Page 3 of The Pass
“You know I play baseball?”
“Yes, Tanner, I know you play baseball and basketball. I know that you were the third highest scorer on the basketball team last season and your saves on the baseball team are on track to be the best of any closer the school’s ever seen.”
My brows lift and hide under the hair hanging onto my forehead.Damn.
“I like sports.”
“That is hot.”
She smiles and arches a brow.
“Not that you like sports, though that’s super cool. It’s hot that you know my stats.”
“I know a lot of people’s stats.”
“Let’s not talk about them.”
Chuckling and shaking her head, Sydney smiles at me. “You’re as cocky as they say.”
“You’re way hotter than they say.”
She looks like she’s going to ask so I add, “No one’s said, but damn if I’m not real pissed that they haven’t.”
She’s grinning and still shaking her head at me.
“Do you want another drink?” I need to stand, move around. I’m so amped up talking to this girl.
“Can I see the gym inside?” she asks and then bites her lip.
“The basketball court?”
She nods enthusiastically.
That isn’t a request I imagined getting from a chick tonight, but far be it for me to deny this girl anything. “Sure.”
With our drinks, we walk inside and weave through the party. When she nearly loses me in the crowd, she reaches out and grabs my elbow. Heat races up my arm at her touch. I slow long enough for her to get a good grip. Her skin is soft, but her hold is strong.
The guys have always kept the court locked during parties, so I’ve never been in here myself while people are over. I unlock it and hold the door open for her to enter first.
“Wow.” She walks in, tilting her head up and then turning to take it all in.
I follow, staring at her. The gym is cool, but Sydney is a fucking wet dream.
“This is amazing, Tanner. If I had a place to practice volleyball in my house, I’d never leave it.” Her gaze finally lands on me and her face is lit up with such excitement it stirs something inside of me.
She continues her exploration as she walks toward the rack of basketballs. Reaching out, she lets her fingertips graze the tops of the balls.
“Do you want to play?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she asks, “Basketball?”
“Sure, why not?”
She picks up one of the balls and turns it over, running her palms along the leather. It’s as if she’s someone who played a long time ago and is getting a feel for it again, reacquainting herself with an old friend.
She steps out of her heels and pads over to the top of the key. I didn’t bother turning the light on when we walked in, so it’s dark, only the skylights giving us enough illumination to see. She checks it to me, and I send it back, intrigued and anxious to see if she can play.
With a hesitant start, she dribbles twice with her right hand before switching to her left. I’m too far away to steal it without moving so she takes her time dribbling in place before she takes a step to the basket.
