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“These shots are almost certainly going to go viral. And Bryce will get ad revenue from the posts. You’re going to raise so much money for youth football.” Lizzy pauses. “Please?”

Cass glances over at me like I’m covered in warts and smell like a sewer. She looks back at Lizzy, whose brows are raised, eyes wide.

“Oh. Okay,” Cass says. “If he’s willing, I’m willing. For the kids.”

“I’m willing,” I say. How bad could this be?

Bad. It could be really bad.

Over the next few minutes, we’re returned to our back-to-back position, the scattered flowers are reassembled, and I clasp them in one hand. We do a take-two of our fake first impression.

When our hands touch, Cass holds mine with a death grip—as if she’s trying to channel all her irritation through her fist.

This time, when we speak back-to-back, she says, “Do what they say so we can get this over with.”

“You might want to take your own advice,” I say back to her.

My words come so quickly, without any thought. No one riles me up like she does. I never talk to anyone like I just did to her, not unless I’m teasing with one of the guys on the team.

“I ought to?” she says. “There you go, Delaney, bossing people again.”

“I’m a quarterback, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

Why did I call her sweetheart? I’m from Mississippi. But I don’t even know if my upbringing has anything to do with it.

I can tell Cass is about to spit nails, but Bryce cuts her off, “Okay, you two, let’s have you turn around and when you face one another, smile or look surprised, but in a sweet way, not … so … uh … murderous.”

I chuckle. Was it that bad? I was shocked. And Cass is definitely the last woman I’d like to be paired with for … well, anything … but I didn’t think I looked murderous.

Bryce says, “Whenever you’re ready,” and we turn. To my surprise, Cass smiles up at me. And for the briefest moment, I think she’s going to bury the hatchet, but there’s this glimmer in her eye that tells me the only place the hatchet would be buried is in my skull.

“Good. Good,” Bryce says. “Give her the flowers, Marcus.”

I do as I’m told. And Cass takes the flowers, sniffing them and smiling up at me again. I don’t know what the camera sees, but I’m pretty sure she’d like to shove that bouquet where the sun doesn’t shine. She’s smiling, but nothing about her smile is putting me at ease.

“Great! Great,” Bryce says, “Let’s have you keep looking into one another’s eyes. Good. That’s perfect.”

We’re taken through the park, holding hands. I give her my non-throwing hand since she seems bent on breaking a bone with the grip she has on me.

Bryce shoots photos of us all along the walk, occasionally shouting out something like, “Spin her like you’re dancing, Marcus,” or “Could you pause here, cup her cheeks and look into her eyes?” I do as I’m told. Cass does too, but at close range her resistance is boiling over like a molten pot of lava.

We make it to the bridge over the river that cuts through the park, and Bryce directs us to get us into the pose he wants.

“Cass, lean on the railing and look out over the water. And Marcus, if you could come up behind her and sort of cage her in with your body. Now wrap your arms around her.”

“Don’t even think of throwing me over this railing,” Cass says under her breath, her words coming out from behind her clenched smile.

“And she reads minds too,” I tease.

Not that I was going to actually consider throwing her over the railing, but I’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross my mind.

“Great,” Bryce says. “Now, Cass, lean back on Marcus and turn your head so you can look up over your shoulder at him. And Marcus, look down into Cass’s eyes.”

We do as we’re told. Cass’s eyes are brown, a deep chocolate with a hint of amber.

“Marcus, could you place a kiss on Cass’s forehead …”