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Just an easy conversation that flowed like we had done this before.

We talked about school, the March Madness tournament they were apparently leaving for tomorrow afternoon, music, growing up in completely different worlds, me from LA, him from Dallas.

We talked about his love for basketball, my love for dance and how both of us were trying to prove something to our families, to ourselves.

And it was weird, because I barely knew him, but somehow, I felt like I did; felt like I’d known him all my life. The conversation felt effortless and honestly it was a little scary.

By the end of the night, he pulled out his phone handing it to me without saying a word.

I smirked, typing my number in then calling myself. I felt my phone vibrate from my purse.

"I don’t know if Imma text you," I teased handing it back.

He chuckled sliding his phone in his pocket.

"You will." His cockiness was sexy as fuck, and I couldn’t help the way my front teeth grazed my bottom lip.

I rolled my eyes before turning to walk away. But even as I found Arielle and Brodie, even as we left the party, even as I crawled into bed later that night—I was still thinking about him.

And I hated that he was probably right.

4

CREED

The summer heat in Dallas was something else—thick, heavy, wrapping around you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

But I wasn’t thinking about the heat. I wasn’t even thinking about being back home after finishing the semester at Rutgers, or the fact that the season was over.

Lately, my mind had been stuck on one thing.

Or rather, one person. My phone buzzed and I smiled.

Serenity B: You up?

Serenity’s name flashed across my phone screen, her message coming through just as I had been debating whether or not to hit her up first.

I smirked to myself before typing back.

Me: Yeah. You?

Her reply came quick.

Serenity B: Obviously, if I just texted you.

I chuckled, shaking my head before calling her. She picked up on the second ring, and the sound of her soft laugh met my ear before I even said anything.

"You always gotta be a smart ass?" I muttered.

"You always gotta state the obvious?" she shot back, her voice smooth, a little sleepy, but still teasing. It was late here in Dallas, nearly midnight which meant it was probably 10pm where she was.

This was our routine now. Late-night calls. Hours of talking about nothing and everything. I had never really done this before—not even with Gianna. And that was the problem.

During the day, I was back to being Creed Langston, the hometown hero, the golden boy who was getting ready for the league.

I was back to family dinners, visits to Mama’s job so she could show me off to her coworkers, and spending time with Gianna, who had been waiting on me to get back.

But at night?