Page 18 of Clueless Romeo

"Now you do." He took another step back. "I'm going to drop off Jaz's coffee and change clothes. Then it's you and me. You in?"

The competitor in me surged forward. It had been weeks since I'd felt the familiar rough texture of a basketball in my hand, and a strong craving for the game gripped my gut.

"I don't need coffee." I moved from the line and headed for the door, walking backward. "You sure about this? I wouldn't want you getting behind on your Cupid duties just to get embarrassed when you lose. Bad."

Roman was aware I'd played college ball, so the fact that he was challenging me to a game was the last thing I expected.

Roman grinned as he headed toward me. "Guess you'll have to prove me wrong. I'm sure you're exaggerating your skills. " He taunted me with my own words. Asshole.

I wasn't exaggerating, but my pride took the bait anyway. "Let's do this then."

He appeared undaunted, confidence radiating from his stride. "Your funeral."

Like hell it was.

The taunts went back and forth on the walk back to the house, each comment making me more determined to wipe the cocky smirk off his lips.

When we stood on the porch to part ways to change clothes, Roman winked. Why did he have to wink and put more images in my head that he was interested in more than just playing some ball with me?

"Be ready in five," he demanded before opening his door.

"I'll be ready in three." Before he could respond, I darted into the shop and ran up the stairs. As I sprinted to my room, I ignored the odd looks from Caleb and Christa, who were sitting on the couch watching a movie on the TV. After closing my door, I quickly changed into a pair of navy sweatpants and traded my shoes for my lucky high-tops—not that I'd need them—before I scooped up a well-worn ball from the closet.

I was cutting it close to the three minutes, so I charged back through the apartment.

"Where are you going?" Caleb called.

I stopped just long enough to answer. "To play some ball, you lazy fucker."

His brows shot high. "And you didn't invite me."

Normally I would have, so I understood his confusion. Besides our identical DNA, it was the one thing we still had in common these days. But this game was more than just messing around. Roman truly thought he had a chance at beating me, and I wasn't willing to share my time with him. Something else I'd have to examine later. "Next time."

"You going by yourself?" Caleb asked as he wrapped an arm over Christa's shoulders and tugged her closer to his side.

"Nah. Roman's going with me, and I'm late." I barely registered the shocked look on his face before taking off again.

When I stepped outside, I froze on the spot at the sight of Roman standing on the porch dressed in sweatpants and a red hoodie. I was staring.Shit.

When he looked at me, he arched his brow. "Three minutes, my ass."

Mentally giving myself a shake, I cleared my throat. "Caleb's fault. Ready?"

"I've been ready." He shot me a roguish grin when I rolled my eyes.

I finally pieced together that there was much more to Roman than I'd originally thought. Now I was itching to uncover every layer to find out who my new neighbor really was.

"Your funeral," I shot back, throwing his words back at him as payback for the earlier taunt.

His only reply was a cocky tilt of his lips, and I was suddenly curious if he really did have the skills to back it up. Didn't matter. I was still going to win.

As we walked along the sidewalk, I bounced the basketball on the concrete, letting that familiar texture seep into my palms and fingertips. Roman simply sipped his coffee as he strolled beside me. Still, adrenaline coursed through my veins, leaving me more than ready to see the court I hadn't known existed.

He led me past the row of shops and then across the street. When we turned the corner, the street was void of cars, allowing me to finally spot the court. He'd been telling the truth. The place really was rundown. The cracked concrete was sandwiched between two metal bleachers set in three rows that were rusted from the weather and lack of upkeep. The hoops were in equally bad shape. One was missing the net altogether, while the net on the other hoop was badly frayed and several loops had become unhooked. The backboards were so bleached from the sun the painted boxes were barely visible. The dilapidated appearance didn't take away the excitement of having it so close to my new home.

Leaving Roman behind, I rushed forward and ran across the court, stopping on a dime around the invisible three-point line, bouncing the ball once, then easily sinking a shot.

Roman whistled, and I glanced over my shoulder as he set his coffee on the bleachers. "Nice shot."

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