“Come on, Coleman. Get in offense position.”
He silently complies, rolling his dark blue sleeves over his thick forearms. The arrogance with which he looks down at me tells me he doesn’t expect me to be any good at this. But I used to play with Rafael, with a hoop on the side of the house. My mission was always to annoy the shit out of him so he’d work on his faints. I’m terrible at scoring points, but I can bereallyannoying when I try.
“Are you ready?” I wonder.
“I should be the one asking that.”
I snort, unimpressed by his confidence.
As if he wants to make me swallow back my brattiness, he moves into action. Rapid like lightning, he dribbles the ball past me and throws a perfect basket before I can even process what’s happening. Incredulous, I turn around just in time to see the ball pass through without even touching the backboard.Damn, he’s good.
“Pick up your jaw, Walker,” he teases as he returns with the ball.
“Okay, I didn’t know what to expect, but consider me warned.” He comes between me and the basket and throws me the ball. “Oh, no. I don’t do that part. I’m way too bad at it.”
“Humor me, then. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Sighing, I take a few steps back to think of a strategy. When I launch myself with determination, his swift hand easily steals the ball away from me. I watch as he dribbles out of the markings and easily scores a three-pointer.
“That wasn’t gentle,” I disappointedly mumble.
“Alright, I’ll tone it down even more.”
We play for a moment, and I’m a little better at defense than on our first attempt, stealing the ball a few times and even scoring once. As for the offense, I can tell how much he’s holding back, allowing me to attempt a few shots despite his obvious superiority.
I’m still getting crushed, though, so I switch tactics. “Oh, my God! What is that?!” I shout, pointing behind him.
Like the fool he is, he turns around, and I hurriedly dribble forward. To my dismay, he reacts too fast and grabs me by the waist, lifting me off the ground to stop my enterprise. His hurried motion makes me spin halfway around as I squeal.
“I didn’t know you were a cheater,” he mutters in my ear as he puts me down, his front plastered to my back.
“You left me no choice. I was desperate.”
With his muscular body flush against mine, I forget all about the game. A look around tells me we’re still alone, so I twist, with his arm keeping me close.
When I look up into his mesmerizing eyes, I see that he also forgot about the game and is thinking of this, of our closeness, of how easy it would be to kiss. The hunger in his gaze weakens my knees, and my lips part with the need to taste his. We’re stranded in time, wrapped in a bubble that doesn’t go any further than this embrace. His arm moves away from my back so his hand can rest on my hip instead.
“Ask me,” he whispers.
And I want to. God, I want to ask for a kiss. But we’re on a work trip, and there might be cameras, and this is incriminating enough.
“Lex,” I start, my voice uneven.
I’m still distractedly holding the ball, and it makes me think of an escape with potential benefits. I stretch up just a little, and when he lowers, convinced we’re about to kiss, I rip myself away from him.
Adrenaline rushes through me as I dribble to the basket and throw the ball with a small prayer. It bounces off the backboard, rolls on the edge, and, to my delight, tilts inside.
When I proudly turn around, Lex is exactly where I left him, slight shock lingering on his handsome face. “Pick up your jaw, Coleman. In basketball and in war, there are no rules.”
Humor lights up in his stormy eyes, and he catches the ball I throw at him. “Actually, there are very specific rules, but I’ll let it slide.”
Of course, he scores on his last turn, bringing us to a pathetic eleven to four.
“You’re really good at this,” I concede as we return the ball to its rack.
“Thank you. I started as part of my physical therapy and kept playing because I enjoyed it.”
“You had to do physical therapy?”
