Page 67 of Damnation
“Where’s Alex?” Tiff asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Forget about him; he’s not joining us today. He’s busy with Stella,” I answer, putting my bag between my feet.
The arena’s loudspeakers announce the guys’ entrance to the court, accompanied by the wild cheers of the audience. Players from both teams, the Beavers and the Stanford Cardinals, stand at opposite ends of the court. Their coaches follow them, ready for the traditional pep talk. My eyes immediately find Thomas. Because how could I do anything else? He stands out among the rest. The well-defined muscles, the body covered in tattoos, the tousled hair that falls over his forehead, and the confidence that shows in his every movement. He’s wearing his black-and-orange uniform with his number (12) and his last name printed on it as he turns his attention to the coach, who is talking animatedly to the team.
Thinking back on the last time I was in this arena, a shiver movesdown my spine. If, just two months ago, someone told me that I would be here today not to watch Travis play but to watch Thomas, I certainly wouldn’t have believed them. Yet I couldn’t ask for anything more.
When the coach walks away, Matt whispers something to Thomas, clapping him on the shoulder. He laughs and nods before rubbing his forehead with his wrist, the one wrapped in his brother’s bandanna. He takes a glance around the audience around him. When he spots me, he gives me a wink, quirking the corner of his mouth. I respond with a radiant smile and a pounding heart.
“Come on, Thomas!” A cry of encouragement comes from one of the front rows. I frown and lean forward to see who it is. Tiffany does the same. It’s Shana. Obviously. She’s flanked by the spineless friends who follow her everywhere like dogs on leashes.
She turns toward me, as if she’d felt my riled-up look. She narrows her eyes and stares at me with barely concealed contempt, giggling wickedly. “The view is so much better from down here,” she informs me in a loud voice.
I stifle a sigh of frustration and force myself to ignore her. I am not going to fall into her trap. But Tiffany must feel differently, because she shocks me by grabbing a handful of chips from the bag and throwing them at Shana’s hair.
Shana’s head snaps around, her mouth and eyes all wide open as she tries to tidy herself up with no small amount of effort. Her friends can barely restrain their laughter. “What is your problem, you ugly bitch?” she shrieks. Tiffany points a finger right at her.
“Next time you try to low-key flirt with my best friend’s boyfriend, I won’t throw just chips at you. You know, the aim is so much better from up here,” Tiff warns her.
Shana gives us a hateful sneer and raises her middle finger before turning her back on us. Tiff and I exchange looks, our mouths quivering. And in the end, we give in. We burst out laughing unrestrainedly.
“You don’t need to defend me, you know,” I point out as soon as we compose ourselves.
“I definitely needed to.” She rubs my arm, smiling tenderly atme. “Do you think I don’t know how that bitch is always messing with you? You shouldn’t let her. Actually, do you know what you should do? Teach her a lesson. You can’t keep being treated this way.”
I’d like to tell her that fighting isn’t really my style, but the game is about to actually start. The guys move into their positions. The referee positions himself into center court with the ball in his hand. A moment later, he tosses it into the air, opening the first quarter.
***
Twenty minutes later, our team is leading by twenty-three points. Tiffany takes advantage of the break to go to the bathroom. I, however, pass Shana on my way down the stands toward my boyfriend, who is chatting with Matt and Finn while wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt.
“Hey, champions, you’re doing great,” I say as I stop at the bottom of the stairs behind the sidelines. Thomas comes toward me, leaving his friends behind. He sees the Beavers sweatshirt I’m wearing—his—and smiles smugly. He grabs my chin and kisses me like the two of us are the only people in the gym.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he answers when we break apart. He wraps his arms around my hips, and I lock my wrists around his neck. I look up at the scoreboard behind him.
“At this rate, you’ll have this one in the bag,” I exclaim gleefully.
“Don’t be fooled, the other team is smart. They’re saving their energy to kick our ass later.”
“Oh.” I fall silent, hunching my shoulders. “You think they’ll come back in the second half?”
“They’ll try. But all this time, we’ve had them thinking this is our A-game. They’re gonna be pretty surprised to find out we can play even better.” He smirks.
I give him a look of exaggerated admiration. “This is the exact kind of cunning I could use when playingBattleshipwith Alex. Nice move, my friend.”
“Friend? Is that what we’re back to after all this bullshit?” he answers, amused.
I snort, patting him on the chest. “As if you were ever my friend.”
“That’s because I never intended to be,” he says, a grin on his lips and, before he can plant another kiss on my mouth, Matt joins us and laughs as he rests an elbow on Thomas’s shoulder.
“Folks, I don’t want to break the spell here, but we do have a game to win,” he says, dragging Thomas away by the arm.
They return to the court, Thomas walking backward and looking me up and down with such intensity that I feel naked. Then, he mouths a rather dirty observation about my legs wrapped in my tight leggings and what he plans to do with them after the game. I smile and bite my lip, knowing that my cheeks are burning.
***
There are seven minutes left in the game, and we’re sitting at fifty-seven to sixty-two, in the Stanford Cardinals’ favor.
