Page 38 of Shots on Net

“I don’t need to get laid every night, and I wasn’t expecting you to be the guy who’d rush into that anyway. Like I said, I just thought we’d go to dinner and start there.”

“Start there,” Zeke repeats, as though he’s turning the words over in his mind. “Take things slowly and see what happens?”

“Exactly.”

He lets out a great rush of air and presses his free hand to his abdomen. “Oh, thank god. I was up all night, nervous about talking to you about this. Obviously, I like you, but it seems so preposterous that you’d be interested in me. And then I was convincing myself that you’d lose interest if I didn’t want to have sex right away. Seriously, I was up all night. Massive doom spiral.”

My mind snags on ‘obviously, I like you’ and stays there. I feel ridiculously pleased with myself. “You’ve got to quit with that shit. Guys like me are lucky to be with guys like you.”

These words—though true—have me feeling distinctly hot. I never talk like that. I’m rarely this interested in dating as a whole, either. Probably, I shouldn’t be embarrassed to say shit like that, but it’s going to have to be something to work up to. Especially if it has Zeke looking at me like that: eyes soft and mouth pinched in one corner like he’s holding back a smile. It’s another expression to add to my Adorable Zeke Faces collection.

“Alright,” he says, giving a single shake of his head and sliding his hand away from mine. “Omelets.”

I watch as he turns around and starts making breakfast. Wracking my brain for the next free weekend, I come up empty. The whole point of going out on a date last night was because it was a rare free evening; usually, during the regular season, we don’t have Friday, Saturday, or Sundays free—those are always game days. Zeke cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl and starts whipping them together with a fork.

“How about Wednesday?”

“How about Wednesday, what?” He half turns around and smiles when he sees me watching him.

“For dinner. I have practice until seven but we could go after that,” I suggest, and then add: “I’ll shower, don’t worry.”

Snorting, he turns back to the oven, but raises his voice a little so that I can hear him over the crackle of the skillet. “Yes, please shower. Also, please wear the same thing you were wearing last night because that was…nice.”

Fighting a smile, I make a mental note to wear more green. When Zeke slides an omelet in front of me, I grab his wrist in a light hold and wait until his eyes meet mine.

“It’s a date,” I tell him. My heart soars when he nods and repeats it back.

???

Vasel sits down next to me in the locker room and starts to carefully remove his gear. I’m already half undressed, and full of nervous energy. I told Zeke I’d pick him up from home at eight which gives me plenty of time, but also makes me feel restless with impatience. I don’t want to cut it close enough that I might risk being late.

“And so, how was it, then?” Vas asks, and I look over at him quizzically.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You have said nothing about your date. All weekend I give you, and still you say nothing,” he says, smiling as he carefully removes each layer of padding and puts it in his stall.

“Oh, well, Friday didn’t really work out,” I pause, debating how in-depth I want to go with him on this. “We’re actually going to grab dinner tonight.”

“This is great news!” Vas exclaims, grinning and patting my shoulder. He’s far too nice to say ‘I told you so’.

“Yeah.” I pull off the last of my clothes and grab a towel. “Sorry, Vas, but I can’t talk. I’ve got to go.”

He says something else that I don’t hear as I step into one of the shower stalls. Biting back the desire to wash quickly and be done with it, I force myself to take my time. Even so, when I’m walking back into the locker room with a towel wrapped around my waist, I’m one of the only ones already showered. Bastian, one of our freshmen, opens his mouth like he wants to give me a hard time, but thinks better of it and instead goes back to stripping down.

I dress carefully, wishing I had a mirror to check my hair. The review mirror in my car will have to do, however, because there is no way in hell I’m going to preen in front of a locker room mirror. I’m already drawing enough strange glances as it is. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I call out a goodbye to Vas who’s on his way back into the room.

“Goodnight, my friend,” he replies.

“Have a good one, Morgan.”

Startled, I look over at Bastian. He smiles and gives an awkward hand gesture—something between a wave and a salute. He looks like he’s regretting speaking up.

“Yeah, you too Bass.”

I’m practically jogging down the hall toward the exit when my name is called. Groaning, I barely hold myself back from tipping my head back and screaming in frustration. Turning around, I try to tone down the scowl. Coach Mackenzie doesn’t look fooled.

“Carter. Do you have a moment?”

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