Mya is waiting for me outside of the stadium. "Nice jersey," she comments as we walk inside, peeking at the back of the shirt. "Is this Maddox dude your boyfriend?"

I resist the urge to vomit. "Fuck no. Ew. Gross. He's my older brother," I say quickly, wiping that thought clean from my brain.

Mya laughs. "Makes sense. I was wondering how you got tickets to this game. Home openers are fucking impossible to get tickets to."

I shrug as we take our seats. "One of the only perks of having Archer as an older brother."

Both teams are doing their warmups when we enter the stadium. Jack's the first person I focus on as we take our seats. He's already a bit sweaty, accentuating the contractions of his eye-catching muscles. I watch as he talks and laughs with his teammates, then runs his hand through his dirty-blond hair. Even during warmups, his movements are so precise.

Jack dribbles up to the basket and sinks a layup, then passes it to Archer. Archer makes a three-pointer easily, then passes the ball.

Archer spots me in the crowd almost and waves at me casually. He sinks a free-throw then shoots me a cocky look. I give him a thumbs-down. Mya nudges me. "That's your brother? Holy shit, he's sexy."

"Mya, that is the second time you've made me want to vomit tonight. I'm not sure how much more I can take," I say. "My brother and the word 'sexy' should never be uttered in the same breath."

Mya raises her eyebrow. "Fine, fine. Your brother is quite possible the ugliest living thing I've ever seen in my eighteen years of existence. Better?"

I smile at her. "Much."

As the teams continue their warmups, Mya and I talk. When I look back down at the court, I accidentally make eye contact with Jack. I stiffen, wondering if he's still hell-bent on ignoring me, but he flashes me a small smile. Then he shoots a three-pointer and makes it in, all while looking at me. He seems to have gotten over his mood swing earlier, and his smile is as warm as ever. I look away.

Mya watches this whole interaction, flicking her gaze between the two of us. "Am I allowed to comment on him or will you bite my head off?"

I blush. "He's just a friend. My brother's best friend, so he's technically not really my friend," I stammer out. "It's . . . nothing."

She looks back down at the court, then back at me. I make a point not to look back down. "Sure. So you don't care about the cheerleader that's wiping the sweat off his forehead right now?" She asks.

My head snaps back toward the court, searching for Jack and this cheerleader. My eyes find Jack, but he's nowhere near the sidelines or a cheerleader. I look back at Mya, who's holding back a triumphant grin. "Just a friend, huh?" She teases.

I shake my head, too flustered to answer. We watch as the teams leave for the locker room to change into their uniforms. Jack's one of the first to come out. We lock eyes for a split second before he tears his gaze away.

I don't realize I was holding my breath until his back is turned toward me and I can release the air from my lungs. But as they call the starting lineup, I find myself still watching as he places his hands on the back of his head and flexes his muscles as he waits. Dear God . . .

Mya nudges me, breaking me from my euphoric trance. "Did you hear that? Your brother and your boyfriend are both starting. Point guard and power forward. That's insane."

"Yeah, they're both pretty good," I reply, realizing I was so deep in my trance that I didn't hear this information. "And he's not my boyfriend. I don't like him."

"Tell that to the drool dripping down your chin," she says. I instinctively wipe my hand across my face. Thankfully, there's nothing there, but I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if there was.

When the game starts, they put Jack up against the tallest player on Syracuse's team. "How tall is he?" Mya asks.

I hate that I know the answer to this question. "Six foot six."

The ball is thrown up in the air and Jack goes for it. He narrowly manages to win the jump ball and tip the ball toward his team, allowing Archer to get a hold of it. He dribbles up the court with little trouble and shoots a very early three-pointer. Our side of the stadium erupts in noise, pushed toward hysteria by the early lead.

I watch as Archer takes the congrats from his teammates and walks over to high-five Jack, just like they've done since they were kids. Then I watch as Jack flips up the bottom of his jersey to wipe sweat from his face, exposing the tanned muscles of his abdomen. I'm pretty sure that I and every other girl in this arena swoon.

Then his eyes find mine again and he smiles, chewing on the side of his mouthguard as it hangs out of his mouth.

