set of his brow. His face is placid, his expression tranquil as he lifts the ball and shoots.
He scores and the fans erupt around her. When the ref hands him the ball for a second shot, he goes through the same steps, lifts on his feet, and scores a second basket.
Callie jumps up to clap and cheer with the other fans. Dean ’ s running backward on the court, giving a teammate a high five. He moves with such grace that Callie wonders how anyone could watch anything on the court but him. She starts to sit down, but before she can, t he Pitt Panther is dancing toward her again—this time with two more roses. He hands them to her and bows with a flourish, making a huge spectacle of Callie and the flowers.
Sitting down, she holds the roses, her belly fluttering wildly. She has to force he rself to contain the feeling. This isn ’ t real .
She looks from them back to the court to where Dean ’ s blocking someone ’ s shot and feels someone tap her on the back. She turns to face two girls. They ’ re dressed in Pitt sweatshirts and look to be freshman. Th ey ’ re both smiling, and the one with long dark hair asks, “Is that your boyfriend?”
The words squeeze her stomach, but Callie nods. “Yeah,” she says a little breathless.
“I thought I saw an article in the school paper about you guys, right?”
Callie nods, unable to find her voice.
“That is just. So. Sweet,” the girl gushes. “How long have you two been together again?”
Callie swallows. She tries to think back to their story, the one they told Greg at the newspaper, but she finds it more than difficult. “Um. About a year now.”
“Yeah? That ’ s awesome,” the girl’s friend says. “He ’ s so incredibly hot.” She adds, staring back out at the court.
Callie follows the direction of her gaze to see Dean, fighting for the ball with a Boston player, before the referee blows the whistle. The players back off and set up in position on the court again, and Callie focuses on Dean. She pushes aside the fact that she ’ s known him her whole life—that he ’ s Dean Michaels —so that she can see him through these girls’ eyes.
His sweat-soaked espresso hair is a perfectly disheveled mess, as he runs a hand through it before setting up to defend the ball. He holds his arms out, his eyes gleaming fiercely—an electric blue—under the harsh gym lights. His outstretched arms are nothing b ut muscle, coiled and waiting for action. His biceps flex and twitch with each subtle movement of his body, and his silky jersey sticks to his damp chest, revealing the outline of his tight pecs and abs.
Callie ’ s mouth drops slightly. He ’ s totally ripped. How have I never noticed this before?
She stares, unable to help herself. Her stomach dips and she marvels at the man moving across the court, wondering why she ’ s never seen just how completely gorgeous he is. How thick his hair is. Or the mesmerizing shad e of his eyes. How built. How…
She presses a hand to her belly. Oh, God. Get a hold of yourself, here. It ’ s Dean.
Yes, it ’ s just Dean, but…
No buts!
In all her reflection of Dean ’ s hotness, it takes her a while to notice he has the ball. He dribbles down center court and points to one of his teammates for him to go deep, but he gets blocked. Dean pivots and goes left, swinging wide. But all of his teammates are guarded far too tightly for him to pass off the ball. No one’s open, and the player guarding him isn ’ t letting up, either. In a rush of movement, he pivots and pushes right, only to swirl around left and shoot the ball. It swishes in the net with ease. Never stopping, already moving, he returns two high fives from teammates, ignores Jason who shoots him a dirty look, then runs downcourt to where Boston takes the ball.
This time, Callie ’ s ready for it. She waits to see if this will set the pattern for the game, and sure enough, she spots the Panther, another rose clutched in one furry paw. He ’ s
He scores and the fans erupt around her. When the ref hands him the ball for a second shot, he goes through the same steps, lifts on his feet, and scores a second basket.
Callie jumps up to clap and cheer with the other fans. Dean ’ s running backward on the court, giving a teammate a high five. He moves with such grace that Callie wonders how anyone could watch anything on the court but him. She starts to sit down, but before she can, t he Pitt Panther is dancing toward her again—this time with two more roses. He hands them to her and bows with a flourish, making a huge spectacle of Callie and the flowers.
Sitting down, she holds the roses, her belly fluttering wildly. She has to force he rself to contain the feeling. This isn ’ t real .
She looks from them back to the court to where Dean ’ s blocking someone ’ s shot and feels someone tap her on the back. She turns to face two girls. They ’ re dressed in Pitt sweatshirts and look to be freshman. Th ey ’ re both smiling, and the one with long dark hair asks, “Is that your boyfriend?”
The words squeeze her stomach, but Callie nods. “Yeah,” she says a little breathless.
“I thought I saw an article in the school paper about you guys, right?”
Callie nods, unable to find her voice.
“That is just. So. Sweet,” the girl gushes. “How long have you two been together again?”
Callie swallows. She tries to think back to their story, the one they told Greg at the newspaper, but she finds it more than difficult. “Um. About a year now.”
“Yeah? That ’ s awesome,” the girl’s friend says. “He ’ s so incredibly hot.” She adds, staring back out at the court.
Callie follows the direction of her gaze to see Dean, fighting for the ball with a Boston player, before the referee blows the whistle. The players back off and set up in position on the court again, and Callie focuses on Dean. She pushes aside the fact that she ’ s known him her whole life—that he ’ s Dean Michaels —so that she can see him through these girls’ eyes.
His sweat-soaked espresso hair is a perfectly disheveled mess, as he runs a hand through it before setting up to defend the ball. He holds his arms out, his eyes gleaming fiercely—an electric blue—under the harsh gym lights. His outstretched arms are nothing b ut muscle, coiled and waiting for action. His biceps flex and twitch with each subtle movement of his body, and his silky jersey sticks to his damp chest, revealing the outline of his tight pecs and abs.
Callie ’ s mouth drops slightly. He ’ s totally ripped. How have I never noticed this before?
She stares, unable to help herself. Her stomach dips and she marvels at the man moving across the court, wondering why she ’ s never seen just how completely gorgeous he is. How thick his hair is. Or the mesmerizing shad e of his eyes. How built. How…
She presses a hand to her belly. Oh, God. Get a hold of yourself, here. It ’ s Dean.
Yes, it ’ s just Dean, but…
No buts!
In all her reflection of Dean ’ s hotness, it takes her a while to notice he has the ball. He dribbles down center court and points to one of his teammates for him to go deep, but he gets blocked. Dean pivots and goes left, swinging wide. But all of his teammates are guarded far too tightly for him to pass off the ball. No one’s open, and the player guarding him isn ’ t letting up, either. In a rush of movement, he pivots and pushes right, only to swirl around left and shoot the ball. It swishes in the net with ease. Never stopping, already moving, he returns two high fives from teammates, ignores Jason who shoots him a dirty look, then runs downcourt to where Boston takes the ball.
This time, Callie ’ s ready for it. She waits to see if this will set the pattern for the game, and sure enough, she spots the Panther, another rose clutched in one furry paw. He ’ s
Similar Books
