Page 70 of Scoring Lessons

“Cool,” I said.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” she asked, her voice filled with skepticism.

“You’re in charge here, Olivia.” I swiped one of her hair strands behind her ear. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She gave me a small nod.

I took a step back and tapped the handle of her new suitcase. “I’ll help you pack the books, yeah?”

Her movements were quiet as she stepped around me to get started.

We finished quickly, and once I was by the door to leave, she gripped my arm before I could get away. “Thank you for today. It was fun.”

“Any time, Livvie girl.”

When she stared at me through her long eyelashes and gave me one of her blinding smiles, I matched it. It was impossible not to. The sadness was still ever-present, ever-pressing, but when I was around her, it was easy to get caught in the light she shone, like it was her natural calling. It was like standing too close to the sun and realizing I didn’t care if I burned, because at least I was with her.

“If this were a real date, I’d end it with a kiss. But, alas…” I let my words hang. Suspended in the air, traveling through time, letting her know of the possibilities of what could be.

Her throat bobbed. Blue hues turned full-blown dark. Cherry blush crept up her high cheekbones. I almost raised my hand to brush my knuckles against her soft skin but thought better of it.

“It isn’t.”

My pulse spiked like a drumbeat. Too fast and too hard for me to keep up. “Per your rules, of course.”

“Yeah.” She panted.

My eyes flicked to her chest then to her face once more, and with a simple nod, I slipped through the hotel door before I did something I couldn’t take back.

EIGHTEEN

OLIVIA

THIS WHOLE BROODY, CRYPTIC THING IS A DIFFERENT LOOK ON YOU.

Two weeks later, I was standing in front of Wesley’s bedroom door as I bit the flesh around my nails. A nervous tic that signaled my anxiety was creeping up on me.

The game we had against Utah the previous night had been rough. Sullivan was still struggling to keep up with the starting line, and Coach Sloane wasn’t making any changes. At this rate, I didn’t think we were going to the playoffs. I mean, it was too early in the season to tell, but the mistakes were too many and too obvious to not to start getting concerned.

What worried me the most—shockingly—was how much I knew this was killing Wesley.

So much so, he had missed today’s practice. Wesley Hayes—the man who had been overworking himself to the very bone—had missed practice.

That settled a fear deep in my bones I’d never experienced before.

“Wesley?”

No answer.

Daisy was next to me in heel position, staring at the door as she whined. She was a girl who enjoyed her routine too much—as every dog did—and spending time with Wesley every time he was home had become a huge part of it.

“Wesley, I’d love to know if you’re alive,” I said, louder this time.

“I’m fine.” He sounded weird. Hollow. Not the ray of sunshine he typically was.

“Are you sick?”

“No.”