Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) by Kate Donovan Page A

said, his blue eyes twinkling.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Bannerman.”
    She didn’t want to make further eye contact, but going lower was a minefield. His mouth? Absolutely seductive. His shoulders? Chest? Worse?
    So she just stared at his nose and hoped for the best, even though repressed memories surged through her. His mouth, his hands, his rumbling laugh and massive penis, and most of all, the way he could reduce her to a blob of quivering, X-rated goo.
    Undeterred, he turned back to the class. “Hey, short stuff. Sounds like you’re having trouble with my name. So let’s try it this way.” He commandeered a wheeled white board, dragging it over until it was right in front of them. Then he said, “Can any of you read?”
    Several hands went up, and Tommy Martinez called out helpfully, “We can read letters. And tiny words.”
    “Tiny words? Okay, let’s break it down. Then you can say it with me.” He chose a red marker and started at the far left of the board using capital letters.
    BRAM
    “Can you say that? Bram?”
    Rachel watched in confusion as the children repeated the nonsense syllable. Then he wrote:
    MAM MER ANA MAN
    Then he sounded it out as, “Brammammeranaman. Say it with me now.”
    When the children’s attempt to repeat it ended as adorable babble, Rachel had to bite her knuckle to keep from screaming with laughter. Which reminded her of the last time he made her scream that way, laughing her way through his crazy assault.
    Get it together, she begged herself. She wanted to be strong. To rebuff him. But instead, she wished she could run home and change into something sexier than her dull little Friday outfit: a soft, flowing skirt of medium blue chambray paired with a lacy top that had three-quarter-length sleeves and a scoop neck barely hinting at cleavage.
    In other words, spinster schoolteacher attire.
    One of her most garrulous students, a tall, gangly girl named Alicia, raised her hand. “Mr. Brannanerman?”
    The halfback chuckled. “Yeah?”
    “Are you a giant?”
    “Yep. Any other questions? Or should we play football?”
    Everyone jumped to their feet, yelling, “Yay!”
    “Wait!” Rachel stepped over to him and tried not to blush. “I thought you were going to talk to them.”
    Bannerman turned to his audience. “The teach wants me to talk, not play. So let’s vote.”
    “We don’t vote in here,” Rachel assured him, adding under her breath, “Please call me Ms. Gillette.”
    He nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna call you that all night long.”
    She wanted to throw him out, but instead melted just a bit. “Be good. Please?”
    “Don’t worry. My plan is to keep you happy.”
    “Ms. Gillette?” Kyle was waving his hand frantically.
    She took a slow, calming breath, then turned to the child. “Yes, Kyle?”
    “We want to play football with Mr. Brannanerman. Please?”
    When everyone shouted in agreement, she arched a disapproving eyebrow even though they were so adorable, she would honestly give them anything they wanted.
    And God help her, she’d give Bannerman anything he wanted too. She only prayed he didn’t know it.
    Once the class settled down, she said, “Football can be fun but it’s also very dangerous. We can’t play it in here. But maybe Mr. Bannerman can show you how the professionals throw the ball. And catch it. Just the techniques,” she added firmly in the halfback’s direction.
    “Sounds good,” he said, unzipping his gym bag and pulling out a junior-sized football. “Get up here, Cargo Boy. You’ll go first.”
    Cargo Boy?
    He was clearly speaking to Kyle, and Rachel realized he was referring to the child’s cargo shorts, which was surprisingly perceptive. Kyle wore them every day, usually khaki—like today—although sometimes gray or brown. And the umpteen pockets were always crammed with fascinating miscellany. Food for Mr. Whiskers, movie stubs, trail mix. Kyle had it all and would display it at a moment’s notice.
    The little boy