Page 56 of Game On

I gesture toward him. “You, too.” He’s wearing a dark gray suit with no tie. His hands are in his pockets, pushing his suit jacket back which only accentuates his toned figure. His brown hair is usually styled in a messy way. It still is tonight, but it’s in a gelled messy way that looks like he tried.

“Aren’t you two cute?” my mom says.

I blush hardcore and end up running down the rest of the stairs. I lean over to give my mom a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

“Have fun,” she calls out after us as Sloan opens the door.

A shiny black car is parked in the driveway. “What’s this?”

He shrugs. “Borrowed my dad’s beamer. I can’t take someone who looks as sexy as you around in a Jeep.”

I push his shoulder. “I like your Jeep.”

He pulls the passenger side door open for me and helps me in. Once I’m settled, he goes around the front and then stretches out in the driver’s seat. He looks over at me again. “You look beautiful, Tessa. My mother’s bitchy friends are going to be so jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“You know, because they’re old now and not even a hundred-dollar cream can make them look like they’re seventeen again.”

I shake my head, my chest bursting with laughter. “You’re awful.”

He starts the car, which turns on much quieter than my Mustang. It hums underneath us like a gentle purr. “I would never say I wasn’t.” He keeps staring at me, his body half turned in the seat. “I kind of want to take you anywhere but my house right now. You’re too good for that.”

The way he says it catches my attention. Normally, I would just chalk this up as a Sloan thing to say, but there’s an emotion behind it that makes me think he’s got a million thoughts behind what he just said. Even though he looks better now, I still remember his tired eyes and the way he looked like he could burst at any moment. Reaching over, I grab his hand and squeeze. “I’m looking forward to this.”

He turns in the seat, dropping my hand. “Why?”

“Does because you’re going to be there count?”

He shakes his head, and then pulls out of the driveway. He doesn’t talk for a little while, but his fingers move, his eyes flash. He’s definitely thinking about something. The thing with Sloan is, I never know when I should pry and when I should keep my mouth shut. Eventually, he says, “I’m worried about what you’ll think of me after this.”

“Sloan, seriously?” It’s not like he hasn’t already done his worst to me. “I’m used to dinners and parties like this where we have to kiss other people’s asses. Don’t worry about me.”

We pull up to his house, and I’m once again struck by how it looks like it belongs in another period in time. “Stay right there,” he says, then he gets out and comes to my door, opening it with a flourish. He holds his hand out to me, and I take it to step out. He leans down over me. “From this moment forward, don’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth unless we’re alone.”

I blink and look up at him, but he’s all serious now. He puts my arm through his and then walks me to the front door. When we get there, Senator Ivy and his wife are just inside like they’ve been waiting all day to greet their guests. “How are you, Quintessa?” his mother says.

I see what Sloan was saying now. She said, ‘How are you?’, not ‘How have you been?’ or ‘How are things?’. ‘How are you?’ is generic. Throughout the whole dinner, that’s the feeling I get. Everyone here is acting like they’re one of those windup toys. They only speak about neutral subjects. There’s no real feeling or emotion. There’s laughter, but it’s one of the fakest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.

Sloan and I answer questions when they’re directed to us, but there’s not much. The food is really good. One of Mrs. Ivy’s friends asks me what designer made my dress and when I tell her I don’t know, she has to catch herself from laughing. But really, who knows those things? We probably bought it off the rack.

A few of the senator’s friends ask Sloan about basketball. The fact that I’m trying out for the team never comes up, even though it’s obvious they know who my father is. By the time the dinner ends and the adults move to the formal living room, Sloan asks his mom permission to show me their game room. I’m almost relieved to be away from all of them. Why talk at all if no one cares what the answers are or what other people are truly doing in their lives? I need to wash the insincerity off me stat.

With Sloan’s hand tight in mine, he leads me down carpeted steps to the basement. It’s dark at first, barely visible outlines coming into view until he flips the switch at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a foosball table in front of us and an air hockey table to our right. That’s all I notice before Sloan backs me against the wall and kisses me. There’s hunger and need in his kiss that immediately haywires my brain. When his fingers dig into me, hard, I cry out. He immediately pulls away. “Shh,” he says, laughing. He looks up the stairs to the open entrance. His parents are only a few rooms over with all of their uptight friends. He drops his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I made you do this. I can tell you hated it.”

I reach my hands up and place my palms on his chest. His heart is racing underneath my touch. “I didn’t enjoy it, no,” I tell him, unable to hide my thoughts. I can see why he’s intent on kissing me now. He wants something real. He looks down, but I tip his face back up to look me in the eyes. “It wasn’t all bad. I got to stare at you during dinner.”

“Looking at you was torture. I was daydreaming of pushing our plates to the floor and then propping you up on the dinner table just to kiss you so I could get a raw reaction out of them.”

I lean over and laugh into his shoulder. “Now that would’ve been funny. I guess you’ll just have to settle for us making out down here.”

“Maybe they’ll come down and catch us?” He raises his eyebrows a couple times in quick succession, making me smile. I feel bad for Sloan, but I can’t tell him that. He won’t like it. Instead, I let him kiss his frustration out on me. Little by little, his loneliness seeps away. So does all the bravado and masks until it’s just the two of us, heart to heart. He pulls away, his lips red and plump. “I hate my parents. They’re awful people. They suck at parenting, but they’re also just terrible humans.” His hazel eyes latch onto mine. “That’s why basketball means so much to me. I want to earn something on my own instead of having it given to me because I’m an Ivy. I want to pay my own way for college, then whatever I do afterward is on me. I don’t owe them anything if I do things my way.”

I cup his cheek, startled by his outburst. “You’re such a good player, Sloan. You’ll make it.”

He swallows, his eyes closing for a split second. When he reopens them, there’s a fire there. It’s so bright it almost scares me. “I didn’t think I’d be able to tell anyone that.”

“The Ballers know, don’t they?”

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