“Just looking a little focused there, that’s all.”
“Iwasfocused—on the idea I just had.”
Grayson steps closer, bringing a wash of body heat with him. It brushes against my skin, as taunting as his tone. “No, you can’t take a photo of me and frame it on your wall.”
I roll my eyes, too aware that he doesn’t smell as rancid as a sweaty man should. “When we win, you’re taking me with you for a full day of work on the farm.” When he blinks, I add, “For content.”
Knowing him, he’d twist my request and force me into physical labor all day.
“Fine.”
It only took him a second to consider my offer. “Really? That easy?”
He glances around guilelessly. “It appears so.”
“You’re going to take me out with you for a full day of work,” I state, just to make sure hetrulyunderstands me.
“No, I’m not.” When my face scrunches in confusion, he says, “You’re not going to win.”
And that’s when I know I will doanythingto beat him and Anson to twenty points.
The next few points come fast, each of our teams matching the other. By the time we’re tied at eighteen, my forehead is slicked with sweat. JJ calls me over to the end of the court, where he’s dribbling the ball.
“You want to win this thing?”
“Yes.” I’m trying not to wheeze, while JJ sounds like he’s out for an evening stroll.
“Know how to set a pick?”
When I nod, he quickly relays the plan, and we lope down the court to where the brothers wait.
Anson comes up to guard JJ, while Grayson slides over to me. JJ dribbles hard toward me, and I run just past him, forcing Grayson and Anson to swap their defense. Anson’s slow on the uptake, leaving me free to get right in Grayson’s way as JJ drives across the court.
The pick worksperfectly.
Too perfectly.
Grayson’s too focused on keeping up with JJ to notice my placement and barrels directly into me with the force of an eighteen-wheeler.
I’m flung off my feet. Grayson comes with me, throwing his hands out just in time to catch himself.
Unlike me.
I slam into the pavement, and there’s the whoosh of a basket finding home. But I can’t celebrate the fact that we just won because I can’t breathe, my lungs frozen in my chest as a primal panic sets in.
“Woah, Boston.” It’s Grayson, crouching right at my side, face etched in concern. “Breathe.”
Breathe.How do I make myself breathe? I never have.It’s an automatic process that I’ve never had to do manually andoh my god I’m going to suffo?—
“Hey.” Two pools of whiskey dip right into my vision, calm and grounding. “You just got the breath knocked out of you. You’ve got this.”
I’ve got this.
A sliver of oxygen slides down my throat. It disappears, and my ribs stutter on another inhale that draws a sip of air. I shove it out, and my next breath is a little more full.
Pull it together.
As my body remembers how to breathe, the panic ebbs away, making room for a storm of sensations. My smarting ass. The burn on my palms. The heat of Grayson’s body that is nearly touching mine, all that bulk crouched beside me and head angled low toward mine. There’s no air between us to pull away the salt and warm musk that radiate off his skin.
