The fence rattled when River pressed up against it, his free fingers curling in the holes. “Nah. I’d show you a slam dunk if I had the right shoes on.”
My eyes fell to his red sneakers, which were at least three sizes too big. “Whose are those?”
River let the ball rest between his arm and hip. “Carson’s. He has giant Hulk feet, but my shoes were soaked from walking home in the rain, and I can’t afford to skip my nightly practices. I made do with what I had.”
I curled my fingers in the hole in the fence beside Rivers. “How can you even play like that?”
“I can play with shoes too big, barefoot, and with my shoelaces tied together,” he smirked. When I made a face of disbelief, he asked, “You don’t think so?”
“Barefoot? Sure, but not with your shoelaces tied together.”
River let the basketball fall out of his hold, leaned forward, and looped the fingers on his now free hand through the holes. “I could beat you in a game with my shoelaces tied.”
Would he get this close if the fence weren’t a barrier between us?
My nostrils flared. “I doubt it.”
“Wanna bet?”
Heat swarmed in my chest. “Bet.”
One quick match—one that I would win in less than five minutes because there was no way River could competitively play with his shoelaces tied. Then, Millie and I would finish our assignments, go back home, and settle in for the night.
“Awesome,” his tone was low and enticing. “But when I win, I get a wish.”
A wish? What did I have that River would wish for?
Whatever. Even though I was sure I could win, I wasn’t about to risk selling my soul to River over some game. But when I fixed my lips to say no, an idea popped into my head.
“Fine. When I win, you have to answer one question from me completely honestly,” I stated. “No matter the question.”
His smirk wavered, but he quickly regained composure. “Bet.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find Millie on the bench like I had asked, studiously finishing her homework by herself. Good. Her struggles with homework would occupy her long enough for me to wipe the floor with my foggy-memoried childhood friend.
I slung my backpack off my shoulder and tossed it onto the damp grass. “Get ready to eat your colossal ego, River.”
River unlocked the gate to the court and told me to get ready. When I asked if we were going to warm up, he accused me of prolonging the inevitable—my loss. I snatched the ball from his grasp and went to center court, feeling more competitive than I ever had.
“Shall I go over the rules?” River asked in a terrible British accent.
“I’m not stupid,” I spoke dryly.
“I wouldn’t expect someone who doesn’t really like the game to know the rules.”
I dribbled the ball in place, but my eyes remained on his. “How do you know I don’t like the game?”
River’s eyes widened before he cleared his throat. “You said so.”
Orhe remembered I had never liked it growing up. The only times I ever played were solely because I wanted to play with him, and those were very few. He knew that.
I hummed. “Did I? I don’t remember telling you that.”
“Well, you did,” he stated quickly, but firmly, leaving no room for more denial. He crouched down and tied his shoelaces, but kept his head peering up at me. “You ready to lose, Pierce?”
There wasn’t one nervous bone in River’s body. Was it too late to back out? “You’re super cocky.”
“Nope, just confident.” He winked. “First to five wins.”
