Page 13 of Not Made to Last

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks.

I switch positions and score again, then wait for her to catch the rebound and return the ball to me. “Another truth?”

Her smile warms parts of me I keep hidden from the world. “Is college in your future?”

I give her what she wants and hope it leads nowhere. “I’d be the worst kind of jerk if I took a spot on a team when someone else could use it as a stepping-stone to better their lives. Their futures.” Plus, I was never sure if the colleges that threw offers my way wanted me or if it was the money my parents could provide the program. “Besides,” I continue, “I’m not passionate about the game so much as the discipline it provides me.”

“What do you mean?” She’s cute when she’s inquisitive—all scrunchy nose and squinty eyes.

I take a moment to come up with a simplified explanation. “It’s easy to push aside all other thoughts and everything going on around you when you obsess over something. Basketball’s been my obsession for a long time, and with it came discipline. Self-discipline.” And God knows how badly I needed that. Without waiting for her response, I throw the ball toward her, completely unsurprised when she catches it flawlessly. I step to the side, offering her my position. “Take your shot.”

Olivia does as suggested, and I can tell the moment the ball leaves her hands that it’s in.

“Nice form,” I say, jogging to retrieve the ball. I face her, holding the ball at my side. “Now it’s your turn.”

Head tilted slightly, she replies, “I just had my turn.”

I shake my head, stopping a few feet in front of her. “It’s your turn to give me a truth.”

She chews her lip, looking everywhere but at me.

“Did Dominic teach you to shoot like that?”

Her intake of breath is audible, and her eyes drop.Busted.

I hold my ground, stay silent.

Finally, she looks up, eyes right on mine. “I taught him.”

I nod, slowly, watching every single emotion pass through her features. Fear, shame, something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

Dominic Delgado: soon-to-be senior at Philips Academy—my school’s rival. Like me, he, too, is the captain of the basketball team. Unlike me, he’s a complete and utter dickbag. And I can’t fucking believe he’s Olivia’s brother. Though, just like she and the kid in her car—they look nothing alike. Dominic is half black, half Iranian, earning him the nicknames: The Dominator, The Prince of Persia, and my personal favorite only because I know how much he hates it—The Persian Persuasion. I know girls at St. Luke’s who’d be more than willing to jump ship for the guy… too bad he’d always had his girl, Dani, by his side. Until I came along. But, that’s a story for another time.

“How did you know?” Olivia asks, her voice quiet, words trembling with each syllable.

I dribble leisurely around her. “You went into the gas station after I did and got a call from him. Your phone was still connected to the Bluetooth in your car, and I saw‘lil bro’show up on the screen.”

“And you know it was Dom, how?”

I shrug, lazy. “I typed the number into my phone to see if I knew him, and wouldn’t you know it…”

“Of course, you have his number.”

Another shrug. “Keep your enemies close…”

Her eye roll is so dramatic, she must be seeing stars.

“I didn’t even know Dom had a sister.”

She steps forward so fast; I don’t have time to get rid of the ball before she swoops it out of my grasp. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

“Why?”

Her lay-up is fucking perfect, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on. Neither of us makes a move to retrieve the ball, and after a few seconds, she turns to me, her smile soft, eyes warm, and something switches in that moment. Something rare. Something… easy. “No more truths tonight, okay, Timothy?”

I laugh.

Because what else can I do?

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