ELIZA
JJ takes the ball first, dribbling with easy swagger as we get into position.
“You ready, Boston?” Grayson sidles over, placing his bulky body between me and JJ.
Apparently, we’re matched up, but this isn’t a surprise. It’d be weird to get physical with my boss, and two-person teams don’t leave many options.
“Ready to make you regret inviting me to play? Yes.”
“Careful about underestimating us.”
“It’s impossible to underestimate you.”
A chuckle erupts from his chest, one that’s immediately cut off when JJ suddenly drives to the basket.
Anson’s on him like glue, so I dart to the side, hands open for a pass that JJ throws. Either Grayson is taking it incredibly easy on me, or he just wasn’t ready for the game to start, because I have a wide-open shot that I drain.
JJ howls. “You boys are fucked.”
Jogging backwards, I open my arms wide at Grayson, whose jaw is parted in surprise. “That regret sinking in yet?”
“You have two points. Cool it,” he chirps, starting a slow, controlled dribble down the court.
It’s smart to give him a little space and conserve energy until he gets inside the three-point line. But it’s a short game, and that point I just scored lit a fire within me that’ll carry me through to the end.
Even if it doesn’t, my desire to pummel Grayson into the ground will.
The whole I can deal with losing in basketball? Yeah. Not happening anymore.
I get right up in his face, stance wide, jabbing at his dribbling hand.
“So that’s how you want to play.” The soft words are barely out when he crosses the ball behind his back and darts left. I sprint to catch up, but he fades back before I can stop. The ball hits the backboard and goes in.
I snag the ball before I have to hear whatever bullshit Grayson’s two points just inspired, and send it to JJ, who’s already halfway down the court. Anson and Grayson aren’t expecting the fast turnaround. A second later, JJ reaches high for an easy layup. “Gotta be quicker, boys!”
“JJ, you talk too fucking much.” Anson’s face is set in stern lines as he comes down the pavement.
“Check your panties.” JJ winks, closing in on him. “Pretty sure they’re twisted.”
Anson fades right, then passes left. I’m in line to intercept when Grayson flies in front of me with way more speed than JJ described. He yanks the ball from the air and drives to the basket.
In it goes. Four-Four.
Apparently he’s learning, because he doesn’t stick around to gloat, joining Anson to hustle down the court.
This is the pace for several points. I shoot and pass quickly, because my dribbling is abysmal.
Grayson doesn’t try poking at my hands like I do to him.
In fact, he’s careful not to make contact with me at all.
He just edges to my right, forcing me to move to my weak side or give up the ball.
Luckily, JJ is an evasion artist, getting open for a pass again and again.
Until he doesn’t.
With Grayson all over my right side, I hold the ball and prepare to pass. But Anson’s figured out JJ’s game, and he can’t get free.
“What trick you gonna pull now?” Grayson taunts, bringing his broad chest right up in my space. He’s like a goddamn brick wall.
“I don’t know,” I lie. Planting one foot, I duck and drive my elbow into his rock-hard gut. I hear his expulsion of air as I pivot back, using the space I created to get a shot off.
In it goes.
I wink. “Maybe a little something like that.”
“That was a foul,” Grayson accuses.
“Can’t handle a little roughness, Grayson?”
His mouth curves, all rogue. “It’s all about the setting, Boston. Just don’t want to set a bad precedent on the court.”
There’s no chance for a retort because Grayson turns for the sideline, calling a timeout. His arms flex as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside, and all my wit withers away.
Grayson Gold doesn’t just have hot guy arms. He has hot guy…
everything. My eyes shamelessly rivet to the tapestry of tanned skin and thick muscle, not overtly chiseled like a bodybuilder, but honed for function.
Perfectly proportional, all male, with a light dusting of hair across his chest and a happy trail that disappears beneath his waistband.
And, yeah, there’s a hint of a vee that also disappears into his shorts.
Why, universe. Why?!
JJ, guardian angel that he is, also whips off his shirt, and his equally incredible physique dulls the shock of Grayson’s—but not before Grayson catches me watching him and develops a smug smirk that makes me want to dive face-first into the pavement.
I remind my eyes that they’re not to look below his neckline as he jogs over.
“See something you like?”
“What makes you think that?”
JJ’s still making his way back on the court, and Anson’s thankfully out of earshot.
“Just looking a little focused there, that’s all.”
“I was focused—on the idea I just had.”
Grayson steps closer, bringing a wash of body heat with him. It brushes against my skin, as taunting as his tone. “No, you can’t take a photo of me and frame it on your wall.”
I roll my eyes, too aware that he doesn’t smell as rancid as a sweaty man should. “When we win, you’re taking me with you for a full day of work on the farm.” When he blinks, I add, “For content.”
