Full Court Love (Love on the Sidelines #1)

1. Lucy

CHAPTER 1

LUCY

Y ou know that moment in a rom-com, the one where they lock eyes across a crowded room for the very first time, the rest of the world melts away, and it’s just the two of them—hearts racing, sparks flying, and a spotlight appearing out of nowhere to underscore the gravity of the whole ordeal? It’s kind of cheesy and unrealistic, but secretly we all hope it happens to us.

Well, I just experienced that for the very first time.

Unfortunately, it led to me turning the ball over in a pick-up basketball game, so now I’m pissed off–and also a little embarrassed.

I sprint back on defense, but not before casting a sideways glance at the guy who just walked into the gym and gave me my rom-com moment. He’s watching me with a slight grin on his face, like he knows he caused my mistake and simultaneously sent a jolt of electricity through my entire world somehow.

Infuriating.

I know for a fact I’ve never seen him before because I definitely would have remembered that six-foot-five frame that looks like it was carved to be a replica of a Greek god. Not that I typically notice that kind of thing. I’m hyper-focused on my personal goals–such as playing in the NCAA tournament and winning Player of the Year. Noticing hot guys has never been high on my priority list.

Until today—like, two minutes ago—that is.

My college teammates joke that I’m destined to become a nun because I’ve always shown zero interest in any man who looks my way. And although I would be a badass nun, this curly-haired, caramel-skinned, brown-eyed guy is suddenly making me question my no-guy stance. Not that it’s a stance exactly. It’s more of a natural result of my overconsumption of the romance genre in all forms–books, movies, TV shows, forcing my parents to tell me the story of how they met over fifty times, you name it.

Yeah, that’s actually the root cause of the problem.

This guy, though. He looks like he should be the leading man in any one of my favorites–and I will happily play the leading lady.

Totally kidding. Kind of.

This is a gym, which means I need to be focused on the game. Unfortunately, my willpower is weak, and his cheeky grin is making focusing nearly impossible.

So yeah, this isn’t going to work.

I can not play with him. One brief moment of eye contact caused me to lose all limb control. If we go shirts versus skins and I see his abs, it’s all over for me.

I direct my attention back to the game at hand. My team had a chance to win on the last possession before my turnover, so we need to get the ball back quickly. I have to end this thing and get out of here. I don’t need a run-in with whoever this newcomer is, no matter how much I want to see him shirtless.

My teammate Tom, a middle-school gym teacher well past his prime, pulls down the rebound and quickly finds me. I take a couple dribbles and pull up for a deep three .

Swish.

The guys on my team cheer while the opposing team lets out a collective groan. I fight back a smile, trying to play it cool. I can’t help but cast a sideways look at the hot guy on the bleachers, who meets my gaze once again. His eyes are still glued to me–I don’t think he’s looked away since he walked in, not that I’m keeping tabs–and a grin spreads on his face when he notices me watching him back. I look away too fast with cheeks burning. I need to escape this gym ASAP.

“Well, that’s game, guys. I’ll see you next Saturday.”

I wave and grab my bag, turning toward the exit.

“Quitting while you’re ahead, huh?”

I don’t recognize the voice, but the teasing tone makes my blood boil.

“Excuse me?”

I’m not one to back down from a challenge. Hence the season-ending injury last February. Competition is my Achilles’ heel–the injury, however, was to my knee.

I glance over my shoulder to whoever insinuated that I was a quitter, and of course, it’s him.

He has a smirk on his face that puts all my senses on high alert.

“I mean, I just got here and I’m ready to play, and you rush out. Seems a little cowardly.”

His voice is smooth and low. I know I’m being goaded, but I take the bait without an ounce of hesitation. With an aggressive pivot, I walk back toward the bleachers and toss my bag down.

“You’re right. How rude of me. You deserve a genuine YMCA rec ball welcome.”

I snatch the ball from Jeff, an old guy who has been a regular since the 1970s. He has a big smile on his face. All these guys know me too well and are stifling their chuckles. I’ve come to play basketball here ever since I started going to college at Nebraska State. It’s a Division I college in Maverick City, Nebraska, where I play on the women’s basketball team.

It seems crazy to a lot of people that I seek out the YMCA for games when most of my life is already dominated by basketball. But for me, this gym is an oasis. It’s pure basketball, with no cameras or evaluations or expectations. It’s my safe space.

Most of the guys I play with here know who I am and even come to watch me play, but they don’t treat me any differently. I love that.

This new guy is threatening the little sanctuary I’ve built for myself. He needs to be put in his place.

Or maybe I’m looking for an excuse to be in his presence a little while longer.

I can still feel his eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking down at me. At five foot eleven, I might be tall by female standards, but he still towers over me. I find it so hot, and I’m rather disappointed in myself for that.

I hate myself even more for the way my pulse races when he says their team can be skins. He turns to me with a wink before removing his shirt and revealing an annoyingly perfect set of toned abs. Once again, infuriating. I’ve been around my fair share of impressive specimens, but he takes the cake–although not a real one, apparently.

He definitely catches me staring this time. He cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

He whispers as he walks past me so only I can hear. “Feel free to take a picture.”

I’m flooded with a wave of embarrassment and some other emotions that have no business showing up on the basketball court.

I try to look intimidating as I step up to check the ball. Unfortunately, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome meets me at the three-point line and I’m now being forced to look at those enchanting brown eyes, which up close have a hint of green toward the middle.

Why I’m suddenly noticing these traits in a stranger, I don’t know. I do know that it’s going to take an act of the Almighty to keep me focused on this game.

