Page 115 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

My eyes take in my surroundings. Not much has changed in eleven years. The Sugarlake Bobcat is still painted in a gaudy blue, shining off the whitewashed bricks on the far wall. A rolling cart of basketballs are resting against its surface. I walk over and pick one up, staring at how the black lines cut through the dark orange surface.

This feeling right here—this rightness—has only happened with two things in my life.

The feel of a ball in my hands and the warmth of Becca in my arms.

I palm the leather, popping it up and spinning it on the tip of my finger as I make my way to the free-throw line.

Inhaling a deep breath, I dribble once. Twice. I take the shot at the exact moment a bang echoes off the walls, making my stance falter. The ball hits the backboard and bounces to the side, rolling toward the entrance to the gym.

My eyes foll

ow.

Bright red heels.

Killer legs.

Hips that make my hands tingle with the memory of their curve.

Rebecca.

My stomach flips at the sight of her.

“You,” she gasps.

I smirk, the first time we ran into each other at FCU flashing through my mind.

“Rebecca.” I stride toward her, my cock jerking as she bends at the waist to grab the basketball. Those crazy curls fall over her shoulder, begging me to grip them in my palm, tug the silky strands as they tangle in my fingers.

She straightens, her cheeks flushed a gorgeous stain of pink. I stand close, peering down at her. Our gazes lock and heat simmers low in my gut.

She brushes a curl out of her face. “What are you doin’ here?”

My eyebrow quirks. “What’s it look like?”

She scoffs. “I meant at the school, big head.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you doing? I thought you were gone. Running away to somewhere new.”

She lifts a shoulder, chewing on her lip. “The people who matter most need me here.”

Stale anger filters through my veins at the audacity of her statement. Once again, she’ll stay when someone else needs her, but wouldn’t stay for me.

It’s the bitterness of that thought on my tongue which makes my voice sharp. “Never stopped you before.”

She sucks on her teeth, nodding. “I know. And as much as I wish I could turn back time and change my choices, I can’t.” She sighs, her fingers brushing through her hair. “But I’m tryin’ to learn. Tryin’ to stand up straight for the first time in my life and see things from a different angle. To forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made.”

Old wounds throb inside me and the ache has me stepping in closer, my breath fanning the wisps of her hair away from her face. “Well what about my forgiveness, Becca? You give a damn about that?”

She licks her lips and my own lips tingle from envy.

“If I thought for one second it would make a lick of difference, I’d be on my knees beggin’.”

Try it, baby girl. Just show me you give a damn.

Her eyes catalog my every action. She’s holding the basketball against her sternum and she steps into me, the ball pressing uncomfortably against my abs.

My stomach jolts, my cock growing against my leg.

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