“I’m the assistant state attorney,” I tell Grayson, pretending that’s the only reason. “I don’t get to pass off cases.”

Exhaling, he brushes his lips over mine and says, “I want this with you.”

I wrap my hand over his wrist. “I know.” I want this, too. “I don’t see—”

“Don’t say it.” He cuts me off with his lips. “Just…don’t say it.”

I murmur my assent, letting him kiss me softly.

When we break apart, I take a small step away, needing space to try to clear my muddled thoughts. Grayson catches my hand, like he’s afraid I’m going to run away.

I let my eyes drift over the field.

“Have you been training all day?” I ask, trying to lead us away from this thing that’s happening between the two of us.

“Yeah. I’ve been out here all day, practicing. I love being on the field. Having a ball in my hand.”

I understand that feeling. Except I love being in court, putting the bad guys away.

Pulling his hand from mine, he picks the ball back up from the ground and throws it clear across the field.

“Wow. I can see why they pay you the big bucks. You have a hell of an arm on you.”

“Football is the only thing I was ever good at. If I can’t play anymore…then I don’t know what I’ll do,” he says, and there’s a sadness in his tone that pulls at my heart.

“So why risk it all and take drugs to the club that night?” The words are out before I can stop them.

He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, motionless. And even though my question was valid, I feel like a bitch. A little part of me feels like I’m using him—but of course I know I’m not.

I want to know what he’s hiding, because nothing about him being caught with those drugs makes any sense to me. I want him to open up to me. Too bad the direct-attack tactic doesn’t work with Grayson. I’m learning that very quickly.

I step up close behind him. “I could never throw a ball that far,” I say softly. “I’ve watched you play in games and I don’t know how you do that, get it all the way down the field with your accuracy.”

“Years of practice. Hours spent on the field, in all weather.” He picks up another football from the ground. “Here, I’ll show you how to throw.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I take a step back. “I’ll be terrible at it.”

He chuckles low. The sound makes me smile. “You won’t be terrible.”

“I’ll embarrass myself. I’ve never been good at sports.”

“I’m going to teach you how to throw a football.” He holds the ball out to me. No argument in his voice. It’s a demand.

“Fine. But you’d better not laugh at me,” I say, taking it from him.

“I won’t laugh, I promise,” he says as he comes to stand behind me. I’m aware of every inch of his nearness. My whole body is on alert. “Okay, so this is what you have to do to throw a perfect spiral.”