Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(56)

         
       
        

"I thought I'd find you in here," Drew said with a soft smile, his dimples slightly creasing. "Then again, I wasn't expecting you to be at the party at all."

"Sorry," I offered, my entire body breaking out in a nervous sweat.

"No, it's okay," he assured, walking toward me. "Just surprised when I heard you were here, not a big deal."

Drew wore a light blue sweater that played off the color of his eyes, making them look like reflective pools of water. His black hair was swept to the side, more tamed than the surfing style I remembered, but it could have easily been mussed to resemble it.

"Where's Sara?" he questioned.

"Cornell," I responded.

"Then who are you here with? Because I know it's not Evan," he mocked.

"Casey," I shared, picking up on his teasing tone. He nodded.

I balanced the ball on my hip, trying to figure out the best way to leave without it being any more uncomfortable.

"Wanna shoot?" he proposed, holding up his hands in expectation.

"Why not." I tossed him the ball with a shrug. I thought I might as well since I had to leave in a few minutes anyway.

He dribbled in closer and pulled up for a shot, the ball sliding through the net with ease. I shuffled to collect the ball and tossed it back to him for another attempt. He took a few steps to the right and landed the shot.

"Congratulations on winning States for soccer again this year," Drew offered, accepting the ball again.

"Thanks," I responded, focusing on the rebounds so my nerves wouldn't get the better of me.

"Heard the girls' basketball team is pretty decent too," he continued, hitting every shot he took.

"Yeah, we have a good team."

He tossed the ball back in my direction, allowing me to take some shots. I dribbled out to the three-point mark and let the ball go, nailing it.

"Nice," he admired, bouncing the ball to me. I stepped up to receive it and set up for the shot; it bounced off the backboard and into the basket.

"Syracuse ball, huh?" I concentrated on the basket, not looking at him as I spoke. "How come I never knew they picked you up? That's pretty huge."

"No one really did," he responded. His indifference caught me off guard. I hesitated, flashing him a quick glance, before taking the shot. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it. My dad brags enough for the two of us. Besides, I'm red shirted this year, so I don't play much."

"Right," I nodding, still not understanding how the entire school wouldn't have known he was a prospect when they scouted him during his junior year. It made me wonder just how important basketball was to him, since it was obviously a huge deal to his father. I squared up to shoot. Drew moved in quick, intending to tip the ball out of my hands. I pulled it down and when his hand sank, I popped back up to hit the shot. 

"Nice try," I taunted, rushing in to gather the rebound. Drew hurried after the ball, bumping alongside me. He was quicker, having the shoe advantage.

He grinned cockily and dribbled the ball back out. I took a defensive stance in front of him. He made a move on the inside, and I followed in tight, jumping when he released it. But it sailed over my fingers into the basket.

"Lucky," I jeered.

My anxiety dissipated with each shot. Drew pulled off his sweater revealing a grey t-shirt with a surfing logo. I was beginning to sweat myself, so I took off my sweater too and tossed it next to his on the bench. As I turned back toward the court, Drew shifted his eyes down from the fitted white tank top. I ignored the slight grin on his face.

He checked the ball back out to me and I dribbled, deciding where to make my move.

"How come we never played before?" he asked, jabbing his hand in to attempt a steal. I turned to block him with my shoulder, letting out a wicked laugh.

"I don't know," I responded. I spun around to release a quick shot over him, slicing through the net. "How come you never told me you had a basketball court in your backyard?"

"Graduation present," he explained. I nodded my head in understanding, knowing we hadn't been exactly speaking, nor was I in any condition to play ball, when he graduated last June.

"I can't play in socks," I decided after sliding after the ball. "Barefoot rule."

"Fine," Drew agreed, kicking off his shoes and stripping his socks.

We continued with the one-on-one match, the game intensifying with each rebound and score. I shoved up against him to sneak in under the basket, and he elbowed a few times to earn space to take a jumper. I couldn't say who was winning; we weren't exactly keeping score.