“Carrie!” There’s that booming voice again.
Oliver is expecting me to introduce myself in return, I know—but instead I whip around. And then I see him. Donovan, all sweaty and topless, standing in the middle of the court, a basketball tucked under one arm. He waves at me.
“Get your ass over here!”
I pull a face and glance around, like I’m wondering whether he’s talking to me.
“Is that your boyfriend?” asks the English guy.
“Huh?”
Oliver jerks his chin over at the basketball court, frowning as he takes a step back, and I follow his gaze. Donovan is watching us. Suddenly, he starts to run toward us, vaulting over the wire fence like it’s the easiest thing in the world, streaming across the lawn, and people are starting to stare. My shoulders tense. Why do I suddenly feel so exposed?
By the time he gets to me, the sexy British dude is nowhere to be seen.
“Didn’t mean to scare your new friend.” Donovan smirks at me. “Who was that, by the way?”
“My fiancé. He just doesn’t know it yet.” I scowl at him. “Can I help you, or are you just practicing your cockblocking skills?”
He laughs. “The guy crapped his pants when he saw me. I just saved you from the ultimate limp-dick experience,” he adds. “You should be thanking me.”
“How can I make it up to you?” I drawl.
Considering what happens every time we meet, I’m wishing I never asked.
Donovan lowers his voice. “See that tree over there?”
I hold up both hands. “I take it back. I need to call a time-out. I’m covered in bruises, and I’m pretty sure I need a hip replacement.”
“Poor baby.” He winks, and I roll my eyes at him.
“But seriously,” he continues, “how are you doing?”
“Good.”
“Plans for today?”
I nod. “I’m going to head home and do some reading.”
He gestures over at the court. “I’m practicing my shot. You in?”
“You want us to play basketball?” I burst out laughing. “Oh, man…”
He looks confused. “What’s so crazy about that?”
What’s crazy is that our relationship revolves around book-boyfriend talk and structural tests on campus walls. Him inviting me to throw a few hoops rattles me. Though there’s no way I’m ever admitting that.
“I don’t know how to play,” I try.
That should do it.
“Amazing!” he crows. “I’m in the mood to crush someone.”
I eye him. “Is your egoseriouslythat fragile?”
“It seriously is. But I could show you who’s boss in other ways, too.” He smiles knowingly. “There’s this nice smooth wall by the cafeteria—”
“Five minutes,” I warn, squaring my shoulders. “As many as we can shoot in five. But as you know, I’m a pretty sore loser—so you better plan on letting me win!”
