AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The captain, then. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to take credit for going one and three,” I say sweetly.
Kyle glares at me, but it morphs into an awed expression when Beck holds out a hand out and says, “Nice to meet you.”
Kyle looks a bit dazed as he shakes Beck’s hand. He fanboys over him for a few more minutes, then finally leaves.
“He’s going to tell the whole school you’re here,” I inform Beck, passing him the ball. “So we’d better make this quick unless you want to start signing autographs.”
“What are we playing to?” Beck asks, shrugging out of his jacket.
“Five? Like before?”
He nods. “And what are we playing for?”
“Your pick, remember?”
“And what are my options?”
“Well, you already told me what you want, so you can stick with that.”
His eyebrows rise. “You?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m trying to figure out how you plan on ‘winning’ yourself.”
I’m not planning on winning at all, but saying so would ruin the surprise of what’s probably a stupid gesture. At least I warned him I’m bad at this. I’ve never hidden any part of myself from Beck, never attempted to act like someone I’m not.
I pass him the ball. “Just take the first shot.”
He makes it, unsurprisingly. We’re standing fifteen feet away from a wide open net and he has better shot accuracy than a sniper.
I make my shot. He makes his.
We volley back and forth like that, until it’s my last one. Since he hasn’t missed a shot, not like he did last time, I can’t win.
If I make it, we’ll tie.
If I miss it, I’ll lose.
Since I’m competitive, I kick it toward the corner flag, smiling when it lands just inside the line. It couldn’t be more obvious I missed on purpose, and I watch that register on Beck’s face.
“I’m not running,” I tell him. “Want a tour of campus?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Beck’s sitting on my bed paging through a book when I walk into my room.
After we left the field, I took him on a brief tour of campus. He got a phone call right as we returned to my empty house, so I decided to take a quick shower. Between sleeping on the living room floor and practice earlier, I felt gross.
Beck isn’t talking to anyone now. He’s staring at me, standing in a towel with dripping wet hair.
“Everything okay?” I ask, shutting the door behind me.
“Yeah.” He closes the book—one of my mysteries—and sets it on the bedside table. “Just Wagner, checking in.”
“He mad you’re here?”
“He’s not…thrilled.”
