Page 22 of The Wrong Move

“I don’t want to think,” I snap. And he’s wrong. Girls have always flocked to him, even at school. He just didn’t notice back then because his focus was basketball. He wanted to be admired on the court, not for his good looks—even if he was a little geeky—or for the name on his back that represented his family more than his basketball ability.

He chuckles. “Are you jealous, Gi?”

“No.” I raise my book to my face, but he lowers it again.

“What about you? Did you have someone special in Italy?”

“Byron, I…” I place my book on the towel and roll onto my side to face him. “Yes. I don’t think you want details any more than I want to know about the girls you’ve slept with.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He grins at me. “I want to know who I’m competing against. Study everything about them to plan my attack.” His smirk remains.

The Byron I know would be seething inside if he perceives his opponent to be better than him, not that they were. No one came close to him. How could they, with his blue eyes and the longest lashes? The way he looks at me,God. One look and no words, and I would slide beneath him.

“It was Italy,” I confess. “Love is a second language.” His brow furrows. “While I had lovers, there was one guy. After a year or so, we called it quits. I came home not long after we separated.”

His smirk is long gone. “Is he the reason you came home?”

“No.” I sigh again, finding it hard to talk about this with Byron. “He was the reason I stayed longer than I intended. While I thought I might have loved him, I wasn’t in love with him.”

“Of course you weren’t.” He grins at me and takes his sunglasses from the top of his head. “You were in love with me.” He’s smiling as he rolls onto his back and covers his eyes with the glasses.

“You’re infuriating.” I raise my book again and begin to read.

We remain quiet for a few minutes.

“Why did you stay with him?” he whispers. All the cockiness in his tone has disappeared.

Stay with him?

Why is he thinking about this now?

While Byron exudes confidence, it’s a cover for how he feels on the inside, and right now, he feels threatened. He admitted to never having a girlfriend. He was, and still is, focused on his goal—his basketball dreams. If he lets someone in, they might discover he’s not the self-assured guy he makes out to be. He has this intense energy for anything to do with basketball. Away from the hype, he’s humble, kind, and rather normal. Fansare always looking for excitement. He can’t run on that energy twenty-four seven—it’s exhausting. I just admitted to being intimate with the same person for a year. He hasn’t done that.

I keep the book elevated. “I was lonely.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I didn’t know you were alone?”

I lower the book and glare at him. “If you remembered what happened the last time we saw each other, then you’d have your answer to why I didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry, Gi. It wasn’t a good time for me. If I could take it back…”

“It’s always about you, Byron,” I say louder than normal, and heads turn. I don’t want to stay here. I rip off my sarong and top.

“Finally,” he says with glee.

He is infuriating.

I storm toward the water. I dive in and enjoy the sounds of the ocean for a few seconds. The noise from the surface is muffled, and it’s comforting to escape, albeit only for a moment. The waves roll in, so I concentrate on floating over the swell before it breaks over me.

Byron appears beside me. “We need to swim farther out.” He flicks his long bangs, and water smacks my face. I giggle.

“Wait. Who is watching our stuff?”

“I promised some chick two tickets to the game tonight to guard it.”

“There’s a game tonight? Why are you here?”

“I’m being rested.” His eyes darken. “Tonight, I’m all yours.”

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