding out her hand. She had the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. “I’m Ruby O’Brien, publicist and football player wrangler. I’ll be keeping these lunatics in line today.”
Camille glanced at Alec, who frowned before he turned away and rejoined the others. Turning back to Ruby, Camille shook the woman’s hand, smiling at her no-nonsense approach. “Camille Pollert. Your help would be great.” She was about to ask that they begin with groups of five, mixed gender, when she saw a man and woman walking up. The man was tall and tan and Camille could tell he was attractive even from a distance. But it was when she heard his voice that she realized who it was: Heath Dawson.
“Sorry I’m late, everybody! Traffic. You know the drill.” He slapped his buddies on the shoulder, and they heckled him for his tardiness. The woman at his side—a tall, leggy blond, probably the same one Emma had been talking about—hung onto his arm like a barnacle. “Did I miss anything?” Heath asked.
Camille bit her lip, annoyance filling her. Leave it to Heath to be late and to interrupt her without even noticing she existed. He hadn’t changed one bit since they were in high school. But as she watched him make his way to the group of people, she couldn’t help but admit that some things had changed: he was more muscular, a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and strong jaw. Teenage Heath had been handsome in a boyish kind of way; adult Heath was gorgeous in a rugged, overtly masculine kind of way that caused Camille to flush all over. Of course, she’d seen him on TV. Magazine covers. Emma’s posters. But it had been easier to blow off his appeal when he wasn’t standing in front of her, his smile as bright and wide as it had been when they’d been younger, but now enhanced with a spark of sensuality. Heath knew he affected women and he used that to his advantage.
Annoyed with herself for letting Heath affect her again even after all of these years, she called out, “Yes, I was just about to get people into groups.” Looking at Heath, she added, “I’m glad you were finally able to join us.”
Heath turned his attention to her, his eyebrows raised. Camille instantly felt over-exposed, and she cursed herself for her sharp tongue. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself and possibly give Heath a reason to recognize her.
But how could he? She’d gained weight in all the right places and even some not so ideal ones since high school, mostly thanks to giving birth to Emma, and she’d learned to wrangle her dark hair so it was now long and glossy. She wore makeup and nice, feminine clothing, although nothing flashy.
Camille looked away from Heath, who seemed to be assessing her even more closely. “I’ll be taking action shots at the game on Sunday, but right now we’re going for a fun vibe. Happy. If everyone could get in groups of five, with three men and two women, that would be great,” she said. The group hardly paid attention to her, though, and continued talking and laughing. Ruby was a few yards away now, talking on her phone.
About to call out her directions even more loudly, Camille was surprised when Heath cupped his mouth and shouted, “Hey, you assholes, quiet down and listen to the lovely lady here or I’ll dump sand down all of your shorts!”
The group laughed and quieted down instantly, Camille couldn’t help but be impressed. She stood back a bit and repeated her directions. Men grabbed women’s wrists, a few play-fighting over a cheerleader, before they finally formed into suitable groups. A couple of groups had four men with one woman, but Camille could work with that.
“Okay, I’m going to start with this group, take a few photos, and move this way,” Camille said as she pointed. “Remember, lots of laughter and smiles. No serious model poses or super sexy stuff either.”
The guys guffawed, a few saying dirty things to some of the cheerleaders.
Camille fell into the zone, taking photos and directing people. She knew what she was doing here, with the camera in front of her face, the sound of the shutter and the play of bodies across the screen. She’d fallen in love with photography as a young girl, and she’d only gotten more talented in the intervening years. She freelanced because the flexible schedule gave her more time with Emma, but her daughter was in school and staying with Rich roughly half-time, which meant she had more time to devote to her career. She’d always wanted to photograph for the NFL and now that dream was so close she could practically taste it.
Several minutes later, she paused and reviewed what she had. Pleased with the shots she’d already gotten, she moved to the group with Heath in the middle.
“Okay, give me happy! Smiles and laughter, please!” She raised her camera, but she realized that Heath was staring at her again. When she caught his stare, he grinned.
“I’m feeling the need for some inspiration. Do you know any jokes?” Heath asked.
“I’m not really the type for jokes,” Camille said shortly.
“That’s too bad. You look like you could use some loosening up.”
