Page 58 of Love at Second Down

“Your date is calling,” Damon murmurs, some unspoken emotion lingering in his eyes?an echo of something neither of us has quite let go of?before he quickly glances away.

And as he turns toward Liz, I think,I might have a fighting chance yet.

I’m tugging my black boots back on as the guys head to the rental counter to return our bowling shoes, when Liz nudges my shoulder. “So?” she asks, glancing back at the guys to ensure we’re still alone. “How did it go? I saw you two talking when we went to get snacks.”

I offer her a small smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. Otherwise, I’m not sure we would’ve had any time alone. Travis is attentive, which makes me feel kind of crappy about using him and this date to get to Damon,” I say with a grimace. “Still, I guess it’s worth it. The conversation I had with Damon was . . .good. I felt something. I mean, I always feel something with him,” I clarify, “but we shared this moment at the end there.Kind of like the one at the dance where I could sense he still feels something for me. That there’s still something real beneath all that anger.”

Liz beams and claps her hands. “Of course he does. You were in love. That doesn’t just disappear, even a couple years later.”

I bite my lip. Prior to arriving at AAU, I’m not sure I would’ve said the same, but now . . . I think maybe she’s right.

“That was fun,” Travis says, breaking through my thoughts. I straighten, trying not to meet Damon’s eyes when Travis slings his arm casually over my shoulders. “But the night’s still young,” he says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “You guys want to have a couple beers, play a few games of pool?” He motions toward the opposite end of the alley where there’s a bar and a couple of old pool tables in the back.

My stomach twists, not from nerves exactly, but something tighter, sharper. As much as I’d hate for this night to end and risk leaving Damon with Liz, I have no desire to continue this charade with Travis any longer when all I want to do is get Damon alone.

Meeting my gaze, Liz reads my sinking expression and perks up. “I’m down,” she chirps, then glances at Damon whose gaze meets mine.

“Can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “Sorry. I have to lift with the team first thing in the morning, followed by class and film review. Besides, I don’t drink before games.”

“Always the responsible one,” I mutter with a smile.

His mouth quirks. “Some things don’t change.”

Our eyes lock for a moment and I whisper, “No, they don’t.”

Beside me, Travis clears his throat, and I jerk my gaze up to his when he asks, “Avery? What about you?”

“Um, I’m not much of a drinker, either,” I say gently, watching his face fall just a little. “But you two should stay.” I gesturebetween him and Liz. “Seriously. Have some drinks for us and play a couple rounds.”

Travis frowns, glancing at Damon as if asking for permission. With the sweep of a hand, he motions toward Liz. “If Liz is alright with it . . .” Damon trails off, waiting for confirmation from her, and when she nods, he says, “then you two have fun.”

“You’re sure?” Travis asks, glancing between us, obviously wanting to stay but not wanting to step on any toes.

I smile, trying to put him at ease. “Totally.”

“Okay, then.” Travis takes a step back, motioning for Liz to follow as he smiles. “Come on.”

Liz passes me, squeezing my arm with a whispered, “You’ve got this.”

Once they’re gone, I turn back to Damon, unsure of how he feels about this turn of events. Even though he and Liz weren’t exactly hitting it off, I wonder how disappointed he is that the night is ending this way?with him headed home early and his date staying behind.

“Looks like I’m out of a ride,” I say, breaking the silence. “Would you mind . . .?”

Damon’s jaw ticks—just once—but after a beat, he shrugs. “Sure.”

He waits as I pull on my coat then grab my purse, walking silently beside me as we step outside into the cold and head for his car.

When he unlocks the door, I slide into the passenger seat, swallowed by that old familiar scent of leather and spearmint and something distinctly Damon. My hands brush against the worn fabric of my seatbelt, and a rush of memories tugs at me. Late nights with the windows down, laughter spilling into the summer air. Quiet drives home after a hard-won football game, our fingers entwined over the console. It feels like I’ve slippedback into a forgotten dream, everything in its place, nothing changed.

The car purrs to life beneath us, a low, comforting rumble as he turns on the heat, and when the warm air hits my cheeks, I’m jolted back to countless other cold nights when this car felt like our own little world.

I shiver slightly, not from the chill but from something deeper that’s harder to shake.

Damon says nothing as he pulls into traffic, and I wonder if he feels it too when his eyes flick toward me. Tension crackles in the space between us, the silence loaded and heavy, as I sift through about a dozen ways to break it: a joke, an apology, a simple acknowledgment of what’s really happening here, what’s been happening since the moment I arrived on campus.

“You still hate the snow?” Damon asks, breaking the silence first.

I let out a breathy laugh, surprised and relieved all at once. “I’m surviving,” I say. “Itisbeautiful, though,” I muse as we pass a field of snow-covered trees, their icy limbs reaching into the sky like arms illuminated by the moonlight.

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