Page 27 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
Pulling her shoulders back, Sam breathed in for the count of three before opening her eyes and pasting on her very best I’m-not-bitter smile. Running her palm down her shorts so that her hand wasn’t sweaty, she turned to face Grant. “Disappointing for me. But I expect you’re relieved to be off the hook. Good game.” Sam mentally awarded herself a consolation prize for not addingyou assholeto her concession speech.
Grant’s forehead wrinkled in surprise, and for a heartbeat, Sam wondered if he might refuse to shake her hand. Then he smiled. “Oh. I forgot about that. Good game.”
“Sure. You just happened to save that mean jumper until things were desperate.” Sam had to dig deep to make that joke. Looking around the court, she prayed for someone to come and interrupt the conversation. Hell, she would take a freak tornado warning to get out of this without another word.
“Just lucky, I guess.” Grant shrugged. “So listen—”
“That was an amazing shot!” Raphael popped up over Sam’s shoulder, causing Grant to jump in surprise.
“Thanks,” Grant said, holding out a hand to Raphael.
“Seriously, it was a thing of beauty, man.”
“I’ll let y’all discuss it,” Sam broke in, sensing a chance to get out of the gym before things got more awkward and she was forced to talk to Grant about what she would do for a program adviser in place of him.Better to leave with at least some of her dignity intact. Waving over her shoulder, she called, “Good game,” before jogging over to her gym bag.
Anger and hurt threatened to overwhelm whatever rational thoughts she had. How could she lose this game? She’d basically beaten Grant before—it was tough, but she’d done it. Instead, she’d let Grant in all his perfect smiling glory take a thing she cared about and turn it into a game. A game she’d lost, no less. She never should have asked for his help. Help always had strings attached. Really, this disaster was as much her fault as Grant’s. More, even.
Throwing her holey sweatshirt over her head, Sam waved to Duke, who was happily chatting with Theo. Nodding his acknowledgment, Duke said something to Theo, who laughed, before he shuffled over to her. “What’s up?”
“We gotta get outa here,” Sam whispered, trying to get her sweats on right side out.
“Okay, okay,” Duke said, giving her side-eye as he slowly began to unlace his sneakers.
Giving up and leaving her pants fuzzy side out, Sam threw her shoes in her bag and chucked her slides on the ground with a thud. “Like, now, dude. I bet Grant that if we won he’d be our program adviser. But we didn’t win and—”
“You what?” Duke asked at a volume that could’ve been heard all the way back in Akron. Worse, he stopped taking off his shoes to look at her.
“That was the only way he would consider it,” Sam said, moving her hand in a circular hurry-it-up gesture. “And now he doesn’t have to consider it. So let’s go before I lose my mind.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say something?”
“So—what? You could miss more shots than you were already missing? I don’t think the added pressure would have helped.”
“Ouch. You’re a sore loser,” Duke mumbled.
“If he didn’t want to help, he could have just said no. Instead, he’s gonna be all smug and rub it in my face; I can just feel it.”
“I don’t think he’s gonna do that.” Duke dropped his sandals onto the floor and stood up, leisurely sliding his feet into them.
Sam could have punched his casual demeanor. She needed to get her own car so he wasn’t her only means of escape in awkward situations. Grabbing her bag off the bleachers, she said, “I’m not fixing to wait around and find out. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” Duke said, fishing his keys out of his bag pocket. “You’re bossy. You know that?”
“Of course I do.” Hustling Duke out of the gym doors, she added, “How do you think I got this program thing going in the first place?”
“Jehan’s organization and grant-writing skills.” Duke snickered as they crossed the parking lot toward the sad hunk of metal they were calling a car.
“Ha. Ha,” Sam said, the tension in her shoulders beginning to thaw as she let her hand rest on the passenger-side door. Soon this would all be over. Once she got home, she could hop in a nice long shower—maybe even deep condition her hair—and put this whole stupid game behind her. That was, if Duke would hurry up and reach across the damn car to unlock her door.
“Sam?”
No. No, no, no. This was not happening. Sam refused to acknowledge that voice or even turn around as her blood instantly acquired the same frosty texture as the car’s windshield. This wasn’t happening. Not when she was this close to a shower, perfectly hydrated curls, and—you know what? Hell, why not? She’d even have a glass of wine. All these things were still a likely and enjoyable part of her future, as long as she didn’t turn around.
“Hey, Sam.”
She pulled on the door handle, glaring at Duke’s form through the foggy glass as he coaxed the car to life while the voice got closer.
“Hey. I’m glad I caught you.”
