He does, and I motion her over to the court.
“I’m not athletic,” she warns.
“'Athletic' is inclusive by definition. I got kids at that camp who use a wheelchair, and they’re plenty athletic.”
Her eyes light up. “What else can you tell me about the charity?”
I watch her slide an elastic off her wrist and carefully pull back her hair.
My gaze lingers there a moment as I imagine holding her hair back with my hands.
“I play with the kids,” I say. “I went this summer during off-season. It’s a great facility, fresh air. You’d like it.”
“Maybe I’ll have to visit.” She looks around the court. “This what you do—teach people to play?”
“You’re the only one over age twelve.”
“So, I’m special.” She preens.
“Apparently.”
If she had the first idea how much she affects me, it’d be game over. For both of us.
I start to dribble the ball, but she’s watching me.
“It doesn’t say that in your profile. Maybe people would cut you more slack about being difficult if they knew.”
“Maybe I don’t give a shit if people cut me slack or not.”
I pass to her and motion for her to dribble like I did.
Her brows pull together as though she’s not letting me get away with that answer. But finally, she relents and starts to move with the basketball.
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Now look up. At me, not the ball.”
Nova does and immediately dribbles onto her foot.
“Oh crap.”
I retrieve the ball easily with one outstretched hand and pass it back.
“You kids need more players. That isn’t a three-on-three,” Jayden calls from the side.
Brooke’s in one of the seats, legs crossed and flashing red-soled heels. “I’m not dressed for this.”
“Right, excuses to avoid getting your ass kicked,” Jay replies. “Girls can’t beat boys.”
“That’s it. You’re going down.” She lunges toward her brother, trying to get him in a headlock and failing.
Chloe’s already stepping out of her shoes and shrugging her jacket onto a chair.
Miles hollers, “Hell yeah.”
I grin.
Two minutes later, the six of us are playing.