“This is stupid. This isn’t something I would ever do.”
“That’s not the point. It’s the act of touching you need to work on. You need to get comfortable enough that you don’t scare Briggs and kick him in the shins if he tries to make a move on you.”
“He was cheating, and I didn’t mean to,” I protested loudly.
“You actually did that? I was just making that up.” He sounded incredulous.
“It was an accident,” I replied, ignoring the growing smile on his face.
When I still hesitated, he raised his eyebrows. “It doesn’t have to be the hair, you know. You can touch me somewhere else. You pick.”
My gaze dropped to the broad lines on his bare chest and stomach, and suddenly my face felt itchy and hot. I placed my hand on his head, letting my fingers roam through the long strands Jake spent all day pushing back from his face.
“You need a haircut,” I said.
“Real cowboys don’t sit in salons.”
I moved my fingers down his forehead to his sideburns before slowly dragging my fingers through the side of his crown, smiling when Jake shivered at our contact.
“I don’t need lessons. You’re totally being swooned,” I whispered triumphantly.
He stepped back to put some space between us. “Alright. One on one. You and me. We play to ten.”
As he turned away, my gaze drifted down his bare back. The visual effect of outdoor labor etched in the hard lines and definition on his body. A familiar sense of our upbringing settled over me, where Jake would do embarrassing things to get a reaction out of me. He was doing that now, and even amid my pounding heart and fiery cheeks, it felt different than it had before. I needed to play this just right. Give it back to him a bit. Which meant I couldn’t be ruffled by his touching. He was going to shove his half-naked body in my face for this game, and I needed to be ready.
I would be ready.
Spoiler:I wasn’t ready.
I was going to lose for the second time tonight because Jake wasn’t playing fair. It was like Briggs on repeat but…different. This time, I knew what Jake was doing. I was prepared for the accidental touches, but what I didn’t prepare for was the warmth of his skin pressed against my back when I was trying to keep him from a rebound. His hand on my arm. I had played hundreds of pickup games with Jake growing up, and I could never recall the feel of him like this. The same old moves felt different. He gave me no space when trying to block my shots. When he had the ball, instead of going wide to avoid being guarded, he drove into me, forcing my fingertips to graze and touch and attempt to stop. And he did it all with a knowing grin on his dumb, handsome face.
All that to say, thanks to Jake’s outrageous cheating, the score was tied up nine to nine. I had the ball.
“We have to win by two points,” Jake claimed, bending over and casually pulling the bottom of my shirt his way to wipe the sweat off his face. I protested loudly before pushing him away.
“One point. This isn’t ping pong.”
He grinned. “My court, my rules.”
“It’s not your court.”
“I think we can both agree that I own this court tonight.”
I wiped at the sweat on my own forehead. “Fine. I’ll win either way.”
He motioned for me to start the game. I began dribbling, though I didn’t move anywhere. I kept my gaze intense. This was the only part of the game where Jake gave me a little space. It wasn’t until I began approaching the basket that he moved into me, boundaries becoming nonexistent. If I was going to win—and it was important that I did—I couldn’t be distracted.
Except, Jake seemed to understand what I was about, and before I could line up to take a shot, he bolted toward me. I scrambled forward, attempting to run around him, but instead, he caught my arm as I passed, fouling spectacularly and pulling me backward and into his body. Before he could steal my ball, I threw up a wayward, one-handed shot. I watched with bated breath as it made its way closer before sinking into the basket. My arms shot into the air in triumph while Jake groaned and released me.
“You are the worst kind of cheat.” I bumped into his shoulder as he passed me.
“My ball,” Jake said at the top of the court. He eyed me as he dribbled in place before taking off directly toward me, into my space. He held his arm out to block my attempts at swiping the ball from him, but he got what he was after—me close enough tograb. Without warning, he dropped the ball and bent forward to hoist me up and over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I smacked his back as I dangled precariously over one shoulder. “Put me down.”
“What?” Jake asked, casually bending to pick up the ball, effectively making me squeak, almost falling from his grip before he righted himself and began a slow walk, dribbling toward the basket.
He had no reaction to my desperate jabs into his side as he sauntered toward the basket, effortlessly scoring with a one-handed rebound. Even though he had tied us up and it was my turn with the ball, Jake casually shot a few more baskets one handed, walking around the court as though he didn’t hold a five-foot-eight-and-three-quarters-inch woman on his shoulder.