Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(23)

I shake my head at her, but she simply raises her eyebrows, a smirk on her lips, lips I’d love to— “Ledger!” Coach Sykes yells. “This isn’t a teen soap opera. Get to work.”

“Boo, Ledger!” Ava shouts, and now she’s laughing, silently, but I know it’s there because I can see her shoulders shaking with the force of it. I’m too busy watching her that I don’t even notice Coach Sykes approaching me until the ball slams against my chest.

Ava laughs harder.

“You get one,” I tell her and decide that if she’s here to watch me, then I may as well give her a show.

The practice is nothing more than basic drills. But when the coach asks for suicides, I’m the first on the line. When he wants to work on ball handling, I’m using two balls, behind the back, reverse, between the knees, ankle breakers. When he asks for lay-ups, I’m power dunking—one after another.

“Damn, Ledger! Where the fuck have you been hiding?” Rhys shouts.

“Quit showing off!” Mitch yells. “We get it; you’re good.”

“He’s better than good,” Coach Sykes retorts. “In fact, every practice I want you all to come in with the same amount of power and precision that Ledger has! Got it?”

I throw Ava a smirk.

She gives me the finger.





Psychology may be my favorite subject in the history of forever. Scratch that. Ava is my favorite subject. Sitting side by side in class waiting for the teacher to arrive, she asks me questions: Where am I from?

Why did I move here?

Who do I live with?

What’s my favorite murder?

I answer each one with truth, minus the murder one because I don’t even know how to answer it. Mitch walks past us, sniffing the air. “What the hell is that smell?”

We burst out in childish giggles. She says to me, “You were not at all impressive this morning. I just want you to know that in case you think otherwise. In fact, you pretty much sucked.”

Mr. McCallister enters the classroom saying, “You may spend the first ten minutes of class discussing your partner paper. Use that time wisely.”

Ava and I turn to each other at the same time, our knees knocking painfully. Ava groans, reaching for her knee, but I beat her to it, grimacing. I rub at the spot I think I hit, while we both apologize. Dipping my head closer to hers, I whisper, “So I worked on the outline like we said.”

She moves closer again. So close I can feel the heat of her cheek on mine. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to hear our plan and steal it.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, Coach said you have to be at every game from now on. Says you’re my lucky charm.”

Ava pulls back to look at my face, then rolls her eyes. She says, her voice still low, “You’re going to need it if you don’t take your hand off my leg.”

It’s not as if I’d forgotten it was there. I was just hoping she wouldn’t notice. Or if she did, maybe she wouldn’t mind. With a confidence only she brings out of me, I squeeze her knee, tell her, “I’m just trying to give you an actual reason.”

“For what?”

“To say I make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re a creep.”

“Oh yeah?” I laugh.

She nods, brings her head closer again, our faces almost touching.

I ask, “You want creepy?”

“Oh, no,” she backpedals.

If she wants to play, I’m here for it. “Your eyes are possibly the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.” And it’s the truth. Whenever I picture her in my mind, her eyes are the first things I see.

I hear her swallow, loud, and I know she’s feeling something. When she pulls away, her eyes search mine, her cheeks flushed. My heart is racing, my mind spinning. Because never in my life have I wanted a girl more than I want her. And not even in the physical sense. But just talking to her or being around her. To feel this all day, every day. It feels like my soul’s on fire, and she’s holding the match. “Yeah?” she starts, a threatening lilt to her tone. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Finally, she stutters, “Well… well, your smile could melt panties.” The second the words are out of her mouth, her eyes widen, and she covers her face. I think she mumbles, “Too far, Ava. Too fucking far.” But I can’t be sure.

I finally remove my hand from her knee so that I can tug at her wrists and uncover her face. And then I smile my—and I quote—panty-melting smile, just for her.

She shoves my face away with her entire palm. “Stop.”

“Psst!” Rhys hisses from behind us.

We both turn to him.

He says, “Quit eye-fucking each other. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

I rip off a sheet of paper from my notebook and draw a large spoon, then hand it to him, my smile widening. “For your cry-about-it soup.”





Chapter 17





Connor





“So, how’s school?” Dad asks.

“Good.”

“And the team?”

“Also, good.”