There he went, making his unsolicited observations again. She placed a hand on one hip. “I suppose you’ve got a bunch of jokes you’re just dying to tell me?”
“I like to make the ladies laugh as much as the next guy.”
She flashed him a tight smile, determined not to let him get to her, when what she really wanted to say was, Yeah, but usually they’re laughing at you, not with you. Of course, that wouldn’t be very professional of her, so she simply said, “Go for it.”
More people laughed, although the leggy blond with Heath looked annoyed, pushing her bottom lip forward.
Heath held up his hands to quiet his friends. Then he studied Camille from head to toe, taking his time, making her flush, before he said, “How do football players do it?”
God, why had she challenged him? She could tell by the teasing glint in his eye, and the type of joke, that the punch line was going to be sexually charged, but she’d been around ribald football players long enough to know if she gave the slightest hint of being uptight, it would only go badly for her. “How?” she asked gamely.
“For over two hours in eleven different positions.”
Delighted in spite of herself, Camille had to fight hard not to laugh. Instead, she shook her head, as if he exasperated her, and waved a hand. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, can you guys give me the shots I need, please?”
“You deliberately didn’t laugh.”
Camille took a picture of him, liking the way he frowned when she ignored him.
When she kept snapping pictures, he approached her and held his hand up in front of the lens.
“Come on, admit it. You thought it was funny.”
Camille sighed. He hadn’t even given her the time of day years before, and now he couldn’t stop flirting. Why? Because she was so different from his blond cheerleaders? Because she represented a challenge? That had to be it. But she’d teach him that even sexy football players didn’t win every challenge. “The only thing I’ll admit is you like to hear yourself talk too much. I’m surprised you can stop doing it long enough to score.”
They were having a good old-fashioned showdown, and many of the other football players and cheerleaders had gathered around them. Kyle Young whooped and congratulated Camille for her putdown. Then Alec shouted out, “Looks like you’re definitely not scoring today, Dawson!”
Heath, though, wasn’t one to let up that easily. “How’s about we bet on that?”
Camille frowned. He just wanted to get a rise out of her. And he was: her nipples prickled with his words and she had the stupidest desire to let him touch her all over. She’d never felt like this with any guy—not even her ex-husband—and she still didn’t understand the hold Heath had over her.
“Here’s a bet,” Camille finally replied. “I bet you can’t keep your mouth shut for an entire hour. If I win, you have to be quiet for the rest of the day.”
“And if I win?”
“It won’t matter, since you won’t be able to do it.” Of course he wouldn’t, Camille thought, truly convinced. The guy was a total attention hound.
“But if I win?”
“You get whatever you want.”
Camille instantly regretted her words, especially as the girls tittered. Heath’s eyebrows rose, and his gaze landed on her breasts before moving to her lips. Then he moved closer to speak in her ear. “I get a kiss,” he finally said slowly, and surprise and heat filled every inch of Camille in equal measure. It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say given the tall blond that had been hanging all over him. Wasn’t she his girlfriend? Could he be that much of an asshole?
She glanced at the blond, who was glaring daggers at her. “But—”
“Genevieve likes to flirt with me, but we’re not together, so you can’t use her as an excuse. So as I was saying, I get a kiss whenever I want,” he clarified. “Or does that scare you too much?”
Camille felt stupid for falling into his trap. She wanted to backtrack. Tell him absolutely not. But everyone was staring at them, and she just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of surrendering. “Fine. It’s a deal.” She knew she sounded snappish, but Heath never failed to get a rise out of her, even a decade later.
Heath fell silent and she continued the photoshoot. She counted the minutes, glancing at her watch every so often, and each time she did, Heath looked at her with a “Did you think I couldn’t do it?” kind of look. Camille just glared at him as she moved onto the next group.
The minutes passed, and she kept tabs on Heath throughout, to see if he were, indeed, keeping their bet. He remained silent, not even laughing, not even talking when the leggy blond whined at him to say something. Camille had to admit that the man was stubborn.
After finishing up over an hour later, Camille realized that Heath had won. Flustered, thinking about him kissing her, she began fingering her hair while looking through the photos.
Heath stepped up to her, and Camille’s heart pounded. Would he claim the kiss now, in front of everyone? Lowering her camera with shaky hands, Camille was about to ask him what was up, when he said in both amusement and surprise, “Is that you, Waterboy?”