Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) by Kate Donovan

weekend. So much for first-world problems!
    Returning her attention to the padded envelope from Sean, she tried to imagine what it was. A check for fourteen hundred dollars would have been appropriate, but she didn’t really want that.
    She actually had no idea what she wanted from him. Or why he was contacting her again. Did he still want a relationship? A friendship, maybe? She would like that, she admitted, despite his ineptitude.
    But if he wanted more? That was intriguing, because he was the most adorable guy she had ever met. And he wasn’t intimidated or otherwise put off by her. Wasn’t afraid to kiss her, but rather, just didn’t follow through when he had the chance.
    You’re an idiot, Sean Decker, she told him fondly. You lust over Erica and sneak around with that curly-haired blonde when I’m yours for the taking. Or at least, she added pensively, I was.
    She didn’t want her thoughts to drift to sex with giant strangers, so she tore open the mysterious package, then had to smile. It was a goody bag from the wedding, forcing her to acknowledge his thoughtfulness. He really was a great guy.
    If only he could be the guy. But he was already in love with two women, so what were Rachel’s chances?
    Laughing at herself, she took the Cal bottle opener to the kitchen to open some organic lemonade. When a fight song blared over the tinny built-in speaker, she decided she’d bring the clever tool to class next Monday for show-and-tell. After that, she’d ship it to her dad.
    Hopefully he’d get a kick out of it. Or at least he’d find some genuine amusement in the PG-rated version of the story behind it.
     
    • • •
     
    By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, Rachel was in good spirits. The week had gone well, her period had been light, and while it seemed crass to admit it, her body was in a blissful state because, after far too long, Ms. Gillette had gotten laid.
    She would treat this like a new beginning. Get out more. Mingle with men in hopes of meeting another one who could excite her the way Vince Bannerman had, but hopefully without the swagger.
    She was just settling the children down for story time when a knock sounded at the classroom door and the school principal, Mrs. Rayburn, poked her curly gray head in.
    “Are we interrupting?” she asked brightly.
    “Of course not. Please come in.” Rachel turned to the children. “Let’s say ‘Good afternoon’ to Mrs. Rayburn.”
    “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rayburn,” they chorused, waving cheery hands at the principal, their faces beaming.
    Then a second person stepped into the room—a humongous gladiator of a man—and Rachel stared in disbelief, her jaw hanging by two threads. His hair was still long and streaked with bronze, but paired with a black polo and tan slacks, seemed less outlandish than at the wedding.
    He also looked tremendously larger, partly because Mrs. Rayburn was so small, but also because he was apparently just huge. And while she knew she should be furious, she had the same idyllic reaction she had felt the first time she laid eyes on him.
    He was nothing less than a sexy time traveler from another, more barbarian world.
    Mrs. Rayburn continued cheerfully. “Children, this is Mr. Bannerman. He’s a football player for the National Football League. Ms. Gillette arranged for him to speak to you today. Can you welcome him?”
    The children started valiantly with “Good afternoon,” but when they reached his name, they all said it differently. Brannanerman, Bananaman, Brammamam.
    Rachel loved it. And to her relief, the halfback’s broad smile assured her he too was amused, not offended.
    “So I’ll just leave you to your fun,” Mrs. Rayburn told them. To Rachel she added under her breath, “I’m pleased you arranged this. But remember to let the office know when you’re expecting visitors.”
    Rachel grimaced. “I’ll remember. I promise.” Then she turned her confused attention to Bannerman.
    “Hey, teach,” he