I snap my head toward him. “I’m observing.”
He smirks. “Sure. Observing with your mouth half-open.”
I shut my mouth and flip him off.
Drew just laughs. He’s enjoying this too much.
The game hasn’t even started and I already feel wired, the energy in the crowd sinking into my skin. People chant, stomp, clap in unison. Every time the announcer’s voice booms out of the speakers, the noise spikes.
When the players line up for tip-off, Drew leans closer. “Okay, so do you even know how this works?”
“Ball goes in hoop,” I say flatly.
He snorts. “Wow. Scholar.”
“You gonna explain or just keep being an ass?”
“Both,” he says cheerfully. “So, see the guy in the middle? They’re gonna toss the ball up, and whoever gets it, that team starts with possession.”
“Possession.”
“Yeah, like in soccer.”
“I don’t watch soccer either.”
“You’re hopeless.” He shakes his head, amused. “Just follow the ball, man. And if our guys score, you cheer. If the other team scores, you boo.”
“That I can handle.”
The ref tosses the ball. The players leap. Ollie moves like gravity’s his friend instead of his enemy, snatching the ball midair and tipping it to a teammate. The crowd explodes. I jolt, adrenaline sparking in my veins.
“See?” Drew says. “He’s good.”
I don’t need the commentary. I can see it. He runs the court like it’s an equation only he knows the answer to—fast but calculated, eyes scanning, body always in control. When the ball comes back to him, he drives in, pivots, passes so clean it’s like the ball just wanted to be where he put it.
I lean forward, hooked.
Drew watches me watch him, smug as hell. “Wow. You’re gone.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, I’ve never seen you this focused on anything that isn’t music or tequila.”
I don’t answer. My eyes track Ollie’s every move. The way his hair sticks damp to his forehead already. The crease of concentration between his brows. The way he calls out plays—not loud like his teammates, but clear, decisive, cutting through the noise anyway.
He’s not flashy. He doesn’t need to be. He directs, commands, like the whole court is tuned to his frequency.
It’s unfair how compelling it is.
I tell myself the reasons why I’m watching so intently—like a litany I’ve practiced since our gaze met.Friendship… I could totally be his friend. Even as I think it, I call myself a liar. What I should be doing is backing the fuck up right now before ruining alife that doesn’t belong to me. Because if there’s even an inkling that he’s interested, abso-fucking-lutely I’m going to make him mine.
My focus is unhealthy and, considering we’ve barely exchanged more than a few syllables, bordering on obsession. But here, with him running the floor like the whole game bends to his will? All reason falls apart in seconds. I can’t drag my eyes off him.
“Rumor has it,” Drew says casually, “he turned down offers to play somewhere else. Big schools. Stayed here because of his family.”
I blink, tearing my eyes from the court. “Where’d you hear that?” I know his parents live thousands of miles away, and honestly, from what I discovered about them and their affiliations, I would have gone as far away as possible too. It just surprises me that there’s gossip about it.
“Friend of a friend. My ex’s roommate’s boyfriend or something.” He shrugs. “Could be bullshit. But it tracks. Look at him—guy’s a control freak.”
