“I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll do my best.”
“What about Briggs?” she asked.
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t think we’re a match, but he’s nice.”
“He may have gotten the hint tonight.” I bit back a laugh, remembering the sound of Briggs’s grunt after the fat lip. “But if you need to talk to him, you can do that too.”
“What happens with everybody here at the ranch?” she asked. “How far do we take this thing on your end?”
“We just keep it casual. Seeing us hanging out is obviously what they want. Hopefully, that will make them stop trying to set me up with anything single that moves. Then by the end of the summer, you’ll be all fired up and ready to snag a man.”
We both went for the ball at the same time, nudging and pushing each other out of the way before she yanked the ball from my grip, spinning away from me.
“In regard to Briggs, he asked me to play one-on-one. In my world, that means we play ball. If I had known ahead of time the objective, I could have changed my approach.”
“The guy isn’t going to spell it out like that. It’s a vibe you need to feel.”
“Well, after four years of playing in college, it’s really hard to tamp down the aggressive energy into something sweet and flirty, especially with a cocky guy thinking he’s going to take me down.”
“You don’t have sweet and flirty energy anywhere, though. Not just on the court. You jump like a skinned rabbit every time somebody comes close to touching you.”
“What?! No, I don’t!”
“You do. You have a problem with touch in general.” The idea just now struck me with a force.
She gaped at me. “I touch people all the time.” She walked toward me, reaching out and poking my chest, and attempted to give me a hug before I pushed her away.
“That’s not the kind of touching I’m talking about.”
Her cheeks flamed a fiery red while her hands found her hips. “Well, I don’t have a problem with touch, okay? I just didn’t realize what Briggs was doing. I’ll prove it.”
“Alright, let’s play to three,” I said. “I’ll be Briggs.”
She stared at me for a long moment before her chin raised. “Fine.”
The game started immediately, and she had the ball. For a second, I forgot I was Briggs and had naturally fallen into our usual rhythm. Even after so long, I knew her plays. She’d definitely gotten even better since we’d last played, so after a minute, watching her fake a left and easily breeze past me to sink a layup, I remembered my purpose.
She gave me an aggravating grin and tossed me the ball.
Briggs. I was Briggs.
I dribbled the ball slowly toward her, waiting for her to pounce. I couldn’t remember how much touching we actually did in the game. She didn’t pounce, though. She waited patiently like a large cat stalking her dinner. So I inched closer, dangling the bait. Immediately, she moved forward to swipe the ball away, but I was ready for it and used my arm to block her advance. It worked for a second before she stole the ball anyway and bounded down the court to sink another layup, this time, a reverse.
I’d forgotten what a show-off she was.
The next time, I gave her no opening. I was on her, using my body as much as possible to block and touch, but to no avail. She blew past me, and it didn’t seem like she’d even registered any of it. She was all business.
When she made the last shot and turned toward me, a proud, self-satisfied look on her face, I knew I needed to change my approach. She knew me too well like this.
“I told you. I don’t have a problem with this kind of touch—at least not with you.”
She gave me the opening I was looking for. I took a step toward her, reaching my hand out like I was going to brush her hair across her forehead. Before I could touch her, she took a step back.
She blinked.
I grinned.