Page 93 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

He stays quiet for a beat, then drops his head back to look at the sky. “Slept. Not sleep.”

From the corner of my eye, I glance at him and twist back to the stars.

“Past tense, Blake,” he clarifies when I’ve been silent for too long. “Past tense.”

I dig my teeth into the inside of my cheek, annoyed with myself more than I am with Theo. Because I shouldn’t be annoyed. I shouldn’t care who he sleeps with or what he does in his spare time.

But that’s the thing.

I do care. I cared in high school. I cared while he was away at college. I cared before he touched me for the first time. And I sure as hell care now.

Sensing my frustration, Theo tears his attention from the sky and looks at me. Then, he stands up and slaps the bill of the baseball hat I’d stolen from the back of his car.

I jerk in surprise and glare up at him. “What was that for?”

“Let’s play Horse.” He motions to the basketball court on his neighbor’s property.

It’s a full-size court, complete with outdoor lighting, fresh paint on the asphalt, and a small bin with a lid set back behind the hoop. It looks super nice, and since there aren’t any of our college friends hanging out on the premises, I assume it’s because the place is off-limits.

“Are we allowed to play Horse?” I ask.

He offers his hand and challenges, “Since when has obeying the rules held you back?”

I roll my eyes but take his hand and let him help me up, ignoring the heat seeping into my palm and causing goosebumps to race up my arm. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always had this reaction with him, and after our little rendezvous in his spare bedroom, it’s only gotten worse.

Theo guides me to the basketball court and flips a switch on an outlet box beside the hoop. Outdoor lighting illuminates the painted asphalt. There’s a small bin on the outside perimeter of the court, and Theo opens it, tossing a basketball to me. I catch it on reflex, glancing at the darkened house on top of the sloped hill.

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” I ask.

“They aren’t home. But even if they were, Mrs. Norman loves me and wouldn’t care.”

“You’re positive?” I reiterate.

He laughs and lifts his hands, gesturing for me to pass him the ball. “Yeah, Blake. I’m positive.”

The ball bounces once between us as I toss it to Theo. We take turns shooting it around the key. I’m a little rusty, but it doesn’t take long to find my rhythm, and soon, we’re hitting shots left and right.

After ten minutes or so, the tension from earlier starts to dissipate, and I’m reminded of how easy it is to be with Theo. How comfortable the silence is. How playful the banter can be. Well, at least when one of his previous conquests doesn’t interrupt.

It’s addictive.

“Man, I haven’t played basketball in forever,” I say.

“You’ve still got it,” he notes, watching me dribble the ball, pull up, and take a shot.

It swishes through the net with a satisfying whoosh.

He rebounds it before doing a layup, his arms flexing as he tosses the ball into the basket.

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” I reply. “Tell me. How does it feel to be good at everything you do?”

“I’m not good at everything I do,” he argues.

“Uh-huh. Sure. How many offers have you gotten for the NHL so far?”

“Before Colt came back to play again? Zero.”

“And after?” I prod, well-aware of how great his stats looked last season, let alone how good they’re looking with Colt back on the ice. Those two are like bread and butter together. Sure, before college, things took a bad turn when my dad died. His death didn’t only throw off Colt, causing him to spiral and quit the sport altogether. It also messed with Theo and everyone else on the team. After all, not only had Theo lost his coach, he’d lost his best friend too. The combination sent Theo’s stats into a nosedive right before the NHL’s draft.

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