She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly am I learning?”
“High school basketball,” I said, resting my forearms on the table, keeping my tone casual. “It’s the heart of Grove Hill High. That and baseball, but we’ll get to that later. You should know the rules if you’re going to live here.” I let that last part hang in the air, watching to see how she reacted.
Her lips curved slightly, but she didn’t bite. “I don’t know, Weston. I wasn’t exactly a sports girl in high school. But by all means, educate me.”
I leaned forward, closing the space between us just enough that her eyes flickered to mine, like she wasn’t sure if I was going to talk basketball or something else entirely.
“All right, first lesson,” I said, picking up a sugar packet and holding it up like it was part of a play. “You’ve got five players on the court per team. One of them is the point guard. He’s the leader, the one who calls the plays. Think of him as the person who always has a plan.”
“So ... you?” she teased, tilting her head.
I grinned. “I was a shooting guard, actually. Which means I took the shots.” I paused, letting my gaze drop to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. “Made most of them too.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “So modest.”
“Would you rather I lie?”
Antonia rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her fingers toyed with the napkin in front of her, like she was nervous. Time to push just a little more.
“What about you?” I asked, shifting gears. “What did you do in high school? Besides, you know, prepare to take over the corporate world.”
She exhaled, like she hadn’t thought about it in a while. “Debate team, yearbook committee. I was busy.”
“Of course you were.” I smirked. “What about fun? Anything reckless? Snuck out past curfew? Kissed a boy under the bleachers?”
Her cheeks tinted pink, but she narrowed her eyes at me playfully. “That’s a very specific question. Did you kiss a girl under the bleachers, Weston?”
I chuckled. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
She scoffed, but there was a glint in her eye that told me she was enjoying this. Before I could press further, the waiter arrived to take our orders, but we hadn’t even looked at the menu.
“Can we have a few more minutes?” The young kid, who I didn’t recognize, nodded.
“You didn’t deny it. Which means you have a rebellious streak.”
She huffed out a laugh. “I plead the Fifth.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “You’re going to be a terrible basketball student, aren’t you?”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But I don’t need to know the game to cheer for Cutter, do I?”
I shook my head. “No, you definitely don’t.”
We took a few minutes and looked at the menu. We placed our order when the young man came back and waited for our drinks. Once we had those, I told her more about the ins and outs of the game.
Our food came and we ate, the conversation flowing easily between questions about our lives. She told me about her work at Caldwell & Crest, and I filled her in on my years playing professional ball. We talked about family, her siblings, and how she considered Miri her sister even though she had one. It felt natural, like we’d been sitting in this booth for years instead of just one night.
When we finished, I walked her outside, the winter air crisp around us. She turned to me, wrapping her arms around herself, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else.
“Thanks for dinner and the adult conversation that didn’t revolve around tears and my best friend dying,” she said softly.
“Anytime.” I reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before she could react. Then, before she had a chance to step back, I leaned in and pressed a light kiss against her cheek. Just enough to linger, just enough to make her wonder.
When I pulled away, she stared at me for a moment, something unreadable in her eyes. Then, she smiled, a small, knowing smile that told me she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to be.
Good.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and stepped back. “Next time, I’ll teach you how to dribble.”
