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VANESSA
Quinn intercepts the ball mid-air. His friends loudly curse as they follow after him, but he’s faster. He dribbles the ball toward the opposite basket, jumping off the ground and letting the ball fly. The way he moves is seamless. It’s like the ball is an extension of his hand, and they’re one and the same.
I always knew he was good, but I didn’t realize how good he was until this very moment. It makes me wish I got a chance to really watch him play, although I don’t know anything about the sport.
Quinn’s grin is so big; it’s almost blinding when the ball flies through the net. Nate slaps him on the shoulder. “That’s how it’s done.”
“Damn, dude, we’re sure going to miss you this year,” Patrick says, running his hand over his sweaty face.
Quinn laughs. “Oh, please, I’m sure one of the rookies will fill my place before the school year even starts.”
“But none of them will play as good as you.”
“What about me, Patrick?” Nate asks, throwing the basketball at him.
“I guess you’ll have to do.”
“Have to do?”
They continue their discussion, but I shift my attention to Quinn, who’s walking toward me. He’s wearing his old Blairwood jersey and basketball shorts, and damn, he looks good in them too. Seriously, all the girls must have been going crazy over him.
“What did you think?” Quinn asks as he takes a seat on the bench next to me.
“You’re seriously good.” I pull out a water bottle and hand it to him.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I mean, I guess I knew you had to be good to get a basketball scholarship and all, but I never actually saw you play until today, and it’s not even a real game.”
“Hey now, every game is a real game, as long as you play it like you mean it,” Nate protests, grabbing his own water bottle from his duffle bag. “You should join us.”
“Me? Don’t you remember what happened the last time I got close to a ball?”
“That’s because you weren’t expecting it.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to play, Quinn.”
“Let me teach you.” He jumps to his feet and grabs my hand, tugging me up. “C’mon, Ness. I didn’t take you for a chicken.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?” Quinn asks, barely managing to keep a straight face.
“Trying to get me to play. You know I’m not really good at this.”
“That’s why I’ll teach you.” He winks at me, his gaze falling down and taking in my bare legs. Earlier I changed into a simple tank top and shorts as well as sneakers since that seemed way more appropriate for watching a basketball game instead of one of my work dresses. “Besides, now you’re dressed more appropriately. C’mon.”
This time he tugs harder, or maybe I don’t resist as much as I should, because the next thing I know, I’m on my feet. One of the guys throws the ball that he catches one-handedly, and he pulls me toward the center of the court.
“Okay, so basketball is all about the movement and good coordination.”
“That doesn’t sound easy at all,” I pout as I watch him almost lazily bounce the ball by his side.
“You just have to try.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, not in the least convinced. Still, I listen as Quinn explains the rules, shows me how to properly dribble the ball, shift it from one hand to the other—ha, as if I could ever do that—and shoot the ball.
“How about you try to take a shot?” he asks, tossing the ball at me.
