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“Your turn, Twist. This could be it.” I wink, not sure where this flirty me is coming from.
He follows my moves and shoots with his left hand, not bothering to take his time—or at least, that’s how it seems. Did he even try to make the shot or did he throw the shootout?
The basketball hits the backboard and still airborne, arcs past the net onto the court with a whack. We both watch the ball bounce a few more times, neither of us going after it.
Game over.
Standing several feet behind him, I watch his shoulders round and body slump, as he grunts in defeat. I jog toward him, battling the urge to gloat. Maybe I will just a little. He’d do the same if he won.
Oliver doesn’t notice me and twirls in my direction. We nearly collide, but I quickly dodge to one side and end up tripping over his ankle. Everything that comes after happens so fast.
Strong, confident hands latch onto my waist and stop me from falling flat on my face. Goose bumps break out on my arms. He spins me to face him, and at his touch, my yelp lodges in my throat.
Now I really am on fire.
With one arm sliding around my back and the other grasping me by the waist, he draws my body into his until we are chest to chest.
Every solid inch of him heaves against me. “You okay?”
Being this close to him scrambles my brain, and I struggle to breathe let alone comprehend the question. He smells of pine and soap and a salty masculinity I’ve never experienced before.
I like it.
A lot.
His knuckles graze my cheek, and I shiver at his gentle touch. “Wren, talk to me. You sure you’re okay?”
Captivated by the gold-and-emerald flecks in his tender eyes, at first, I’m mute and bemused. Then I blink and push away the thundering of my heart.
“Uh-huh. I’m good.”
My response erases the worry from his attentive gaze. “That was a close call.”
I’m not sure if he means my near face plant or the game.
“Yes.” I swallow with difficulty.
This moment…our connection…seems so intense. It would be so easy, so natural, to reach up and kiss him.
No. This is wrong. Oliver is with Dot. Like it’s always been, this strange and overwhelming connection, as if he’s knitted into my very being just like DNA, is one-sided. All inmyhead.
Oliver’s two years older than I am to the day and yet, we’ve known each other most of our lives, have had many shared birthdays. We’re childhood friends who met through sports, and while we somewhat drifted apart in high school, we still hung out. But we were never anything more.
My skin heats, now tight and prickly with embarrassment, but before I can pull away or apologize, a deafening crack of thunder tears through the air.
Startled, I wriggle a little in his grasp. “Wow. Sounds like it’s getting nasty out there. Thanks for catching me. Sorry.”
He pulls back, my movement probably giving him the impression that I want out of his arms. I should, but in reality, it’s the last thing I desire.
Carefully, he releases me.”You still got it, Tyler.”
A blush at his appreciation spreads from my chest upward, and just the thought of his noticing my reddening complexion causes mortification and likely more of the crimson tide.
“You sound surprised. Of course, I still have it.” My hands smooth down my dress and then release the knot in my hair. “I should get going before the torrential downpour that they’re predicting gets here.”
“Ah, yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “Let me walk you out.”
He saunters toward his jacket on the floor, and already moving toward the door, I wave off his offer.