The first possession, I simply try to avoid him, which proves to be tough considering he’s guarding me. I float around the three-point line until he sinks so deep into the lane that I end up with a wide-open three.

Nothing but net.

I jog back, acting like I don’t know he’s two steps behind me the entire time.

Yes, I’m perfectly unbothered. Totally locked in over here.

When I turn to guard him, he claps lightly.

“Impressive. I thought maybe the first one I saw was dumb luck, but you might not be half bad.”

I roll my eyes. Classic. I’ve put up with naysayers my whole life. It’s part of being a woman in this sport. Every single one of my doubters has eaten their words, and he will too.

When he tries to step out and catch the ball, I snap into competitor mode. I’m going to lock this guy down. My hand finds his back–it’s not my fault basketball is a contact sport. My fingertips graze the skin right above his shorts.

He freezes for a split second.

I do too.

I can’t tell if I’m imagining the electricity or not, but I’ve never experienced this feeling before. My hand feels warm and tingly. Butterflies erupt in my stomach. His momentum has stopped altogether. Eyes meeting mine, he looks at me with less teasing in his expression and more fire and passion. His chest rises as he sharply takes a breath. We stare for a moment too long before I hear the ball hit the wall. I pull my hand from his back like I just touched a hot stove.

The tension is broken .

We both look away, shaking off whatever just transpired between us. The ball is now rolling against the wall. Apparently, someone had tried to pass it to him during our little moment, so at least I got some payback for my turnover earlier. He raises his hand as he jogs to get it.

“My bad, guys! Sorry I misread the play.”

He’s lying through his teeth, and we both know it.

The rest of the game, we both employ an avoidance strategy. No physicality or contact needed–or wanted. At least, not in this setting.

In another setting, well…I can’t say for certain what I’d want.

But on the court, I’m unshakeable. Or at least I used to be. This guy is making me doubt a lot of things I used to view as gospel truth about myself.

I don’t want my game derailed by some dumb romantic trope, so I step farther and farther out, avoiding any accidental contact and hitting three after three until I make the game winner.

Right in his face.

He grabs the final rebound and chuckles as everyone starts high-fiving. Tom comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulders.

“Sorry, young man—we don’t like to warn newcomers. It’s way more fun for us to see this little lady embarrass people. It provides us with some much-needed entertainment.”

I can’t help but smile a little. I love my little YMCA family. The new guy chuckles.

“No apology necessary. I enjoyed the entertainment too. I definitely like a girl who can put me in my place.”

I feel the color rush from my neck into my cheeks. This teasing is now bordering on flirting, and I don’t do flirting. Mainly because I don’t know how. It’s not lost on me that he indirectly said he likes me, or at least the fact that I’m good at basketball–I think.

How do I respond to a roundabout compliment like that?

Do I bat my eyelashes? I’m pretty sure they’re drenched in sweat at the moment—along with the rest of my body—which is not the sexiest look in the world.

Mercifully, Jeff saves me. He wraps an arm around me protectively.

“We sure are proud of our Lu-Lu.”

My cheeks burn, but I can’t even be annoyed that he used my mom’s special nickname for me. He’s told me on multiple occasions that I remind him of his daughter who passed away a few years ago. After my dad’s death when I was in middle school, I always wanted to find someone like him to look out for me.

“Lu-Lu, huh?”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “Lucy Townes. Does that ring a bell?”

The new guy shrugs, but I see laughter in his eyes. Jeff, however, looks utterly flabbergasted.

“You don’t know who this is? Do you live under a rock?”

Tom shakes his head. “Man, I thought this kid seemed like he knew basketball. But if he doesn’t know who the best shooting guard in the country is, clearly he’s just a poser.”

He winks at me as he says it. The newcomer nods, obviously amused and entertained, holding back a chuckle.

“Wow, the whole country. Now I don’t feel as bad about getting embarrassed by you.”

Every time he speaks, my pulse picks up. He’s throwing me a lot of compliments after his first impression of straight trash talk.

I’m not super focused on his words, though. I keep getting distracted by his face. My eyes keep dipping below his gaze as he talks. I can’t help but watch his mouth and wonder what it would be like to feel his lips on mine. It’s an odd thought, considering I haven’t kissed anyone in years. I’d be happy to make an exception for him.

Snapping back to reality, I realize everyone is grabbing their gear, and I’m still standing here stuck in a fantasy not fit for a basketball court.

I sit down and untie my shoes, hoping the gym will clear out. Staring at the floor, I notice a shadow approaching. I briefly close my eyes, trying to slow my ever-increasing heart rate. He stops in front of me and slowly bends down, lowering his head to the level of mine. At this moment, I notice that the gym has fully emptied. Now we’re alone.

My chest is rising and falling much too aggressively, and I know he must notice. It’s blatantly obvious. I won’t even allow myself to meet his eyes, but he seems to have something else in mind.

He leans toward my ear, the woodsy scent of his cologne wafting over me. It conjures up images of lumberjacks and flannel and bonfires–basically every smell that could possibly turn a woman on. Great.

His lips stop just short of my ear, and I’m sitting like a frozen duck. He seems to revel in this moment before he finally speaks.

“Just so we’re clear, I know exactly who you are.”

This revelation breaks my trance and I finally turn to look at him, my face betraying my obvious confusion. Why did he pretend he didn’t? What kind of game is this?

Before I can come up with a coherent question, he takes off toward the door. With one last look back at me, he waves.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be seeing me around, Lu-Lu.”