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“That was dumb,” I tell him. “And unnecessary.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“What if he tells his coach? Presses charges?”
“He won’t.”
“You sure? Because it seems like he has a vindictive streak to me.”
“He also has an ego the size of Connecticut. You think he wants to spread around what just happened? He won’t do anything.”
“Well, congrats,” I say as we reach his truck.
“Thanks.”
Holden tosses his bag into the bed of his truck, then unzips it. He pulls out a blue cold pack, then climbs into the driver’s side.
My breath is visible as I sigh, then get in next to him.
“Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine. I took an elbow to the side during the second quarter,” he explains. “Team doc was being extra cautious is all.”
I take the cold pack from him and press it gently against his red knuckles.
“I had it handled,” I say. “You didn’t need to get involved.”
Holden scoffs. “Yeah, I did.”
“You guys won the game.”
“I didn’t hit him because he’s a shitty basketball player. I hit him because he was talking to you.”
“You can’t punch every guy who talks to me, Holden.”
He smirks. “Watch me.”
“I’m serious. You guys should be celebrating tonight. And he wasn’t doing anything.”
“Yeah, he was.”
I exhale, realizing this isn’t an argument I’ll win.
“I’m still fighting for you, flower.”
When I look over at Holden, he’s smirking.
“I didn’t mean that literally.”
“Come here.”
After a second of deliberation, I crawl across the seat into his lap. I can barely fit between his body and the wheel. If my butt sets off the horn, I’ll be humiliated.
But it’s hard to focus on anything but Holden when his attention is totally focused on me.
“You won,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I know. Wasn’t sure we would.”
