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“Take the shot, Nolan.”
“Oh, shit. Guess you mean business, Adams.”
Holden smiles and shakes his head.
I move left but spin right and shoot. If I dribble, I’m sure he’ll steal the ball in about two seconds.
Miraculously, it goes in.
I throw my arms up to celebrate.
Holden goes after the ball, dribbling back over to me with a serious expression that I find as attractive as his impressive physique. He’s even more competitive than I am. Losing to anyone—even me—always pisses him off.
“Still my ball,” I remind him, just to rub it in a little.
“Not for long.”
I grin, his confidence bolstering my own.
This time I gamble, dribbling right into him. It works for a couple of seconds. But as soon as I try to get past him, Holden’s hand sneaks out, snagging the ball easily. He spins and shoots, theswishas his perfect arc falls beautiful and irritating.
“Fuck,” I grumble, pulling the elastic out of my hair and scraping it together into another ponytail. As if that’ll help.
Holden grins, spinning the ball on one finger.
I push him toward the center court line. “Stop gloating and start playing.”
“Thatwas a foul. You’re not going to call yourself?”
“You told me I couldn’t be ref,” I remind him.
Holden rolls his eyes but dribbles back to the line.
He shoots from there this time, not even taking one step forward. I turn to watch it sink in, sighing when it does.
“What’s the score, ref?”
I groan. “We’re not calling fouls.”
Holden would never hurt me. Physically. He’s inflicted plenty of emotional scars, some on this very court.
And he’s right, I’m not above blurring the lines a little bit.
He smirks, then goes to retrieve the ball.
I rush him as soon as he’s back into position, deliberately colliding our bodies together.
Holden holds the ball above his head, out of my reach.
“Whatcha doing, flower?”
I want to kiss him.
His skin is hard and hot against mine. His smirk is teasing me. Daring me.
“Playing basketball.”
“Not baseball? Because this feels like second base.”
