Page 123 of Between Love and War
“Are you cold?” Dan asks, offering me his jacket.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
I grip my cup tighter, watching as Michael fakes left, drives right, and lands another shot. He’s good. Of course he’s good.
I take a sip of my drink to cool my face, which is absolutely not flushed from anything related to him, thank you very much. Somewhere behind me, Richard is shouting commentary like a sports announcer with no mic discipline. Haley keeps telling himto shush, but I barely hear them. My focus keeps sliding back to the court, to the man who’s pretending I’m not here but can’t quite stop checking if I am.
The second quarter flies by in a rush of steals and passes. Polly appears on the jumbotron at one point, holding up a sign that says “Go Tito Wowski!” while the crowd coos. I smile in spite of myself.
And then—just before halftime—Michael goes up for a rebound and lands wrong. I stand. I don’t know why.
The whole arena gasps, then quiets as he stays on the ground, clutching his ankle. A ref whistles and the game slows.
“Shit,” I hear someone (maybe Joshua) say under his breath.
“Is he okay?” Richard leans forward, concerned.
Michael pushes himself up after a beat, waving off the medic. The crowd gives a relieved applause as he limps toward the bench. But even from here, I can see the grimace he tries to hide. I want to run to him. But I don’t.
He doesn’t look our way again—until right before halftime, when he glances up and his eyes catch mine again. This time, he holds it.
The buzzer sounds, signaling halftime. The score is tied at 45. He disappears into the tunnel with the players.
And I finally sit back down, realizing I’ve been on my feet too long.
The halftime show is a blur. Dancers in glittery uniforms. A raffle winner called down to the court. My friends make small talk around me—Ryan and Joshua placing bets on the final score, Emily asking if the popcorn is actually buttered. Bon taking photos of everything, like she always does. Haley weirdly distraught. Dan leans over every so often, trying to talk to me.
I sip from my drink. My heart hasn’t slowed.
The stadium lights dim a little—transitioning to a softer, playful glow as the announcer’s voice booms across the court. “Alright, folks! You know what time it is!”
The crowd roars.
The jumbotron glows with the words ‘Kiss Cam’ as it scans around the arena. A couple of teenagers get caught in the light beam and they kiss shyly. Next, a middle-aged pair with foam fingers. Their kiss is a bit less shy, causing the crowd to cheer.
And then—
Us.
Me and Dan.
Sitting in the front row.
The crowd cheers expectantly.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
Dan laughs a little. He shifts awkwardly, “Just one kiss?” he asks.
I freeze. “Um, I—” I start.
“Come on, Kate, it’s just a kiss.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t really just… kiss.” I try to wave off the jumbotron. “We’re just friends,” I say to the camera, but the announcer insists.
And then, out of nowhere, the crowd cheers. Loudly. At first, I’m confused. Are they really cheering this loud for a stupid kiss cam?
And then that’s when it hits me. They’re not cheering for me… the cameras pan to the athlete’s entrance, and there he is. Michael. Striding out from the other side of the arena. He crosses the basketball court in big strides, until he grabs a mic from one of the hosts.
