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Kiss, definitely kiss him.
* * *
After the youth league games end, Jamie sticks around to judge the outcome of my bet with Preston.
Jamie hands the ball to me after I win the coin toss. “You’re up, Bex.”
I take the ball from him, palming it in my hand.
“You ready to do this?” I ask Preston.
Preston moves his hands to his narrow hips, pushing up his T-shirt enough for me to see the ridges of his well-defined abs, distracting me.Damn him.Did he do that on purpose?He licks his lips following my line of sight. He knows what he’s doing.Jerk.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he says with a defiant smirk.
I take the ball through my legs, switching between hands, dribbling as I pass Preston on my way to the basket to make a layup. The ball goes into the basket with ease, and I hold up my hands, victorious.
“She scores,” I say, passing the ball to Preston. “Think you can match it?”
H-O-R-S-E requires the second player to match the shot. If I had missed the layup, Preston could have taken any shot he wanted.
He waves me off, a smirk touching his lips. “Please, girl, I got this. I learned how to make a layup when I was still in diapers.”
“You have to do a crossover, too,” I remind him. “That’s part of the shot.”
He snickers. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
His mom made theCoachman Crossoverpopular when she played basketball for Villanova. I should have known better. He’s skilled with a ball, his talents apparent when he buzzes by me in a blur. Both of his parents have rubbed off on him. Preston is naturally athletic as if each fluid movement is programmed into his muscle memory, gifted to him at birth.
The ball hits the backboard and drops into the basket.
Jamie grabs it from beneath the net. “You two are both showoffs. At this rate, we’ll be here all day.”
“This will probably be the longest game of H-O-R-S-E in history,” I deadpan.
“Not if I can help it.” Preston grins at me like an idiot. “You’re going down, sweetheart. I never lose.”
I nudge him in the side with my elbow. “I wouldn’t speak so soon.”
“Would you guys kiss and get it over with already?”
I stare at Jamie, horrified. A silence passes between Preston and me.
Preston ignores him, pushing his hands out in front of him. “My turn. Pass the ball, Jamie.”
Preston starts at the top of the key, his eyes full of determination. He’s not used to losing. Neither am I.
In an unexpected turn of events, Preston dribbles stopping two feet from the basket and raises the ball to attempt a Skyhook. And the fucker actually sinks it.
“Oh, so now you think you’re Kareem?” I shake my head, annoyed. “You’re one dirty-ass player, Parker. Technically, trick shots are not allowed in H-O-R-S-E.”
“Are you punking out of our bet already?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Or are you too intimidated to play me fair and square?”
I let out a puff of air. “No. Fancy shots like that are questionable.”
“It’s a hook shot. There’s nothing fancy about it,” he challenges.
“Fine, you win, Parker.”
