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“This is all very mysterious, Twist.” All the air leaves me. My feet falter andI stop abruptly when I catch sight of him.
Oliver in navy gym shorts, showcasing his sculpted golden legs, a snug white T-shirt hugging his defined biceps and gloriously solid chest. A basketball rests at about midthigh with his hand holding it in place.
He could be on the cover ofMen’s Health.
He should be. Damn.
I quickly wipe at my chin.Okay, I exaggerate.This man always makes me feel like I’m drooling. He bounces the ball in front of him, all casual and sexy like this is what we do every day.
“Hey, Tyler.” And that smile.
His dimples pop and my insides somersault.
“Hey, Twist.” On shaky legs, I slowly near him. “What is all this?”
“How about a game of horse?”
Déjà vu is a thing. Without warning, I still, and this moment freezes for the blink of an eye. My riotous emotions bowl me over with the very same exhilaration and temptation from that fateful night. So much has changed since then, and yet my feelings for him… they’re the same. Everything. They course through me like wild and magnificent waves crashing upon a shore.
No. That’s not true. How could they be the same?
My feelings for him are boundless and all-consuming and a million times more than they were that night. They keep growing and deepening.
Now I know what it’s like to have Oliver’s complete devotion. To have his piercing hazel eyes on me, drinking in every single breath I take like I’m the air, the sunshine, and water that he needs to live.
“Tyler, whattaya say?” He’s standing in front of me, hardly an inch between us.
The basketball falls from his side, hitting the gym floor with a loudthump, followed by the echoing thumps as it dribbles away from us.
“Uh, sure.”
His hands clasp my waist and he grins. “Nah, I’m joking about horse. I don’t want to play ball.”
“What is this?”
“Follow me.” His lips graze the tip of my nose, and my body leans into his with an undeniable need.
My fingers interlace with his, and wordlessly, I traipse behind him to Coach’s office. Inside, the desk is transformed into a table for two complete with domed plates, silverware, candles, and wine and beer. There are fluffy blankets and overstuffed pillows dotting the couch.
“Oliver…what…how did you do this?”
“You like?”
“What’s not to like?” I’m nodding and laughing and filled with a burning love and reverence for this man. “Yes.”
“I had help. Mad and Coach let me in, then gave me the keys and the rundown on locking up.”
Mad now spends his days at the high school, shadowing Coach and learning all he can to take over when the man retires at the end of December.
“Oh and that reminds me, Coach told me he talked to you about Jack.” His fingers grip my hips and he hauls my body flush against his. “That’s fucking amazing. Coach sponsoring Jack. Perfect.”
“Isn’t it?” The words come out breathless.
One of his hands moves to my head, fingers sliding deep into my hair, massaging my scalp, and the fingers of his other dig into my hip. His lips are on mine, and as effortlessly and gratifying as breathing, we kiss.
Unsurprisingly, our kiss becomes a mini make-out session. Every kiss deeper and longer than the one before. Everything around us ceases to exist.
I don’t know how long we kiss for. It could be a minute, it could be days. Eventually, he grudgingly pulls away on a mournful groan. His face tips forward until his forehead presses against mine.
