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TWELVE

ELI

I’ve only experienced this particular emotion one other time in my life, and it was when I was twelve and Pops entered me into a hoops competition over in Nashville. He was adamant it was a big deal, and I was supposed to practice all that week, even though it was summer break. For my dad, that was no excuse. I needed to stay sharp. But there was a new video game all my friends were playing, and for once in my life, I wanted to just be a kid, so I convinced Ma to buy it and not tell him. Whenever he was at work that week, I’d hole up in my room, playing that game instead of practicing. Needless to say, I didn’t win the tournament. Some kid beat me by two damn points.

Pops has this way of cutting you with his disappointment; his words sharp as they slice into your skin. He wielded his weapon the entire drive home that day, droning on about how amazing the other kid was. How his parents must be so proud.

That’s when I felt it: the bitter taste of jealousy. But even that doesn’t compare to the lava searing my body at the sight of Becca being manhandled by someone other than me.

I shouldn’t have touched her.

But I couldn’t breathe from not touching her.

My precious control snapped into a thousand pieces, shattering on the glossy maple floor. But it doesn’t matter. I could lose my job if FCU found out.

Has she had a boyfriend this entire time?

It wasn’t like the kiss was planned. We both agreed it was a mistake, so what do I care if she’s with this guy? It’s better this way. Maybe knowing she’s taken will help me keep my distance.

I watch the two of them together, envy punching my stomach and stealing my breath. I grit my teeth against the loss.

Why is he still here?

“You plannin’ on actually workin’ with me today, or are you gettin’ paid to make eyes at your boyfriend?” I snap.

Becca spins toward me, her brows raising for a split second before her face smooths. She runs her palm up Jeremy’s arm.

I grip the basketball in my hands so tight my knuckles turn white, hating that my accent slipped out.

Leaning on her tiptoes, she slides her hands around his neck, those same hands that were in my hair, tugging like she couldn’t get close enough. I bite my cheek, the tang of blood distracting me from ripping her out of his arms.

Jeremy glances my way, a smile splitting his face, even though there’s something hesitant in his gaze that wasn’t there when we first met. “See ya later, Coach. Again, it’s an honor. I can’t wait to soak in everything you’ll teach me.”

Normally, I wouldn’t be so thrilled with someone shouting my accolades from the rooftops, thinking I’m something I no longer am, but I can’t find it in me to mind this guy’s hero worship. I can tell it makes Becca uncomfortable, which makes it delightful for me. I smirk as he leaves the court.

Her eyes narrow, the grin she had for him dropping off her face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing’s funny. I like him. He clearly has fantastic taste.” I gesture to myself.

She flips her hair, smoothing down her tank. “I agree. He has an eye for beauty.”

“Wow. Humble.”

“Who said I was talkin’ about me?”

Stepping in closer, I pass her the ball. Our fingers brush, and mine flex to keep from reaching out. I dip my head to catch those jade-green eyes. “Come on now, Becca. You know you’re beautiful.”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t want to take it back. It’s true. She’s a siren. Once she steps into the room, there’s no looking away. I wish I could look the hell away.

Her cheeks bloom the prettiest shade of pink, and my inner beast roars. Jeremy may have gotten her smile, but he didn’t get her blush. She steps closer, the basketball pressing into my stomach. Her tongue jets out, wetting those sinful lips, and my mouth waters as it remembers the taste.

“Eli,” she whispers, leaning in, her lashes fluttering. For the first time, I notice the light dusting of freckles along the ridge of her nose, and I have the strangest urge to count every one.

“Eli,” she repeats. Her breath teases my lips, my mouth parting in response. “Jeremy isn’t?—”

His name is a splash of icy water on my heated body. I wince, stepping back. “Right.” I slide my hand through my hair. “He’s a lucky guy.”

“No, I…” She stops midsentence, shaking her head. “Yeah. He is.”

I nod, trying to appear unfazed. Calm, cool, and collected.

Inside, I’m a mess. The thought of never touching her again rips through my chest cavity, slapping my heart. It’s not enough to break, but the bruise hurts all the same.

Somehow, I regain control and make it through Becca’s lesson, and then I spend the rest of the day counting down the minutes until preseason, when these one-on-ones with her will end.

I call Connor on my way home. “What up? You doing anything tonight?”

“I was planning on taking it easy. My workout killed today and, I can barely move. Why, what’d you have in mind?”

“Just thinking you could come over and chill. Maybe…bring a couple girls?”

“Your hand not cutting it anymore?” He chuckles.

He’s joking, but his words hit a little too close to home. “Something like that.”

“Oh, you know I’m always down to help you out in that area. I have my sometimes chick on call. I’m sure she has a friend she can grab.”

“Your sometimes chick?” I laugh. “God, you’re disgusting. It’s a miracle you get laid.”

“All my ladies know the deal. Besides, I treat them with the utmost respect. I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Maybe not to your face.”

“The only thing they give my face is their pussy.”

“Whatever you say, man. I just got home, so text me when you’re heading over.” I laugh, hanging up my phone.

He shows up an hour later with his “sometimes chick” Ally, and her friend, Sarah, who I get along with surprisingly well.

Sarah’s gorgeous with her long, strawberry-blond hair, porcelain skin, and sweet smile. My usual type, which is probably why Connor brought her. But I’m not into it, no matter how much I try to be.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask.

She smiles, taking a sip of wine and crossing her legs. “I’m a physical therapist. Specializing in sports therapy, actually.”

My eyebrows raise. “No shit? I could have used you back when I got injured. My therapist was an asshole. You’d be much easier to work with.”

She giggles and the sound makes me smile.

“Well, maybe you can give me some pointers on how to keep my clients happy.” Her cheeks flush with her words.

Is she flirting?

I take a sip of my beer, considering whether I want to encourage her. She’s sweet. Docile, even. And while that should be a breath of fresh air, I find myself wishing she’d have just a little bit of bite. But she gets my mind off the red curls that cloud my vision, and that’s enough for now.

I shouldn’t lust for things I can’t have.

Sarah is right in front of me, and she doesn’t make me feel like my soul is crawling out of my skin whenever she’s near. It’s nice, feeling in control again.

So when she leaves at the end of the night, I take her number, and convince myself she might be just what I need, even if my heart isn’t in it.