Page 96 of Wrecked

He moved toward the car, but I stopped him.

“Play me,” I dared.

He tilted his head sideways.

“One-on-one. First to five. If I win, we talk about it.”

His eyes roved over my face as I gave him my most serious pout. For a second, I thought he was going to get in the car.

“Ten,” he countered.

“Deal.” I slid off my shoes and threw them on the grass.

He questioningly eyed my bare feet.

“I can’t play in flip-flops.”

With a shrug, he opened the garage, grabbed the basketball, and then slid off his sneakers. Wearing just his socks, he dribbled the ball toward me.

“I don’t want you to say I had an advantage when I beat you.”

I wiggle my finger in a come-hither motion. “Bring it on, Reingold.”

His lips rose and fell. He was wary of letting himself be excited. His body was facing the basket. He gripped the orange ball, and with knees bent, he swished the ball right into the basket.

He held a finger up in the air. “That’s one.”

I didn’t laugh because a sheer will of determination came over me. It was my ball, and I wasn’t going to let him take it from me. I dribbled it to the side, and he was right behind me with his arms out, ready to snatch it away. He had taught me the week prior how to crossover dribble behind the back, so I did that. Then, I took a step in one direction and quickly dipped to the side, taking a second step in the other direction. It was a perfect fake-out that let me dribble the ball up the court for a layup.

I held up a finger and put it as close to his face as I could. “That’s one.”

His smirk grew bigger. “Who taught you to play like that?”

I tossed him the ball. “Coach asked if I wanted to join the team.”

“You’re kidding.” He bounced the ball off the floor between his legs, catching it on the other side of his body. “Are you gonna your senior year?”

I reached in to steal the ball but failed. “Hell no. I’d rather dance.”

“That’s my girl,” he said.

He bounced the ball away from me, heading toward the basket. We both ran to it. He reached it first, but I was quick on his back. My eyes solely on the ball, I did what I could to get it. He tried to shoot. He missed. He got it again, but I knocked it out of his hands.

He grunted. The game was on.

For an hour, we were in nonstop combat. I had him on the defensive, and I played the hardest I had in the months we had been playing. He had me down three to one for a while, but I needed him to talk.

I had an amazing boyfriend, yet I couldn’t stop thinking of Adam. It had been slow-starting. I’d lie in bed and think of something funny he’d said or find myself casually mentioning him in conversation. Yet, recently, I had been more likely to want to be with him than Brad, and that thought scared me. I had a great guy. Adam had a great guy as a best friend. I didn’t want to lose Brad. But I wanted to be around Adam.

So, I rallied. I put on my offensive game, used every play he’d taught me, and made my baskets one after the other until my breath was ragged.

And I won the game.

His hands were on his knees, his head bowed down. When he looked up, he knew it was over. “What do you want to talk about?”

My mouth opened. I had the opportunity to talk about the attraction we had, the way we’d been fighting it for months, and, most importantly, how I wasn’t able to pretend like it didn’t exist anymore.

I never got a chance to breathe the words.