Page 37 of The Probability of Us

“Just like our first time, it’ll be worth the wait,” I tease back.

“You’ll always be worth the wait.” He kisses me, sweetly, deeply. “Now you should probably go because if you stay another second, I’m not going to be able to let go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kiss him one last, lingering time. “I hope you’re ready to get your ass whooped at basketball.”

“Oh, Analise,” he calls as I start to walk away, “you can whoop my ass anytime.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” I call over my shoulder with a huge grin. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed this.

“I hope you do.” His smile is bright even though it’s the middle of the night. “Sweet dreams, Analise.”

Fourteen

AUGUST CURRENT DAY (FRIDAY)

“Teams are Warren, Mac, and Jason versus Peter, Ben, and me.” I relay the split and internally laugh at the frustration on Jason’s face that comes from being assigned to the same team as Warren. But when Jason’s gaze lands back on me I shift out of his sightline. The way he’s been looking at me since I walked up in these leggings still sends a shiver through me—in a bad, uncomfortable way. I know he mostly agreed to play to go head-to-head with him, but this was the fairest way to split the teams.

I spent hours this morning looking for a solution for our company, but the only outcome of that was a never-ending stream of groans. Therehasto be a solution. Warren stopped by to help when he could, but Peter kept him in meetings all morning, and apparently they didn’t finish what they needed, so he’ll have to meet up with him again this afternoon.

Both of us were more than ready to blow off some steam with this basketball game.

“All right, team strategy,” I say after shooting Warren a menacing smile. I’m glad we’re on different teams—I really want to win just to throw it in his face. Mostly because the way he kisses when he’s worked up is on a whole other level, and with the way his eyes are trying to burn my leggings off me, I know that’s what’s waiting for me on the other side of this game. I may have needed time to think last night, but after I did some baking—in preparation for this weekend—and now that I’ve processed all the new information, I’m ready to cross that invisible line I’d drawn.

When we huddle up, I’m surprised when Ben, the quietest of the bunch, speaks up first. “I should probably take Jason, since we’re the tallest.”

“Agreed,” I say, relieved I won’t be paired up with him. And though I really want to be paired with Warren, it makes more sense to put me against Mac since we’re the only females here. But before I can voice my opinion, Peter jumps in.

“I’ll take Mac.” I try to hide my surprise and excitement when he looks over at me. “Can we trust you to deal with Warren?”

I can’t hold back my grin. “Consider it done.”

From observing this group over the past week, and especially with Peter’s request, I’ve started to wonder if there’s something between Peter and Mac. They’re often around each other and seem to speak a language that only the two of them understand.

When we break, and see the other team has chosen the same match-ups as us—to the obvious dismay of a grumpy Jason—I wonder again if they planned this ahead of time, especially when Peter and Mac keep smiling smugly, glancing over at Warren and me.

“You game, Summers?” Warren’s face is competitive and devious as he approaches me and all I want to do is throw my arms around his neck and kiss that stupid, handsome look off his face. His eyes darken and I know he’s catching every little tell on my face, in my eyes, in the way I’m positioning myself around him to givehimthe best view of my ass in these leggings.

I take a deep breath to steady my thoughts, then narrow my eyes at him. I grin back as I say, “Oh, it’s on, Mitchell.”

As the game starts, the teams look evenly matched. Ben and Jason both get extremely into it and start getting overly competitive almost immediately. No matter how much the rest of us are laughing and keeping it light, the two of them are acting like it’s the NBA Finals, Game 7. They’re so evenly matched they’ve essentially blocked each other out of the game since neither can get free from the other. It seems like it’s going to come down to me and Mac.

Whichever one of us can shut down our man more effectively is going to win this for their team.

Warren gets the ball from Jason and pulls some fancy footwork to roll around me and make a basket. He struts over to me like he’s walking a red carpet, and I scowl at him as my cheeks heat. He has always played into that air of confidence, and I see in his eyes he’s doing it for me.

“You’ve got to up your game if you want to beat me, Summers.” While he’s always been turned on by me going off on someone—or him—at work, I’ve always been turned on by his perfect amount of cockiness. I have to link my hands together behind my back so I don’t reach out to him.

“Watch yourself, Mitchell,” I say loud enough for the others to hear since they’ve been watching his celebration with varying levels of amusement and anger. But I lower my voice to add the last bit. “Or I might have to start playing dirty.”

His eyes light up, two beautiful suns burning me to the ground. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Despite myself, my forced scowl twitches up into a smile.

I take that as a challenge and start sneaking little touches across his body when no one’s looking to get his blood flowing and pull his focus from the game. From the way his eyes get darker and his breathing gets heavier, it’s working—but it’s affecting both of us. We’ve both done very little to contribute to this game score-wise, but it stays competitive mostly because of Jason and Ben.

The score works its way up to a tie game—next basket wins. Peter has the ball for my team, and even though he could find a way around Mac to score, he passes it over to me. I swear there’s a smirk on his face, but I immediately shift into serious competitor mode. I’m going to beat Warren.

I fake right, then roll around him to the left, but knowing he’ll have read my movement, I’m particular about my foot placement—landing right between his legs as he’s trying to twist around to stop me. It causes him to trip and fall and gives me the opening I need to make the winning shot.

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