Page 16 of Unforgettable Player

In typical Scout fashion, she cannonballs into the pool, splashing water onto my feet.

As much as she’d loathe to admit it, Scout and Connor aren’t really that different. Connor also likes to cannonball into the pool and soak everyone within splashing distance. Except whenever Connor splashed me, I’d be immobilized. Trying not to move because water from Connor Ryan’s body was touching me.

My face flushes and I’m glad Scout is too busy swimming to see.

CONNOR

Today’s practice was tough. I didn’t realize how hard being an assistant coach would be when I agreed to do it. Or how much being out of practice would kick my ass. It’s a good kind of exhaustion that washes over me as I stand under the spray in the shower, though.

That adrenaline rush you get from a good practice session is there. I guess being around hockey is tricking my brain into thinking nothing’s changed and that I’m actually still playing.

I pass Coach on my way out. He slaps me on the back again and tells me I did a good job. I allow it to pump me up a little, but not too much. This isn’t my plan. Coaching junior hockey isn’t going to get me where I need to be. But I can enjoy knowing I’m acing it while I’m here.

My good mood sours when I get back to the house and spot only Scout’s VW parked outside. Mom and Dad must still be at work.

I know Scout calls everyone losers, but it doesn’t exactly feel good to be on the receiving end of that sharp tongue of hers. I don’t know when we went from being friends to having all this animosity. I know she was pissed about me getting into Harvard, but literally anyone would accept their place at fucking Harvard. And then when she got into M.I.T. and told everyone that M.I.T. is a better school for S.T.E.M. subjects anyway, I thought we’d be cool again, but no.

I square my shoulders before I let myself into the house, focusing on how hungry I am instead.

Scout and Elliot must be upstairs, despite how warm it is. They’re not in the living room watching a movie or hanging out in the kitchen. But then I hear the tinny sound of Scout’s speakers. The noise is coming from the garden, so I stand at the kitchen window and peer out. Sure enough, there are Scout’s feet sticking out of the pool while she does a handstand.

All the other shit disappears as I’m reminded of all the hours we’d spend in the pool as kids. Making up our own stupid games, playing basketball with that inflatable hoop. Trying to drown her while she practiced her handstands. Good times.

I glance away from Scout’s feet and find Elliot sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. Shit.

When was the last time I saw Elliot without a shirt on? I’ve probably seen him a hundred times in nothing but his shorts. I'm sure he was present for most of those pool basketball games and drowning sessions—I probably tried to drown him at some point, too. It was always natural for him to be around; he’s like a part of the family. Except the effect of seeing him leaning back on his elbows, his bare chest glistening with pool water, is not the kind of effect family has on you.

His hair is wet and slicked back from his face, and without his glasses on, he couldn’t look more naked if he tried.

When he glances up, his gaze travels toward the window, as if sensing he’s being watched.

He catches me staring at him. Fuck. I try to style it out and wave.

He gives me an uncertain smile and waves back.

Okay, act natural. Elliot cannot know you’re lusting after him. It’s weird. Definitely not allowed. Think … how would I act if I hadn’t suddenly started finding Elliot attractive?

I make my sandwich and bring it outside, perching on the edge of a lounger where a well-read copy of The Brothers Karamazov sits. I put my plate down next to it and pick it up to study the back. The glossy surface has little cracks running through it and the picture on the cover is a gloomy painting of two guys in long, dark coats. I flip it open to the first page and immediately recognize Elliot’s messy handwriting in blue ink. A weird rush of affection forces me off balance, but I do my best to act natural as I lift my head.

He isn’t even looking at me. He’s too busy watching Scout. She’s still upside down with her head in the water. How long has she been holding her breath? That girl could win a gold medal out of pure stubbornness.

She finally comes up for air. Her hair sticks to her head, making her look like a seal. I hold back from commenting. Now I’m here, I don’t want her to make me leave.

She spots me after she’s rubbed the water from her eyes and her whole demeanor changes. Fuck, why does my baby sister hate me so much?

“What are you doing here?”

I force a smile until my face is uncomfortably tight. “Nice to see you, too, sis.”

She rolls her eyes and swims over to the edge where Elliot is. I shouldn’t be surprised by how close they are, but when she rests her arms on Elliot’s bare knees and says something to him in a low voice, an ugly sensation suspiciously close to jealousy twists inside me.

They laugh and Scout swims back into the center of the pool.

I watch her do a few leisurely laps in the water while I eat my sandwich, painfully aware of Elliot so nearby.

When he gets up and starts walking toward me, I momentarily forget how to breathe. It’s just Elliot, for fuck’s sake. Pull yourself together.

I realize that I stole his seat when he takes the lounger that Scout’s sunglasses are sitting on.