Page 41 of Wicked Player

We wandered to the basketball court area. Four indoor hoops about eight feet in height. They had side nets and return lanes like you’d find in an arcade and scoreboards that lit up and included a countdown.

I picked up one of the basketballs and was rolling it in my hands when Gage saddled up next to me.

His presence was unmistakable. Hair spiked at the back of my neck and traveled down my spine.

Gage grabbed another basketball and without pause or thought, launched it into the air. It swished through the net next to the one where I was lined up and rolled back to him. He spread his fingers, long and strong on an equally large palm and gripped it with ease.

“Have any questions for me? You’re the only one not fighting for time today.”

Are you the man from Velvet?

The question, the mere thought, made me choke so hard I covered my mouth with my hand, dropping the ball to my feet.

What was wrong with me?

He bent down and grabbed the basketball bouncing at our feet. One large hand gripped it and my breath stalled. He was crouched down, glossy black hair at the top of his head, his shoulders wide, knees spread. Time slowed as he held the ball in one hand, head tilted back. His lips pursed, eyes narrowed in a quizzical way.

He stood, every movement of it was defined as if someone had pressed the slow-motion button on the remote that was my life. When he reached his full height, he had to be closer to me.

“You okay?”

I was anything but okay. Sweat broke out on my back. Nerves lit. He was so close I had to resist stepping back out of fear, not only of his size but the brief whisper of his cologne that wafted between us.

Familiar. It took everything I had not to close my eyes, lean in and breathe him in. Iknewthat scent.

My hands tightened into balls of fists so tight at my sides my nails would leave crescent-shaped moons in my palms.

“Elizabeth?”

Oh no. I was gaping at him like a moron and it took an effort to get my mouth to move. To release my fists and reach out for the ball.

I took it from him, my every movement robotic and forced. My fingers, sweaty, hot and trembling brushed the tips of his as he held out the ball. I turned and plopped it into the net in front of me.

“I’m fine,” I croaked. My hand went to my throat and rubbed it. I needed water. Air. To be far away from him before I accused him of something so improper it risked getting me fired.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

He was still standing too close. I couldn’t bring myself to check the room to see if we were garnering attention.

My scalp pricked like a thousand eyes were on me anyway, even if there were only a dozen people there.

Do I know you?

That was not the question to ask.

But his voice was almost knowing…like he expected me to ask the question.

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. Turning, I dug into my purse at my side and grabbed my water bottle. I needed to get a grip and seriously fast before I did something stupid, like shove my face into the crook of his neck to smell him. I took a long drink of water, too long, based on the way Gage’s eyes crinkled at the edges. A smile played at the edges of his lips and the same time he bounced the basketball at his side.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It matched the beat of the thunder raging through me.

“If Harrison were here,” I asked, referencing his brother. Immediately the ball stopped bounced and his back straightened. “What would be his favorite thing to do in this room?”

It was a personal question and a long shot. In my manila folder of events were strict instructions. No personal questions outside what he freely gave, and no exclusives.

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