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My cup was drained a while ago. I might have won, but Brooks was a decent opponent.
I finished the game with H-O-R, a few lucky bounces deserving most of the credit for my victory.
Brooks pulls in a deep breath that strips me of ease even before he starts talking. “Can I get your number? I’ll be here for a few more days, and I had a lot of fun hanging out with you. Would love to do it again sometime.”
I could say yes.
Shouldsay yes, probably.
My summer has sucked, and based on what little I know of him, Brooks seems like a genuinely nice guy. A unicorn, in other words.
It usually takes me a while to warm up to strangers, but I feel like I’ve known Brooks for a lot longer than however long it’s been since he came over to the bleachers.
But my head is already shaking, which I don’t realize until I notice his hopeful expression has shifted to embarrassed.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
My head keeps shaking. “No, I’m flattered. I really am. You’re great. It’s just—there’s this guy and it…” I exhale. “It’s justreallycomplicated. I’m not in a good place to start anything new.”
That sounds slightly better thanI’ve been in love with the same guy for as long as I can remember, but I’m not sure where we stand right now.
“I get it.” A little of the disappointment has disappeared from Brooks’s face. Then totally fades when he shoots me a small, cheeky grin. “If anything changes, Finn has my number.”
I nod and smile, grateful he’s not making this awkward. Hopeful there will be a day when this doesn’t feel like such a monumental moment, and I don’t feel like a cheater for even considering it. Wondering what’s different about me, that’s kept my heart loyal while everyone else seems to cycle through significant others.
“So, have you always lived in Pembrooke?” Brooks asks as we turn toward the center of the court.
It’s still crowded with people, the sound of joking and laughter switching from background noise to loud activity the closer we get.
The bleachers are totally empty, everyone except us clustered in one spot. I’ve avoided most people since I arrived an hour or so ago, only talking to Brooks and Harrison on the court’s periphery.
My stomach somersaults as we approach the commotion. I like Harrison and Mark. Finn has always been nice to me too. But they’re notmyfriends. Not really.
“Yeah, I—”
I freeze.
Blink.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing about the scene in front of me changes.
My heart free falls through my chest and lands on the cracked asphalt of the court with a silent splatter.
Holden ishere, standing with Grace Harper and Mark, who’s got one arm slung over Holden’s shoulder and is grinning widely. Grace is standing just as close to him, her blonde hair skimming Holden’s other shoulder when she tosses her head and laughs.
He looks good.
I hate that’s my second thought, but it is. Our many issues have never included a lack of attraction, and as soon as I’ve registered Holden is here, his appearance is what catches my notice next. Wearing a faded t-shirt and mesh basketball shorts, which have been his summer uniform for as long as I’ve known him, he looks taller and broader and older than the last time I saw him.
And hotter.
There’s an unmistakable tug of lust deep in my stomach, and I hate that it’s there at all, let alone after months of silence.
We haven’t spoken since he left for basketball camp.
He didn’t text.
