Page 17 of #Awestruck
“Because you’re getting to know me?”
I’d just about had my fill of Evan Dawson. Especially when he was trying to be cute. I started for the door, but he blocked my path. “Ashton, wait. How about this—we play a game of one-on-one. If I win, you let me take you to dinner and apologize. And if you win, I promise to never bother you about it again.”
This shouldn’t have been a difficult decision, but it was. Because I was torn between making another grand exit and playing his game to see what would happen. Maybe it was because I’d spent the afternoon reliving my teenage trauma with Nia that now some perverse part of me wanted to hear what he had to say.
And after all these years, I did want an explanation. Just to get closure so I could stop obsessing about it.
Not that I intended to forgive him or anything like it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have him believe he was in my corner as I tried to find out the truth about him.
Who knows? Maybe he’d reveal something else at the dinner that I could use for my story. At the very least it might be progress to report to Brenda.
“Fine.” I set down my duffel bag and took off my jacket.
And nearly squawked out loud when I saw him taking off his shirt. “What are you doing?”
He tossed the shirt on top of his jacket. “I don’t want to get my shirt all sweaty. Not to mention I told you it’s been a long time for me, and I just saw how good you are. I need every advantage I can get.”
Yes, because being a professional athlete wasn’t going to help him at all. “And you think this is an advantage?”
“I don’t know. Ask your eyes. They’ve been glued to my chest for the last minute or so.”
He wasn’t wrong. His chest was a thing of beauty. Rippling, sculpted muscles and sinews and fading bruises in every color of the rainbow, all of which my fingers itched to touch.
I’d obviously hit my head harder during the game than I’d originally thought. “Are you always this full of yourself?”
“Only when someone gives me a reason to be.” He dribbled the ball, walking backward. “Play to ten?”
I tightened my ponytail. “Let’s go.”
He bounced the ball to me, and I immediately sank my first shot. “Two points, me.”
Evan turned out to be a stronger opponent than I’d thought. He had four inches on me, which helped him to block. As did his whole standing super close without a shirt on. It was a distraction and a definite advantage for him. I lost control of the ball more than once due to my idiotic physical reaction to him. Like he was scrambling my senses by being so close and smelling so good and giving off this intoxicating heat that made me want to cling to him like a baby monkey.
“Eight to eight,” he reminded me, his words burning against my earlobe, my back pressed to his front as I dribbled.
I could easily pivot out of this and make the shot. Game over.
Instead, I just kept dribbling, like the ball represented what was going on in my mind. Did I want things to be over and never see Evan again?
I turned to shoot, and the ball bounced against the backboard. Evan grabbed the rebound and with an easy layup won the game.
“Yes! Yes!” he said, both arms high above his head. “I win!”
“Okay, okay. Stop dancing in the end zone,” I told him. I was all hot and bothered, and I suspected it had nothing to do with the physical exertion and everything to do with the guy celebrating under the hoop.
Had I missed on purpose? I always gave basketball my all, but this time I suspected I’d tried, like, maybe ninety percent. Or eighty-five.
Possibly sixty.
“Dinner, Friday night. Because you have plans tomorrow night, right?” he asked after he’d finished his victory lap around half of the gym. I mopped some residual sweat off my forehead, out of my eyes. So much for worrying about his shirt. This jerk didn’t even have the decency to break a sweat.
And how did he remember my schedule like that? “I guess Friday is fine.”
“I need your address so I can pick you up. How’s seven o’clock?” To my hormones’ sadness, he walked over to put his shirt back on.
I did not want Evan Dawson knowing where I lived. “I will meet you at the restaurant. You didn’t negotiate picking me up as part of the bet.” Ha. At least I still had some dignity left and had won something, even if the victory was tiny.
He blinked slowly, a smile shadowing his lips. “You’re right. I didn’t. So I’ll need your number so I can text you the information.”
