Kit catches me looking and does the coffee cup toast again, except this time he doesn't have coffee. He just raises his empty hand and mimes it, his mouth twitching at the corner, and the gesture is so stupid that I laugh out loud on the court during warmups and Devon has to shove me to get me to focus.
The game is just as hard as we thought it would be after studying the game tapes. The other team is fast and physical and their point guard is the best I've faced all year, quick enough to make me work for every defensive possession. First quarter is tight and we end up tied at eighteen, both teams exchanging runs. I hit a pull-up jumper over a double team and point into the crowd without thinking, my finger aimed at the fourth row.
Devon grabs my jersey as we run back on defense. "Did you just point at him?"
"Focus on the game, Dev."
"You pointed at him. On the court. During a semifinal." He grins as he drops into his defensive stance. "You're so gone it's actually embarrassing."
Kit knows. I can see him go still in the bleachers, Milo leaning over to say something in his ear that makes Kit shove him without looking away from me.
Second quarter, I get into a rhythm that feels like I’ve actually found where I’m supposed to be. Devon feeds me on the break and I finish with a reverse layup that draws a foul, the gym shaking with the noise as I step to the free throw line. Kit is sitting forward in his seat with his hands gripped together and his eyes locked on me.
I sink both free throws. Marcus claps me on the back as we set up on defense. "There he is. That's the Easton we need."
"Been here all along."
"No you haven't." He grins. "But I'll take it."
We build a twelve-point lead by halftime. Coach keeps the huddle short, tells us to stay disciplined, and Devon leans over to me while the rest of the guys grab water. "Your boy looks like he's about to have a heart attack up there. Milo keeps having to stop him from standing up."
"He's invested."
"He'sinsane. I like him." Devon bumps my shoulder. "Don't blow it this half."
The second half we have to fight to stay ahead. The other team claws back within four in the third quarter, their point guard hitting a step-back three that silences our student section for a terrifying five seconds. Marcus answers with back-to-back threes of his own, screaming at their bench as the lead pushes back to ten, Devon yelling from across the court, "That's what we DO!"
Fourth quarter, Devon and I run the pick and roll we've been perfecting since freshman year. He drives left, I roll to the rim, and the lob he throws is so perfect that the dunk shakes the backboard. The student section storms to their feet and Devon chest-bumps me so hard I stumble backward.
"THAT'S MY POINT GUARD!" he screams in my face, grabbing my head with both hands. "THAT'S MY GUY!"
The final buzzer sounds with us up by nine. My teammates swarm the court, Devon jumping on my back, Marcus grabbing my jersey, Terrell somewhere in the pile yelling something about the championship that gets lost in the noise. Coach is on the sideline with his clipboard pressed against his chest, nodding like a man who expected this all along.
However, there’s only one person I want to see right now. My eyes scan the bleachers, finding Kit still in the fourth row. He's standing with his arms at his sides and his eyes on me, waiting for me to make a move.
This is it.
The moment I publicly claim my Omega in front of the entire school. I shake Devon off my back and walk toward the bleachers. The crowd parts without me asking, Kit’s breathing kicking up as I draw closer.
I reach the third row and stop in front of him, looking up because the bleacher step puts us at almost the same height foronce. "Hey," I say, breathing hard, grinning so wide my face hurts.
"You pointed at me," he says, and his voice is unsteady. "In front of everyone. You pointed at me."
"I did."
"People saw that."
"I hope so." The noise quiets a little on this side of the gym, students from our school locking in on the moment. Milo and Avery have skittered off somewhere but this moment is about me and Kit. “I’m so fucking sorry about the way I treated you,” I state, keeping my voice level so everyone in the vicinity can hear it. “That was no way to treat you or anyone and my own shortcomings got in the way.”
Kit’s brows raise as he straightens up a little. “What are you doing?!”
“I’m saying words I should have fucking said a long time ago. That I’m sorry. That I don’t deserve you. That my shortcomings were never your fault and I’m going to spend a lot of time proving that to you. If you’ll let me.”
His gaze narrows at me as I step closer, waiting for his response. His lips part and then close before parting again, Milo whispering ‘say something, Kit’ at the same time Avery says, ‘everyone’s watching!’. Kit glances around and then back at me before grabbing the front of my jersey with both hands and pulls me up into a kiss that tastes like sweat and victory and the caramel coffee he insists he doesn't like.
Everything else fades away until it’s just us, my hands itching to reach for him. We break apart and he leans in, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "You're mine now, asshole. Don't forget it."
Fuck it.