Then they're on defense and Jack swiftly intercepts a pass from the other team. Mya grips my hand tightly and we both hold our breath as he fast breaks down the court. He dunks the ball.

"He's already showing off," I mutter to Mya, but she's too busy cheering with everyone else. The stadium announcer is going crazy as well, praising Jack as if he just saved an orphan child from a fire. I guess everything Jack does elicits that effect on people.

The Jack show continues on, and it isn't long before UNC has a more-than-comfortable lead on Syracuse. And after almost every point he scores, he looks up at me with that same lazy grin. I'm glad I didn't eat anything before I came here, because my stomach flips nervously every time.

A bit after half time, Mya tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I offer to go with her, but she insists I stay to fill her in on what happened while she's gone. A few minutes after Mya leaves, Archer sinks a layup, and my phone rings. Mom.

"Scarlett! I can see you on TV! Archer got you some good seats, huh?" She says excitedly. "Who was that girl sitting next to you? I'm so glad you're making friends, baby!"

I smile. "Mom, don't sound so surprised by me having friends. Besides, I just met her tod--"

"Oh my god," I hear Dani say in the background. "Jack looks so hot when he's sweaty. Did you see him dunk? What I would give to be watching that man in person . . . "

"Dani," my dad says, "Control yourself or we're turning the game off."

I see Mya coming back down the aisle as I listen to Dad and Dani bicker. I smile at her, then turn my attention back to my family. "Okay, I love you guys. I gotta go, my friend just got back. I'll talk to y'all later."

They all say goodbye, and Dani tells me to lick the sweat off Jack's body for her. I hang up before I can hear Dad's reply to that one.

"I got some candy on the way back from the bathroom," Mya says as she sits down. She offers some to me. "I also got a drink to cool myself down from all the hot men. Not your brother, of course."

I just take a handful of her candy and shove it into my mouth.

During the third quarter, my phone buzzes with a text. I wipe the sugar from my fingers and pull it from my back pocket.

Pavil already put in an A
for our assignment
Pretty good, Crimson

I check the grade book and, sure enough, our professor has already graded the assignment.

Considering the quality
of your work, it was
probably just graded
for completion

After I send the text, I wonder if I'm being too harsh with my joking. Maybe I'm getting too comfortable and he's talking shit about me to his bandmates right now.

Has anyone ever
told you how
nice you are?

I smile at his response.

You'd definitely be
one of the first

"Who's got you smilin' at your phone" Mya asks, peering over at my phone. "It can't be Mr. Griffin, that's for sure."

I look down at to see Jack and Archer being subbed out. Jack's leaning forward, chewing on his mouthguard. "No one. Just a partner for a class project," I answer.

"Well sign me up for that class," Mya snorts, putting some more candy in her mouth.

I look back down at my phone. Three little dots pop up for a few seconds, then they disappear. I turn off my phone.

It ends up being a landslide victory for UNC. After some celebration, the teams head back to the locker room to change. I tell Mya that I'm going to wait for Archer and Jack to come back out, which usually happens after most everyone has left. I expect her to leave, but she sits back down next to me, saying, "It's cool, I don't have anywhere to be."

When they come back out, Mya and I head down to the court to congratulate them. Archer drapes his arm around my shoulders, still smelling vaguely of sweat. "Pretty good home opener, don't you think?"

I pretend to think. "I would have preferred a hundred-point lead, but fifty is okay, I guess."

Archer rolls his eyes, then notices Mya standing next to me. "Who's your friend, Scar?"

This gets Mya's attention, and she looks around for a second, making sure he's talking about her. I sigh, "This is Mya. She's in one of my dance classes."

Mya and Archer both give each other a once-over, apparently liking what they see. "Yeah, you're pretty good, Maddox," she says smoothly. I should've warned her not to look into his eyes, but it's too late. She's gone. I've seen that look before on dozens of girls' faces in the past. Archer flashes her a knowing smile.

I want to gag. As they begin to talk, I look around for Jack. I see him a few feet from us, talking to two of his teammates. It looks like he's telling some sort of story, and his teammates are laughing, engrossed by everything he's saying. He moves and speaks with a casual sort of confidence, comfortable with being the object of attention.

