Page 96 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

“And Coach––”

“He’d get over it,” he answers, his arrogance wafting off him in waves.

“And me?” I challenge.

For once, he doesn’t already have his answer locked and loaded. His brows furrow as he looks at me. Really looks at me. Gone is the confident hockey star everyone knows and loves. Gone is the partier, laid-back, whatever-floats-your-boat senior at LAU who’s on the fast track to the NHL.

Instead, he’s replaced with the boy I fell in love with. The boy who bought me a two-liter of Crush. The boy who would tug on my messy ponytail. The boy who let me steal cinnamon bears from his bedroom and would let me watch movies with him. The boy who won me over so many times, I’ve lost count while hating how much I’d look forward to every single moment he’d grace me with.

I lick my bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth as I search for something to say. Something to either break the spell or give me the courage to take what I want without any more reservations. Because this push and pull? It’s going to obliterate me.

“If you win, I’ll back off,” he murmurs, taking my silence as a rejection. “I’ll be okay with just friends. I’ll stop being overprotective. I’ll stop calling and texting. I’ll”––he clears his throat and lets me go––“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

Whatever I want?

A breath of laughter slips out of me. If only I knew the answer.

I step to the top of the key and dribble the ball. “Are we playing Horse or Pig?”

“Pig,” he decides. “Not sure I can wait to collect my winnings in the time it would take for Horse.”

Aaaand, cocky Theo is back, I mentally note as he moves into position beside me and waits for me to take the first shot.

The rules are simple. If I make a basket, Theo has to take the shot from the same spot on the court. If he makes it, I take another shot somewhere else on the court. If he misses, he earns a P. If I miss, he takes the lead.

The first one to spell PIG loses.

Simple.

Unless you’re playing with your childhood crush and a kiss is on the line.

Digging my teeth into my bottom lip, I bend my knees, then flick my wrist. The basketball arches through the air, bounces off the backboard, and lands in the hoop.

Swish.

Theo rebounds the ball and dribbles it toward me, positioning himself at the top of the key and shoots the ball.

Swish.

I grab the basketball and head behind the three-point line.

Swish.

He heads to where I’d been standing and takes a shot. It bounces off the rim and barely misses.

With a smirk, I call out, “P.”

He rolls his eyes, runs for the ball, and tosses it to me. I shoot again but miss, giving Theo the opportunity to take the lead. He heads to my weak spot at the edge of the court and shoots. It bounces off the backboard and falls in for another point. I glare at Theo as I take his place and shoot the ball from where he’d been standing.

It misses.

“P,” he returns.

We continue playing and are neck-and-neck until we’re both P-I. Thankfully, I’m the first to shoot and have the advantage, but I miss the basket by an inch.

“Dammit,” I curse under my breath.

Looking sexy as hell, Theo jogs toward the ball as it rolls across the court and picks it up. He crosses the half-court mark, pulls up, and extends his arms, flicking his wrist as he shoots the ball.

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