“How about sex?”
“Yes, please.” His voice was deep and husky.
I pulled back and took him with me so we sat facing each other.
“We can’t have sex.”
“What?” His eyebrows flew to his hairline.
“Noah, don’t get me wrong. If there were no consequences, I would take you somewhere and not let you get out of bed for a week straight. But if we’re faking a marriage, adding sex will make it messy. We’re already too familiar with each other.”
“It’s like a real marriage then. No sex.” He pouted.
“Tell me more about the kids and your friend’s project.”
“You’re saying yes?”
“Ask me the question again.”
He smiled and took my hand. “Lior Van Stern, will you agree to be my husband in sickness and health, blue balls and heated gazes, charitable events and business needs, until divorce do us part?”
I laughed. “Yes, Noah. I’ll marry you.”
Noah
“You’re getting worse, Grandpa,” West shouted from the other side of the court.
I passed the ball to my nearest teammate, Joel, who then cut to the opposite block to clear out the ball side.
“Have you seen the white hair?” Avi yelled.
I flipped him the bird.
“Are you allowed to do that?”
I smirked. I probably wasn’t. As a volunteer mentor, I was supposed to be supportive and help these cocky teenagers navigate the challenges of life. But this was the Star Finders youth on the basketball court. It was an all-out war.
Joel lost the ball to the defense, but I saw an opportunity for a backdoor play and went for it. My sneakers scuffed on the concrete. I loved that sound. It meant I was moving, doing something. A rush of adrenaline coursed through me, making me feel alive.
“He’s definitely slowing down. Must be arthritis,” Avi yelled back at his teammate.
Fucking kids with their young energy and unfiltered confidence.
West, who was usually on my team, had deflected to the enemy team because Drew had to go in to work, so the kids were already one teammate down.
Not only had he deflected, but he was joining in with their jabs.
“There’s no white hair,” I said between my teeth, stealing the ball from the point guard and dribbling through the offense into the paint. “Or arthritis.”
The defense guys tried and failed to block my play. Grandpa, my ass. I took a step back and shot. Well, overshot by about a quarter of an inch, but it was enough that we wouldn’t have scored if Joel hadn’t saved it at the last minute with a dunk.
Game over.
The kids all groaned, throwing themselves dramatically onto the floor.
I laughed, high-fiving the other mentors. “And I believe that’s a winning game for the geriatric team.”
Applause sounded from the side of the court. I turned to find Lior walking toward us. In jeans and a polo shirt, he had no right to look this good when I was hot, sweaty, and probably looked like I’d been run over.
