Page 17 of Foul Line

Without thinking, I start to walk out. Once I’m in front of him, my toes in the sand, I ask, “What did you want, Sloan?”

He hands me my towel, briefly glancing at me before I can get it around my shoulders and cover myself up. When I’m hidden behind it, he looks away. I was right about the pulse in his neck and the feathering of his jaw. He looks like he’s trying to stay cool, but his body is revolting against the idea.

I wipe a corner of the towel down my face. “Nice talk. Glad you came all the way out here for that.”

I step away, but his hand closes around my ankle. When I look back, he lets me go and leans back in the sand again. “I just wanted to tell you I didn’t think it would get that far.”

I can’t tell from the look on his face what exactly he’s talking about. Is he talking about his friend being an asshole? Or is he talking about us…together? “What? You almost going down on me? That day in the classroom? Or…?”

His gaze drops to my mid-section. I’m completely covered, but his eyes are burning a hole right through the soft fabric of the towel. “Neither, actually. I was talking about Lake.”

“Oh,” I say sarcastically. “The day you let me know in no uncertain terms that I was basically just another Baller Skank to you. I mean, my car already said it, so…” I shrug. “Did you have one of the others key it there?”

“It wasn’t like that and you know it.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I didn’t know he would pull that shit.”

I roll my eyes. “Christ, Sloan, it’s been months. Why do you even care? We spent day after day in basketball practice, Saturdays on a bus sometimes, and you’re just now coming to me with this?”

He swallows. “I don’t have an excuse, Tessa, so if you’re looking for one, you won’t find it here.”

“I’m not looking for anything when it comes to you.”

His face shadows over. I don’t know what he expected, but it clearly wasn’t this. For a split second, the shadows make the dark areas under his eyes more pronounced, and I feel an ounce of guilt. I’m giving him shit, but Sloan Ivy doesn’t have the best life. For all outward appearances, it’s great. He’s a senator’s son. He’s wealthy. He’s great at basketball. I know the truth. He’d opened up to me about what actually goes on.

“I used to wonder how you could still like us after everything we did to you. I guess that only goes so far, huh?”

My throat starts to clog. Shame washes over me. Clearly, I put my faith in the wrong people. “I guess so.”

He wipes his hand down his face and then gets to his feet. His hazel eyes are the perfect myriad of colors today. It makes me ache even though I try to push the feeling down. When I still feel an inkling of remorse for him, I push it down even further. He sighs. “I guess I just wanted you to know that I’ve never seen Hayes do that before. Maybe he’s the only one of us who deserves you.”

I tip my chin in the air. “None of you deserve me.”

Sloan catches my gaze for a second, but then looks away. “I think you’re right about that.”

He spins in the sand and walks away. I stand there, lake water still dripping off me as I watch him go. He cuts through the beach, over the lawn, and toward one of the cabins on the other side of this section. A few of the other camp attendees are outside throwing a frisbee around.

I know I need to stay strong, it’s just the fact that I thought we connected over something before. I have to tamp the urge to run after him and ask—for real this time—about his parents. I know something must be going on. He’s not losing sleep for no reason.

Before I can do just that, I lean over and quickly swipe my keys out of the sand and head toward my cabin. I have just enough time to throw some real clothes on and head in for dinner. Maybe tonight I’ll grab a tray and eat by myself in the privacy of my own cabin. There’s a lot less bullshit in here than there is in any other part of this camp.

10

I’m able to avoid any testosterone-fueled nonsense until the next day.

One of the coaches my dad got to come to camp this year isn’t a basketball coach at all. He teaches about mindset, specifically the mindset of young entrepreneurs and athletes. I was actually pretty thrilled with this idea until the guy tells us he wants us to break up into partners. As he’s explaining everything that he wants to happen, my blood pumps like crazy. The air-conditioned room we’re in in the main building feels like it’s blowing cold air right on me.

This can’t be happening. It’ll be just my luck if I get paired with one of the Ballers, or worse, Lake or his fucking jackoff of a brother. How is that kid only about to be a freshman? He’s already a rotten human being.

“I’ve pre-arranged the partners,” the mindset coach says. I’m glaring at him. I hope he can tell. He’s supposed to be really good at youth psyche, so doesn’t he know breaking us off into partners is like the worst thing ever? I thought only high school teachers did that just to get back at us students for being general pains in their asses.

He calls us up by name one-by-one. My mind is whirring, trying to figure out who’s left, who I’m inevitably going to be partnered up with, when he says, “Lake and Quintessa.”

All the air rushes out of me.No. Fucking. Way.

About four voices speak out in dissent, not one of them is mine or Lake’s. The guy—Petrie, or Petrie something—glances up. Alec’s voice transcends the others. “That’s not a good idea, Sir.”

---