He catches me staring, says something to the two other guys who fist-bump him before leaving. Then he's walking toward us.

"Hey, Scar," he says, deciding to stand right beside me. "You comin' with me and Arch to Phi Delt's party tonight?"

Archer halts his conversation with Mya to butt into ours. "No, she's not," he says before I get the chance to answer. "It's not the place for her."

I shoot him a look. "I can speak for myself, Archer. And who are you to decide that for me?"

My brother doesn't relent, and his voice takes on a serious quality. "I'm the person Mom and Dad told to look out for you, and I'm saying that you're not going. I don't want those frat guys trying to get you drunk and take you home."

I feel my face turning red with anger and embarrassment.

"Arch, come on. We'll both be ther—" Jack attempts to reason, but Archer won't have it.

"I said no. End of discussion," Archer says, sounding too much like Dad. I scoff at the authority that he's injecting into his voice.

"You're going to the party and you're trying to tell me that I'm not allowed to? You're not my parent. You can't tell me what to do like this," I say, trying to hold the angry waver from my voice.

Archer smirks. "You're right, I'm not your parent. How about we call Dad and see what he thinks of you going to a frat party? Think he'll have a different opinion?"

I open my mouth to reply, but I come up short. Archer crosses his arms, and we both know that he's won.

"You're such an ass," I grit out, clenching my fists at my sides.

He sighs. "I'm an ass that's trying to keep you safe. I don't trust the guys that go—"

I cut him off. "No, you just don't trust me. Go to hell, Archer. Have fun at your party."

He reaches out a hand. "Scar—"

But I'm already walking toward the stands to get my stuff. I hear footsteps behind me and hope he's not following me.

"Hey, I can drive you home if you want," Mya says, catching up to me as I pick up my stuff. "I don't want you to walk home this late alone."

I look at her, trying to hide the frustration from my face. I suddenly feel bad for making her watch my and Archer's argument like that. "No, don't worry about it. It's only a five-minute walk to my dorm and lots of people are walking home right now," I say.

"No, Scarlett, I'm okay with driving you. We could go get ice cream or something."

I smile at her. "Really, Mya, I'm fine. Go to the party with Archer. I kinda just want to be alone right now, if that's alright."

Mya gives me an understanding smile then hugs me. I assure her that I'm fine a few more times then eventually force her to walk back to Archer and a few other guys on the team. She looks back at me, making sure I'm okay, and I give her convincing smiles.

I turn back to the bleachers and sling my bag over my shoulder. When I turn back around, I realize that everyone has emptied out of the stadium.

Well, almost everyone

We stare awkwardly for a few seconds before I speak up. "Not heading to the party?"

He shrugs, his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his joggers. "Eh, I prefer being fashionably late. Maximizes the effect of my entrance."

I tilt my head back, looking at the empty stands that were screaming his name only an hour earlier. "I don't think you have to be late for your entrance to be grand. Everyone seems to love you."

He smiles, looking down and shaking his head. His humble shyness almost surprises me. But then it's gone as fast as it came, and he's running his hand through his hair again. "I mean, what's not to love?" He asks jokingly, picking up a ball from a rack on the sidelines.

Jack shoots a three and makes it in, hardly batting an eyelash while doing so. I keep my face neutral, not allowing myself to betray any looks of attraction or impressment. "I've definitely seen better basketball players. Number 34 was showing you up on the court," I say, testing to see just how far I can push him. I remember the tension in his body earlier as he held Levi's jacket, and I want to see him lose control again.

I continue with my game. "What's his name?" I pretend to think. "Wyatt, isn't it? He was making you look pretty bad. He's cute too."

I add the last part at the last second, but it doesn't seem to do the trick. Jack maintains his composure, never taking his eyes off me.

He starts dribbling slowly, passing the ball lazily between his legs and behind him, keeping his eyes on me. There's a playful glint in his eyes as he waits for me to move. "Well, what're you waiting for?" He asks after a few seconds of us staring at each other. "Why don't you show me just how bad I am?"

He's challenging me right back and he knows it. I lunge forward, attempting to get the ball from him. Jack just swerves his body away from me swiftly, anticipating my move before I made it. He keeps dribbling, staying in place, and waiting for me to try again.