Knowing him, he’d twist my request and force me into physical labor all day.
“Fine.”
It only took him a second to consider my offer. “Really? That easy?”
He glances around guilelessly. “It appears so.”
“You’re going to take me out with you for a full day of work,” I state, just to make sure he truly understands me.
“No, I’m not.” When my face scrunches in confusion, he says, “You’re not going to win.”
And that’s when I know I will do anything to beat him and Anson to twenty points.
The next few points come fast, each of our teams matching the other. By the time we’re tied at eighteen, my forehead is slicked with sweat. JJ calls me over to the end of the court, where he’s dribbling the ball.
“You want to win this thing?”
“Yes.” I’m trying not to wheeze, while JJ sounds like he’s out for an evening stroll.
“Know how to set a pick?”
When I nod, he quickly relays the plan, and we lope down the court to where the brothers wait.
Anson comes up to guard JJ, while Grayson slides over to me. JJ dribbles hard toward me, and I run just past him, forcing Grayson and Anson to swap their defense. Anson’s slow on the uptake, leaving me free to get right in Grayson’s way as JJ drives across the court.
The pick works perfectly.
Too perfectly.
Grayson’s too focused on keeping up with JJ to notice my placement and barrels directly into me with the force of an eighteen-wheeler.
I’m flung off my feet. Grayson comes with me, throwing his hands out just in time to catch himself.
Unlike me.
I slam into the pavement, and there’s the whoosh of a basket finding home. But I can’t celebrate the fact that we just won because I can’t breathe, my lungs frozen in my chest as a primal panic sets in.
“Woah, Boston.” It’s Grayson, crouching right at my side, face etched in concern. “Breathe.”
Breathe. How do I make myself breathe? I never have. It’s an automatic process that I’ve never had to do manually and oh my god I’m going to suffo—
“Hey.” Two pools of whiskey dip right into my vision, calm and grounding. “You just got the breath knocked out of you. You’ve got this.”
I’ve got this.
A sliver of oxygen slides down my throat. It disappears, and my ribs stutter on another inhale that draws a sip of air. I shove it out, and my next breath is a little more full.
Pull it together.
As my body remembers how to breathe, the panic ebbs away, making room for a storm of sensations.
My smarting ass. The burn on my palms. The heat of Grayson’s body that is nearly touching mine, all that bulk crouched beside me and head angled low toward mine.
There’s no air between us to pull away the salt and warm musk that radiate off his skin.
For a fleeting moment, I’m glad. It’s the same moment that I meet his gaze again and find it steady and sure, void of the mocking light and irritation I’ve come to know.
“Eliza, you good?” JJ’s voice shatters the fragile peace.
Grayson pulls away to glance at his friend, though he stays crouched by my side.
“I’m—” big breath, “fine.”
I am.
My body feels like it was hit by a freight train, but nothing is broken. My ass will bruise, and my hands have a little road rash, but there are no real injuries.
JJ crouches on my opposite side, concerned eyes running over me. “Shit, that was not supposed to happen.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” Grayson’s tone, which isn’t directed at me, but his friend, has me sitting up straighter. He sounds angry, so vastly different from the calm he just exuded.
JJ runs a frustrated hand across his jaw. “You’ve never gone that hard into a pick. Thought you’d see her.”
“I could’ve seriously hurt her.”
“Yeah, I realize that now. It was a bad idea—"
“You think?” Grayson interrupts sharply. “You don’t normally have those, but that—"
“Hey.” I glance between Grayson’s stormy expression and JJ’s sorry one, settling on Grayson—this man who was just my lifeline, who’s still crouching above me like he cares.
For the second time in a matter of days, the neatly defined image of him in my mind doesn’t seem so bounded, the edges blurring as that picture tries to morph.
All my thoughts start to jumble, but this isn’t the time.
I don’t even know if they should be jumbling.
Shoving them back into their organized boxes, I say, “I’m fine.”
Both of them look at me, still in a pathetic heap on the pavement.
Handle yourself.
“I lost my breath and needed a second to get it back.” I start to stand, and they move back, making space for me. Grayson’s hand is the first drop down. I trace it to that chiseled arm and up to his face, then jump to Anson’s face high above it.
Handle. Yourself.
Ignoring his offer, I push to my feet, forcing a smile through the aches. “You shouldn’t be upset with him. I would’ve suggested the plan if he hadn’t.”
This doesn’t appease him. His mouth parts to argue back, but I beat him to it.
“Besides,” my smile turns genuine, “it got us the win.”
The stern lines of Grayson’s face slowly morph into incredulity, and I twist the knife.
“What time do we start on Monday?”