Page 45 of Every Move You Make

My teammate offloads the ball to me before she’s wrapped up by one of the guys, but Isaiah sees the pass coming and is tackling me to the ground the second I catch it. “Oh fuck!” I scream, and my hip hits the ground.Somehow he manages to move his hands from my legs to cradle my head and shoulder before I go all the way down. It’s an incredibly sweet gesture, but I’m still determined to beat him.

“Stop taking it easy on me!” I yell, and attempt to shimmy my way out of his hold. “Sir, he’s not releasing!” I shout to the non-existent referee.

Ah well, rules be damned.

My teammate strides up behind me, and I’m able to make just enough room to pass the ball under my legs. When she strips the ball and runs off, I’m left there in the patchy grass, laughing uncontrollably while Isaiah pins me to the ground.

“Do you want to keep going?” he chuckles. “Because I’m only using about ten percent of my abilities.”

“You’re a liar!” I giggle. He responds by trying to turn me over, but I manage to wiggle just enough and hook my leg between his and gator-roll him.

“What the fuck?” he bellows.

“I’m stronger than I look!” The sentiment is short-lived. We end up wrestling each other, fighting for dominance, but it’s a losing battle for me. Neither of us can control our laughter, but he’s not nearly as affected as I am.

The next thing I know, I’m on my back with my arms above my head, and his face is an inch away from mine. We’re both hysterical, and tears are streaming down my face as he sits his full weight on my hips. With wild eyes and grass stuck in his beard, he’s barely able to say, “I. Win.”

“Fine!” I giggle while struggling to release from his grip. “You win.” Isaiah lets go and rolls off before laying next to me, both of us catching our breath as the laughter slowly settles. When I turn to look at him, he’s already staring back at me. “How’s your hand?”

He lifts it to show the red marks from his earlier game. “Hurts like hell.”

“C’mon. Let’s get you some more ice, Icy.” I stand, offering my hand to him as we abandon our teammates who have called the game off, too.

When we get inside and reapply a new bag of ice, I realize there are a lot less people here than there used to be. I carpooled here with three of my teammates and they’re all here, drunk as a skunk, including Josette, who drove us here! I’m underage and I’ve had a few beers already, so there’s no way I’m driving back to school.

Isaiah has the same realization, and when I look at him, he smiles. “You can stay here for the night.”

Angie runs up to us, her hair disheveled and eyes glassy. “Can I spend the night? I may have drank too much.”

“Oh, youmayhave?” he asks sarcastically. “Alright. Everyone’s staying.”

Angie and I grab hands and jump up and down. “Sleepover!”

Everyone’s gone by midnight when Isaiah sets up the couches for us with blankets and the few pillows he could find, but when I claim my spot for the night, he shakes his head and pulls me away.

“Where are we going?”

He leads us upstairs, and the silence in the house is met with creaking from each step and a sudden pounding in my chest.What the fuck is happening? Is he…? Are we gonna…?

He opens the first door on the right, and I tremble with uncertainty and delight and a heightened awareness that he has a girlfriend and I’m his friend—onlyhis friend. But as the door opens all the way, I spot Angie asleep in the bed.

“You’re gonna sleep in my room with her,” he whispers. “You both have water and granola bars on the nightstand. I’m gonna sleep downstairs.”

Relief and disappointment wash over me all at once. “You don’t have to do that.”

Isaiah’s face is solemn but sure. “Yes, I do.”

I know why. He knows why. Then why does it feel so wrong for him to leave me? Why does doing the right thing, the gentlemanly thing, feel so dishonest?

“I left a clean shirt and some sweats for you to wear,” he nods to his bed where they’re neatly folded. “But if that doesn’t work for you, you can wear anything you find.” I'm now painfully aware that he’s not moving an inch from his place just outside the threshold while I’m inside his bedroom.Isaiah Johanssen’sbedroom.

“Thank you, Zay.”

The small curl to the corner of his mouth is sweet. He nods and steps away. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

I think about Isaiah’s hands on me as I slip into his clothes and inhale the scent of detergent and traces of Old Spice. I think about Isaiah pinning me to the ground when I slip into his bed and rest my head on the same pillow he uses every night. I think about Isaiah kissing me when I fall asleep and dream of him holding me.

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