That was one thing we had in common.
“First to ten,” she said.
I stood in the spot she’d pointed out, grinning. “I’m not going to hold back.”
“I’d hate you if you did.” She spread her arms wide to defend me, her eyes fiery.
Boundaries established, I inbounded. Right away, she crossed me, throwing an arm out and hitting me in the chest.
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Aggressive.”
“It’s my house,” she said, effortlessly going for another layup.
“So you play prison rules?” I asked. Damn, it felt good to spar with her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She winked, then shot a three from the edge of the driveway, sinking it easily.
From there, she only continued to dominate. I’d had no idea how distracting she’d be while playing.
When she shoved her ass into me while dribbling around me.
When her tits brushed my arm while she defended me.
What I thought would be a friendly way to blow off steam was winding me up in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
“How’d you learn to shoot like that?” I asked when I got control of the ball again.
“My dad,” she said, her face flushed from exertion. “He’s an asshole,but I was the tallest of his three daughters, so we spent every weekend in the driveway. He really wanted a son.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said, trying to fake her out.
Naturally, she could read me. With far too much ease, she stole the ball and cleared it to the crack.
Shit, I was going to embarrass myself.
“He’d disagree,” she said. “My parents have been divorced a long time, and they’re both remarried. They do not, on principle, agree on anything, except that I’m a disappointment.”
I came to an abrupt halt, frowning at her, remembering all the painful stories she’d shared the other night. These people were monsters, and I’d love nothing more than to tell them that.
“You could never be a disappointment. I know parental scars run deep, but I want you to hear me right now.”
She froze and we stared at each other for a moment.
“You are magnificent,” I said. “Beautiful and brilliant and so fucking capable. Maybe you’ve made some mistakes alongthe way, just like the rest of us, but you are so far from a disappointment.”
She blinked at me, the outdoor lights casting part of her face in shadow. “I… Um.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” I said firmly.
I resumed dribbling, and she came at me hard. “It took a long time—plus a lot of therapy and a move to rural Vermont—to convince myself that their opinions were bullshit,but yeah.” She gestured to her body. “My mom has always been horrified by my size and my inability to find a suitable husband. And my dad? He took issue with my size too, plus, in his mind, I wasn’t smart enough or good enough at sports to deserve his attention. I was nothing more than the ordinary middle child.”
My brain struggled to process all the information she was sharing and figure out how to respond in a way that wouldn’t shut her down. Evie was usually a tightly closed book. But she was talking. To me. Again.
The other night had not been a fluke or hormones. We were building trust.
Fucking patience. It was so goddamn annoying but usually did the trick. I mentally gave my dad a high-five.
Finally, I held her gaze and said, “Nothing about you is ordinary.”
