Nate didn’t look so convinced.
“Perhaps we can make it interesting,” I offered, not quite sure where I was going with this.
“I’m listening.”
I snorted. “Okay, that was as far as I got, since drinking games are so not an option, at least for the next few days.”
The roll of his eyes sent a shot of longing straight to my heart. The familiarity of the gesture, something he did so often when we were kids when I came up with half-assed plans, was immediate.
I wished so badly I hadn’t fucked up so spectacularly.
“You all right?” Nate took a couple of steps in my direction, and I smoothed out my frown, ignoring the heavy pounding of my heart. Regrets were the worst. I needed to find a way to move on.
“Yeah. That’s my thinking face.”
Even though he snorted, the disbelief in his eyes was easy to read. Our tells were front and center, and rather than latching on to the ache they created, I snatched hard and fast to the comfort of it, of him.
“Okay, so no drinking games. How about first dibs on places to visit or food to eat?”
I scrunched my nose up at that. “Shit, are we old? We got old, right? When the fuck did that happen?”
Nate’s laughter burst loudly into the empty court. I grinned at the sound. “We’re not even thirty, so no, we’re not fucking old. Hell, I finally believe that forty isn’t old anymore. Not now I can see it creeping up on us so quickly.”
“Okay, so not old, just dags, since I can’t think of a decent wager or whatever.”
“Sounds about right.” Shifting to stand before me, he took the ball from my hands. “How about we just shoot, and you can—” He cut off midsentence, a flash of amusement filling his eyes, and I winced, knowing that whatever he’d thought of would take daggy to a whole new level.
“Okay, to make it fair since you’re the pro who gets paid the big bucks, every hoop I get two points, you get one. First to thirty. The loser has to find a bar or club or something and dance the ‘Nutbush.’”
I waited for a beat to see if he was kidding before I widened my eyes and snorted out a laugh.
“‘Nutbush,’ the dance? Are you serious?” Hell, I’d last done that at our Year Twelve formal. There was nothing quite like a graduating party to break out our moves.
“Yeah. It’ll help you prepare for your trip back home… just in case.”
“Just in case?” I asked.
“Well, you know there’s bound to be a time a deejay plays the damn thing if we head out, especially if it’s a cheesy bar, and you’re going to be called out if you can’t remember your moves. They’re gonna pull your Aussie card for sure.” The glint in his eyes was pure fun and teasing.
“And obviously if I win”—’cause I expected that was the way it would go—“you’ll stand up and dance to it?” I tilted my head to drink in his reaction. Nate had never been one for the spotlight. Sure, he was up for having a laugh, but he was happier when others took the lead.
“Yeah, straight up, I will.”
I grinned and reached out my hand. “Deal,” I said as his palm connected with mine, and we shook on it.
We took it in turns, each shot from the three-point line. With each successful shot he made, surprise flicked to life in my gut. I’d forgotten what a good shot he was. “How are you still so good at this?” I asked, angling toward him and quirking my brow.
His shrug was nonchalant, but I wasn’t buying it.
“Spill.”
“I have a hoop at home, plus I put one up at your gran’s a while back. What can I say? I like taking the ball out every now and then.”
My brows rose in surprise. “You do? But you pretty much hated the game when we were kids.”
His shrug was a little less nonchalant this time. “I may have stuck with it after you left. I stopped playing for the Sunny Coast.” I didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes before he glanced away, bouncing the basketball at his feet and showing a little too much interest in it. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I just needed a link still.”
I swallowed hard, a flash of pain hitting my chest. “To me?” I asked quietly, both heartbroken and crazily touched if that was the case.
