He slings an arm around my shoulders and shepherds me over to the court. My heart is hammering in my chest. I realize what this must look like—whatwemust look like. I give him a gentle shove.Fuck me.Only a few weeks ago, he gave me the ick. And now, just like that, there’s a closeness blossoming between us. I try my hardest to push it out of my mind.
I can feel his eyes on me as he opens the gate to let me in, swooping down into a low bow and reaching for the ball.
“Now that practice is back on, you should probably mix things up a little,” I say, letting my backpack fall to the ground. “You should do something totally non-basketbally on your lunch breaks.”
As soon I straighten, he flings the ball my way. And in one instinctive move, I snag it, puffing my chest out with pride.
He smirks at me. “Non-basketbally? We could—”
“Do not finish that thought, Wolinski.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“Whenever you think sexy thoughts, you do that mouth thing.”
He frowns. “What mouth thing? I can show you a couple of mouth th—”
I throw the ball at his face, cutting him off, and without taking his eyes off mine, he bends his left arm and shoots.
Swish!
“Wow.” My eyebrows wing up. “Okay, I’m impressed.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He scoops up the ball. “Your turn.”
I make the catch and spin toward the hoop, dribbling up to the line, squinting into the sun and lining up my shot before sending the ball sailing through the air. The backboard squeaks, and we’re in—two points, Wolinski.
“Beginner’s luck,” I hear him mutter.
He lunges for the ball and shows off some fancy footwork around the hoop before executing the perfect dunk.
“Show-off!”
The next hour flies by, and Donovan is only one point ahead. Guess I forgot to tell him that while I suck at dribbling, free throws are my jam.
He smiles approvingly. “You’re definitely a Wolinski.”
“You haven’t seen me actually run with a ball yet,” I warn. “Trust me, that’s a whole different vibe.”
“Still—I’m impressed.”
“What can I say? I’m an only child.” I shrug. “So, think long summer evenings, just me and the old, rusty hoop at the end of the street.”
“I thought you were just the ultimate bookworm…”
“Most of the time, I was. Until a superhot neighbor moved in. Me and Greyson used to play.”
“You guys date?”
I shake my head. “The day he told me Santa didn’t really exist was the last time we spoke.”
“He let you win every now and then?”
“Not when we’d play strip basketball.”
He throws me the ball. “Game on.”
“In your dreams.” I snort.
