Page 92 of Sporty Girls Don't Fall For Loners

She lifts a brow in challenge.

Dad and I used to play a lot, and while I’m no expert, I’m pretty sure I got this in the bag.

“Okay, Bad Boy. Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says.

We get into position and start playing. I knew she’s very sporty and competitive, but man she’s a beast out here. Just as she is on the football field, though it’s a little different now. She seems determined to wipe that confident smirk off my face. Well, I’m not going to go easy on her just because she keeps me up at night and makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Pretty sure she wouldn’t forgive me if I let her win.

We’re pretty evenly matched. While I have the strength, she has the agility. Neither of us has made any shots, though. That’s probably because she’s so short and I’m too distracted by having fun with her. The worries and thoughts from half an hour ago completely vanish from my mind. All I’m thinking about right now is having fun with my friend.

As Zoey leaps to make the shot, I jump to block it. Our shoulders crash into one another’s and we fall to the ground.

I quickly yank Zoey into my arms, placing my hand behind her head to protect it from slamming into the ground.

My body is on top of hers and she gazes up at me. Her head weighs my hand down, but I don’t mind it at all. I’m glad I was able to protect her from any head injury.

I stare into her eyes as she stares into mine. Our lips are only a few inches apart, and as soon as she glances down at mine and bites her lip, it takes everything for me not to lower my head and brush my lips against hers.

Her eyes are back on mine and we continue gazing at each other for I’m not sure how long. But then it dawns on me that I’m on top of her, most likely hurting her, and I quickly roll away.

“Sorry.”

She slowly sits up. “It-it’s fine.

I sit up, too, and we stare at each other again.

Zoey laughs lightly as she pushes some loose strands from her ponytail behind her ear. “So…who won?”

“Considering neither of us scored any shots, nobody.”

She frowns. “Let’s go again.”

She makes a move to stand, but I wrap my fingers around her wrist. “I think we should call it a draw.”

She lifts her chin. “I can’t believe you’re threatened by me.”

“I can’t believe you’re that competitive.”

She gestures for me to get up. “Please?”

“Okay. May the best woman or man win.”

She grabs the ball and we continue playing. She’s really fast, but because she’s so short, I manage to deflect every shot. She does the same with my shots and we play for longer than either of us expect.

But in the end, she throws the ball and I don’t push it away in time and it sinks into the basket.

“Yes!” She cheers, waving her arms over her head. “I win! I win!”

I place my hands on either side of her waist, lifting her a few feet off the ground and spinning her around. “Awesome job!”

“Are you celebrating your loss?”

I stop spinning and slowly set her down. “No. I’m celebrating your win. You deserved it.”

She smiles shyly. “Thanks. And thanks for a good game.” She holds out her hand, then lowers it and narrows her eyes at me. “Did you let me win?”

“Never.”

She holds out her hand again. “Good game, Sanders.”

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