Trish laughs at my remark. “Sam would be so pissed if he heard you say that. For some reason he isn’t playing down and dirty like he usually does. He’s probably trying to impress you so you won’t think he’s a thug. Believe me, he can dish it back to them when he wants to. Sam can hold his own against any man on the court. Easy. Don’t go feeling sorry for Sam.”

I’m not convinced.

The nasty, rough play is making me nervous. I’ve already bitten my nails on both hands down to the quick in a bad habit that I broke ten years ago.

This is ridiculous.

What do I care if Sam gets hurt anyway?

He’s just a man I’m spying on for a federal investigation. It’s not like he’s a real boyfriend or even someone I’m casually dating.

Trying to reason with myself isn’t helping one bit.

Not when that God-awful heavy metal music is blasting, the men are crashing into each other like it's full contact football, and perspiration is dripping down my back from the heat and anxiety.

And yet Kendra and Trish are sitting here so calmly, bouncing children on their laps and smiling like we’re at a church picnic.

I’m not cut out for this.

The score draws closer now, sixteen to eighteen with Jesse’s team in the lead. Thank goodness. Two more points and this will be over. I’m secretly cheering for Jesse’s team just to put an end to this madness.

Sam is closely guarding Toby, who is dribbling the ball with his back to him. Sam laughs and says something to him, most likely talking crap trying to goad him into making a mistake. Toby picks up the ball, whirls around fast, and intentionally elbows Sam hard right in the mouth, knocking him off his feet.

“Foul!” I scream, jumping up out of my chair. “Ref! What the hell was that? He did that on purpose. Foul him out!”

Sam spits out a mouthful of blood on the concrete and then wipes his busted lip with the back of his hand before getting back up. He hears me yelling and glances over to give me a wink to let me know he’s okay.

“Sam! Tag out! Go out!”

I’m the only one of the spectators screaming like a crazy person, and I don’t care. The Sweet Butts are all staring at me like I’ve committed an ultimate sin.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Sam shakes his head like I’m nuts and mouths the word ‘no’ to me.

I throw my hands up in frustration.

This is insane.

Trish tugs on my arm.

“Might as well sit back down,” she says. “They don’t like it when we try to interfere. Makes them look weak.”