Page 23 of Most Valuable Players
“Too bad.”
He tosses the ball to me almost as if he’s forgotten I’m me and not one of his teammates.
“So, really, why are you out here on a Saturday night and not out with the guys? I saw Joel and Z and a bunch more of your teammates at the baseball house. Were you busy memorizing more textbooks?”
He arches a brow.
“I took a guess. The way you know statistics, I assumed you spent your spare time memorizing it.”
He chuckles. “Photographic memory. Plus, statistics is my life.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, say I get fouled taking a shot and get two free throws. Each shot has two outcomes: make or miss. So, there are four possible outcomes. I could miss both shots. Miss the first shot and make the second. Make the first and miss the second.”
“Or make both.”
He grins. “Exactly.”
I stare at him as he moves around the court, and I process what he just told me. “Oh my God. This is how you’ve been tutoring Joel and Z.”
He shrugs. “Not tutoring, just explaining it in terms they understand. They’re smart dudes, but ball is our life. So, by giving them examples about shit that doesn’t mean anything to them is a lost cause.”
“Wes, that’s genius. Can you show me more? Explain it like you’ve been doing for Joel and Z?”
Scrubbing his hand over his jaw, he studies me carefully. “I don’t know how much sense I’m going to make talking ball stuff with a chick in a dress and heels.”
“Don’t let the outfit fool you. I can keep up.”
“That so?”
“Yep. I’m not some prissy sorority girl.”
He gives me a once over that sends a shiver through me.
“Okay, well, I am, but it isn’tallI am. I’ve played basketball before.”
“Yeah, how long ago was that?”
“It was a while ago,” I admit. “Come on, please?”
“The sorority girl wants the dumb jock to tutor her? It’s pretty funny, really.”
“Sorry I assumed you were a dumb jock.”
“You’re only sorry because you need my help.”
“I’ll play you for it.”
“Play me for what exactly?” He cocks his head to the side.
“More of your tutoring services.”
“You thinkyoucan beatme??” He raises a brow as he spins the ball around in his hand. He’s showing off, but I’m very much enjoying it.
“Not one-on-one.” I hold my hands out, and he bounces it to me. I moved to the side of the basket, dribble once and pull up and shoot. As the ball goes through the net, I turn to him. “We’ll play PIG.”
One side of his mouth tugs into a half smile, but he retrieves the ball and dribbles it to where I stand. I hold my spot, so he moves behind me, the warmth from his body swallowing me up. He leans down so that his lips are a hair’s breath away from my neck. “I’m seventy-five percent from the left wing. You sure this is your play?”
