Page 18 of The Riley Effect

“Hellooo,” a deep voice has me meeting Jalen’s cerulean eyes. “Sorry, I honestly have no clue what you just asked me.”

“You definitely disappeared there for a minute. I asked if you were ready to get this thing going.”

I reply with a nod.

As the timer winds down, I realize there isn’t much that Jalen is bad at, and it’s fucking annoying. I thought I had Pop-A-Shot in the bag, but now I’m watching Jalen tic closer to the machine’s high score.

In a moment of weakness, I decide that just for today no winning tactic is too petty. This is a winner-takes-all scenario, after all. When time starts counting down from five, I reach around Jalen, and I run my fingers up and down his arm, just a ghosting touch. I notice the goosebumps that blanket his arms. When he lets out a low groan, I know that he is right where I want him.

“What are you doing?” he scolds, but his hooded eyes tell another story.

“All’s fair in love and basketball, right,” I say before I realize he might not get the reference from one of my favorite movies,Love & Basketball.

“Are you interested in recreating that strip one-on-one game?”he wiggles his eyebrows after making the reference to one of the most steamy scenes in the movie. I’m starting to think I should be concerned that so many of our conversations lead to games that include taking our clothes off.

“Thank god you know the movie. I was nervous you would think I was professing my love to you on our first date.” I tell him, laughing, trying to hide my nerves.

“It’s my Mom’s favorite movie. We should watch it. I haven’t seen it in a while.”

“Yeah, we should.”

Jalen hasn’t said much since we got in his car. If his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel is any indication, he is not happy with the outcome of today’s seven-game series. Any hesitation I had when I found out he could shoot a basketball faded away after I hit my first ten shots. Jalen protested for a rematch, saying that Idistractedhim. The five seconds he had left on the clock would not have helped him make up the twenty points he needed to beat me, the new Pop-A-Shot record holder.

“Are you really going to sulk the whole way home? I didn’t cry in my underwear in front of your entire team when you beat me.”

“Well, that memory definitely has me feeling better,” he says as a mischievous smile spreads over his lips.

I lean over and push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, big boy.”

“Wouldn’t you love to know all about my big boy?”

“Oh my god, you did not just say that.” I can’t help but laugh.

“That was pretty bad, wasn’t it.” His laughter mixes with mine. And whatever anxiety I was feeling washes away.

I take a moment - as his eyes are focused on the road - to appreciate Jalen’s beauty. His angled jawline and how his shirt can barely retain his biceps. From a completely objective standpoint, I’d say that Jalen is one of the hottest men on campus, but he knows that. And that’s what makes me hesitant to really let him in.

His lips roll inward when he catches me staring at him like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. I can feel the red tint of embarrassment wash over my face.

“I…I was.” I try to spit something out before he can comment on my obvious ogling.

“I was thinking about how you haven’t told me much about your family.”

I want to draw my hands down my face and kick myself. What kind of segue was that?

“It was just my parents and I. My mom grew up in Nashville, so I love the country music she plays every Saturday when she cleans the apartment. My dad is from Brooklyn. Byron is the closest thing I have to a sibling. We met in elementary school and have been pretty inseparable since. His mom worked a lot of late nights at the hospital, so he spent a lot of time with my family.”

“What about yours?”

His question catches me off guard, but I know it shouldn’t. I talked about my niece and nephew at dinner, but that was pretty surface-level stuff. I always try to avoid having to talk about my family’s history in any kind of depth.

“It’s been just me and my sister for most of my life. She’s thirteen years older than me. She actually still lives in town.”

“So you two must be pretty close?” He asks. The memories of my childhood flash through my mind so vividly it’s like I’m watching a home movie. All the good times we had. The nights when my dad drank too much and became an unrecognizable version of himself. How mom would lay in bed with me when my anxiety was so bad I couldn’t sleep.

“We are. I go to her house almost every Sunday for dinner. But if we’re in season, I see her a lot more. She comes to all my home games. It’s part of the reason I decided not to go away for college.”

Luckily, the rest of the ride home is filled with laughs and trivial conversation. It’s light-hearted and easy. Just the way I like it.

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