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Shut up.
I’m rambling, and he doesn’t care about what my job at the Winslow Grove Library entails. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see Coach Bell.” He starts bouncing the ball again, almost as if needing something to do.
Enthralled by his sinewy forearms, my knees shake, and I wipe at the corner of my mouth, worried I’m drooling. I’m not.
Good God, it has been far too long since I’ve had a good look at Oliver. Usually, if I catch a glimpse of him around town, I’ll turn around and come back later. I try my best to avoid him, and despite having any proof, I’m pretty sure if I were to be lacking in this effort, his fiancée would step in to pick up my slack.
He stares at me, curious and maybe a little concerned. Shoot, did I blank out while getting an eyeful? What was he saying? Oh, yes, Coach.
“Um, sorry. Is Coach Bell here?” I tear my eyes away from him to the far corner where the office is.
“Nah, he left but said I could stick around.” Again, he drops his chin to his chest, and when he looks back at me, his cheeks are flushed.
Is he blushing? Why?
“Okay.” Although that’s all I say, he must hear the curiosity in my voice or maybe he wants to talk to me some more.
“I got a bit nostalgic and felt like playing some ball.”
“Me too.” I titter at our similar sentiment. “Nostalgic, I mean. I was wandering the halls when I heard the basketball and wound up here.”
He effortlessly dribbles the ball, feet dancing left to right, then pauses once more to glance at me.
Something sexy yet daring flashes in his inquisitive gaze. “Wanna play horse?”
My nerves spark, and an electric current shoots through my veins at the idea of playing ball with him again. “What? Now?”
Real smart, Wren, of course now.
Nodding, he bites his bottom lip, clearly waiting for me to respond. Strangely, a yes springs to the tip of my tongue, clamoring to burst free. Flattered and hopeful— though I can’t say why—I want to play with him and shouldn’t. He’s getting married.
But it’s only basketball; it isn’t like we’re going to have sex.
Shit, why did I just go there?
Clearly, it’s been far too long since I’ve had sex, and truthfully, I don’t see anything happening in the near future to change that.
He arches a brow. “Wren, what do you say?”
“Sure, but I’m not exactly dressed for it.” Nervously, I look down at my outfit. “Coach Bell and Principal Crandall will have my hide if I play on this floor in these.”
I lift up a leg to show off my booties, and his gaze lingers a little longer than expected on my bare skin. His usually light hazel eyes smolder as he stares at my leg for what feels like far too long and not nearly long enough.
My core clenches and my cheeks burn.
He steps closer and bends to look at my shoes. “The soles look like they’re rubber. They should be fine. I’m not dressed for it either.” He stands to his full height, and there’s a playful glint in his eye. “Or is there some other reason why you’re looking for an excuse not to play?”
Hands on my hips, I narrow my gaze. “I never said I wouldn’t play.”
“And you never said you would. I mean, you were one of the best athletes in high school, but maybe you no longer have what it takes?”
I gape and a few seconds pass as my mind digests his challenge—or is it an insult? I was one of the best. I loved basketball and volleyball, but our school didn’t have enough girls to form an official team in either sport. It sucked, but we made do, and sometimes the guys let me practice with them.
Oliver, on the other hand, was an all-around great athlete. Not only was he starting fullback for the varsity team, but he was also on the basketball team and ran track.
“Listen, Twist.” I close the distance until we’re only a foot apart, and his eyes widen at my use of his nickname.
