Spy Games by Gina Robinson Page B

feet dangling several inches above the ground, he stopped. We locked gazes.
    “I believe catching the shooter midair is a personal foul,” I whispered. We were both glowing with exercise. Our lips moved very close, almost with minds of their own. “Though personally, I’ve never seen it done before.”
    “Personally, I don’t think I have, either.” He sounded thoughtful, and sexy. “What’s the penalty?” He was angling in for a kiss.
    “Has to be a big one,” I said, eyeing his mouth. “You could be expelled from the game.”
    “Sounds good to me, if you come with me.”
    “Lunch is served,” Ace called out, killing the mood from where he stood in front of a puke green army surplus table.
    “Looks like you get your wish,” I said to Van.
    “Yeah.” He sounded sorry.
    Van set me down. I was relieved that my jelly legs held my weight. Van definitely had a knee-weakening effect on me.
    “Gather round and grab your MREs. You two on the court, get over here,” Ace barked. “Once everyone has a meal, I’ll demonstrate how to heat them. Lady first.”
    “Excellent.” I stepped away from Van in hopes my normal breathing pattern would soon return. He had me completely off-kilter. With relief, I took first place in line, noting that Ace was not bad-looking himself. So much male eye candy at camp, but the only one who sent my pulse into orbit was behind me in line standing a little too close.
    “We’ll continue the game later,” Van whispered in my ear. “I owe you a free throw.”
    “Next time we’ll play horse,” I retorted, thinking it was safer…emotionally anyway. Before Van could respond, I turned to Ace and looked over the selection of packaged MREs before me. Anything to distract myself from Van. “What’s on the menu today? Are we all eating the same thing or do we have a choice?”
    “We have an excellent selection for your dining pleasure, ma’am,” Ace said, waving his arm over the stack.
    “Ma’am! How polite. How formal. How old it makes me feel! Call me R. Please.” I gave him my helpless, flirtatious, pleading smile. I couldn’t help myself. Van had toyed with me, turned me on, and now men looked good. Period.
    “Done.” Ace was all grins.
    Yes, I am an equal-opportunity flirt.
    “You were saying?” I asked. “The selection?”
    He made a high-class waiter-type gesture and put on the voice. “On the menu today—beefsteak with mushroom gravy—”
    I made a face. “Mushrooms, ugh.”
    “Not a mushroom girl?” Ace smiled. “We have a fine selection of other entrees—ravioli, BBQ pork rib, hamburger patty, chili with macaroni, veggie burger—”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Van said behind me, teasing. “Just give the woman the veggie burger and be done.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Some of us are starving.”
    “Chauvinist.” I didn’t bother to turn around and look at him.
    “Are you going to tell me you’re a big beef eater?”
    I couldn’t help myself. I finally did turn to face him. “I’m going to tell you I just burned as many calories as you did.” I heaved a big, dramatic sigh and put on my Scarlett O’Hara voice. “But I’ll leave the artery-clogging beef to the big, strong men.” I fluttered my eyes, squeezed his bicep, and grabbed the veggie burger. “Enjoy.”
    I turned with a flip and bounced off to take a seat at the empty picnic table next to the one where Ace served the meals. Van grabbed a meal and took a seat next to me. “You’re pretty good on the court,” he said.
    “I’m pretty good everywhere,” I said, conjuring a mixture of tease and flirt.
    “I believe it.” He had a twinkle in his eyes. “You played high school basketball.”
    “Four-year letterman,” I said. “You?”
    “Same.”
    I nodded. “You know I lettered in softball. I also lettered in volleyball.”
    “Seems we have a lot in common,” Van said.
    “You lettered in volleyball, too?” I teased, knowing there is no guys’ volleyball in