I try again, but he just effortlessly switches hands behind his back, making me look ridiculous as I paw at his arms for the ball. He's laughing now, and I try to suppress my own smile as I try in vain to outsmart him.

After the fifth pitiful attempt, I stop trying and just look up at him, trying to put on my most convincing sad eyes. He looks down at me, no doubt noticing the proximity of our bodies and the way I'm pressed against him, and just smiles. "Not letting you win this time, Scar," he says, breathing deeply even though this is light work for him. "I like getting you all worked up."

"I'm not worked up," I huff. Jack just brings his hand up to my face, tracing a finger over my cheek where I know there's a blush rising. A dimple appears on his left cheek as the corner of his mouth lifts.

"You sure about that?" He asks quietly. I'm caught up in his eyes, on his touch still lingering on my face and his firm chest pressed against me. Jack seems just as captivated, staring down at me as if I'm the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

I snap out of it before him and use that opportunity to lunge for the ball again. Jack reacts a split-second later, still managing to keep it out of my reach. When I try again, he takes the ball in one hand and raises it above his head. It's miles above the tips of my fingers as I try to knock it out of his hand.

"Worked up yet?" he laughs, looking down at my determined face. In response, I push as hard I can on his firm abdomen. He budges very little, but his arm drops in surprise, and I slap the ball out of his grasp and scramble after it.

I laugh in victory when I get my hands on it. "Fuck yea--" Then one of his arms is around me from behind, and he's lifting me off the ground. His other arm is reaching around for the ball, but I keep it just out of his grasp.

"Foul! This is a foul!" I yell, gearing up to shoot even as Jack carries me further from the basket. I feel Jack's laugh in his chest.

"Then what would you call what you just did to me?" He asks, and his breath tickles my neck. With the strength I can muster, I shoot the ball as well as I can with his long arms getting in my way.

It misses entirely. I deflate and watch the ball bounce pathetically across the court as Jack laughs, putting me down.

"That's not how I taught you to shoot, Scar," he says, a teasing tone in his voice. "I think I might need to remind you."

I hold my breath when Jack doesn't move away. This close to him, I can smell the rich scent of his cologne, mixed with the tiniest bit of sweat. His cool breath is on my neck as he molds his arms against mine and rests his hands on the ball. I can feel his heartbeat on my back, and I wonder if he can feel how fast mine is.

We both know that I know how to shoot, that I would've made that shot in any other circumstance. We both just let this happen.

"Keep your right hand on the side of the ball," he says, gently moving my hand into the right position. "Just like that, Scar. And use this hand to guide it in."

His voice is raspy against my neck, and I wonder how far he has to bend down to rest his head almost in the crook of my shoulder like he's currently doing. His skin is impossibly warm against mine.

"Eyes should be focused just above the rim," he adds, and I follow the instructions. "Now shoot."

Jack lets go of me and I shoot, following all his instructions. It goes in, and I smile.

"That's my girl," he says, and it takes us both a moment for his words to sink in. He's still less than a foot away from me, looking adorable with his messy post-shower hair.

My feelings for him pulse in my chest so hard it feels like I'll burst. It's just him and I alone on the court, and I swear that his eyes are telling me that he feels the exact same way. He has to feel the same way, right? This moment feels too special.

I'm about to lose all inhibition when the double doors burst open. Our heads snap to where a middle-aged man is standing with his hands crossed over his chest, looking less than pleased.

"Griffin! How many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing your dates here? I pray that one day you'll meet a girl who knows how to shoot and you'll have to actually get creative with how you impress them," he yells disapprovingly. "Get out of here, kid."

"Yes, Coach," Jack says respectfully.

The coach leaves and I feel reality set in. I look back at Jack and realize he's avoiding eye contact again. He knows what he's done. And he knows he's just been caught.

"So tell me, Jack, am I the fifth or fiftieth girl that you've tried these moves on?" I ask. I don't give him time to answer. "Well, keep it up, because you really had me for a second there," I say coldly, picking up my bag and walking away once again.

And once again, he doesn't follow.

♔

this should be interesting . . .

comment here for JACK

comment here for LEVI