She and Dolores watched the game for a while, sipping soft drinks and surveying the onlookers wandering around Westminster’s campus.
It wasn’t long before Tom was waving at Jennifer, signaling her to join the players on the field.
“Every year I tell him I don’t know how to play this game,” she muttered.
“And every year he ignores you,” Dolores responded. “I know, I know. Go on, it can’t be any worse than last time.”
The “last time” Jennifer had crashed into the team bench while trying to catch the ball and gave Esther Lopinsky, one of the secretaries, a black eye.
Jennifer ran onto the field and watched nervously as Leo Smithers, the quarterback of the staff team, signaled her to come and talk to him.
“On the next play,” he said, “I’m going to pass the ball to you.”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Leo,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with it once I get it, that’s why not.”
He rubbed his eyes wearily with his thumb and forefinger. “Look, Jen, all you have to do is try to catch the ball, and then run as hard as you can in that direction,” he instructed, pointing toward the goalpost at the end of the field. “Everybody else knows what they have to do. So don’t worry about it, okay? Just grab it and try to cross the line at the end.”
Leo called for a huddle, in which various team members said things Jennifer didn’t understand. But she kept Leo’s words in mind and stood where he placed her at the lineup.
She saw Lee, dressed in faded jeans and a white knit skivvy, watching her across the line of scrimmage. That didn’t make her feel any better.
Leo called out a series of numbers, and then faded back for the pass. Jennifer started to run, looking over her shoulder for the ball, hoping that Leo’s confidence in himself was justified and that he would be able to “hit her” no matter what she did.
When it became obvious that he was throwing to her, players from the pro club materialized from nowhere, heading in her direction. Terrified, she looked up to see the ball hurtling through the air toward her.
How did anybody ever catch these things? They were an impossible shape. She grabbed for it, got her fingers on the edge, and then it squirted out of her hands. She leaped after it and managed to catch it. At that moment Lee caught her about the knees and tumbled her gently to the ground.
Jennifer landed on her dignity, and then was up in a flash, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Wait a minute! This is supposed to be touch football. That’s illegal, you can’t tackle anybody in this game!”
The onlookers were delighted. They stamped their feet and clapped, roaring their approval. Lee stood by, looking mysteriously smug, and hung his head when the referee came over to give him a tongue lashing. Jennifer told Tom to replace her and walked off the field.
The nerve of him, pouncing on her like that. She retied her sneakers, sitting on the staff bench, yanking at the laces viciously. When she raised her head again, Lee was standing in front of her.
“They threw me out of the game,” he said happily.
Jennifer stared at him, the light beginning to dawn. “You did that deliberately,” she said.
“Pure reflex. Couldn’t help myself.”
“I’ll bet.”
“However, since we both seem to be at liberty, why don’t we take a stroll around the grounds?”
“Stroll alone. After that little stunt I wouldn’t go around this bench with you.”
His face changed. “What’s the matter? You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Only my pride.”
He smiled engagingly, and she could feel her resistance melting away under the force of his charm. “Come on. This thing is going to be breaking up in another half an hour or so, and then they’re having a picnic. We’ll come back and get something to eat later.”
The desire to be with him overrode her previous annoyance. “I’m doing this against my better judgment,” she warned him. “The minute I lower my guard you’ll probably blindside me again.”
“Sounds tempting,” he said, motioning with his head toward the grassy copse beyond the playing field. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you about my great-grandfather, the shaman. That should interest a student of Indian folklore like yourself.”
It did. “What’s a shaman?”
“A medicine man, a caster of spells and a weaver of charms. Combination faith healer, herbalist, and grass-roots psychologist.”
They were walking away from the crowd, and the game noises faded in the distance. The sun was warm, and Lee pulled his shirt over his head to reveal a sleeveless tank top underneath. He spread the skivvy on the ground and gestured for her to sit on it She did, and he sprawled full-length beside her. A screen of trees blocked them from view.
“What kind of charms did your great-grandfather weave?”
“All kinds. Love charms, hate charms, charms to make you sick, charms to make you well. His specialty was healing, though. He would put on his saamis, the medicine hat, with feathers and magical bones, and cure anything that ailed you. He died when I was twelve.”
Too bad he’s not around today, Jennifer thought I could use a little help in curing myself of my growing infatuation with you. She stretched out on the grass and sighed.
Lee rolled over on his stomach and the sun glinted off his shining, coal-black hair, making it glow with highlights.
“That old man, he knew something, something that’s been lost forever now,” Lee said softly. “And I don’t think it’s possible to get it back.”
“I understand what you mean,” Jennifer replied. “That knowledge the old people had, I think we traded it for jet planes and microwave ovens and potato chips in a tennis ball can. And I’m not sure we’re better off now. The problems aren’t solved; they’re only different.”
Lee pushed himself up on his forearms and gazed down into her face. “I think you’re a very smart lady,” he said.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she answered, smiling. Her smile faded slowly as she met his gaze and awareness grew between them. Jennifer was very conscious of his almost naked torso above her, the proximity of that powerful, agile body. She tried to sit up, and he pinned her, holding her arms and leaning into her. Prone, submissive, she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, his breath fanning her cheek. The black eyes seared hers. Then his lashes obscured them as his face came closer and he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss began tentatively, as all first kisses do, but it was only seconds before Jennifer was kissing him back passionately. She had known all along that she desired him, but the abstract idea was nothing compared with burning reality. His mouth was wonderful, drugging, sensitive and mobile, and a treasure of delights to explore. His tongue probed hers, and she yearned against him, eager for more.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you,” he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear, and then back to her lips. He adjusted his position to lie more fully against her, and she gasped as she felt him, ready, against her thigh. His hands slid underneath her to press her to him, and she clasped her arms around his neck.
He raised his head and looked around, and Jennifer realized with alarm that he was checking to see if anyone was watching them, if it was safe to make love to her there, hidden in the small, enclosed wood.
Jennifer began to struggle. The man was mad. If he thought she would be a partner to an outdoor romp in the middle of a park, he was in for a rude awakening.
“Let me go,” she demanded, and he released her instantly, rolling off her. She struggled to her feet, brushing bits of leaves and grass and other debris from her clothes. She felt ridiculous, ashamed.
He stood also, with his hands jammed in his pockets, his hair falling forward over one eye.
“What are you so upset about?” he asked. “I kissed you. You kissed me back.”
Of course, Jennifer thought. He did this sort of tiling all the time.
“Why did you push me away?” he wanted to know.
“You may be in the habit of casual rolls in the hay during coffee breaks, but I certainly am not,” Jennifer said.