Hooped #3 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series, Book #3) by Claire Adams Page B

to the edge as I could,
along with everyone else in the court-side seats. I found myself holding my
breath as the ref came out, ball in hands, the crowd
absolutely silent as we waited for that one instant. I pressed my lips together
as the ball went up.
    Northwestern got possession of the ball; the opposing
team’s side of the arena erupted in cheers, and I watched as our side scrambled
into defensive positions. Devon moved across the court like lightning, dodging
and darting until he grabbed the ball out of one of the players’ hands in the
midst of a pass. Then the play flowed to the other end of the court, and Devon
glanced at me quickly, giving me another one of his little grins. I found
myself smiling back even as I watched him dodge the grab from a member of the
other team, feinting away and moving into
position.
    Devon scored the first basket of the game—a two-point
throw that sank beautifully through the net, making everyone on my side of the
arena cheer. A Northwestern player intercepted the ball but only got halfway
across the court before Miles managed a steal, passing it to Devon who passed
it back to him at the three-point line. It was already obvious that the game
was going to be a high-scorer—at least to me, and to the announcer, who was
barely keeping up with the two teams’ movements.
    I watched as the first quarter of the game heated up,
jumping up and down and cheering as the two teams moved from one end of the
court to the other—stealing, rushing to get to the other net, losing the ball,
regaining it. Devon was at the peak of his performance, getting shots and
assists left and right, stealing the ball whenever there was an opening. I
cheered, still not daring to call out his name, but just as excited as the
rowdiest fan-girl in the stands watching him. By the time the first quarter
ended, the score was 15-12 in our favor, and Devon dashed to the sidelines to
rehydrate. I bit my lip, watching him; he was already drenched in sweat,
glowing with it, looking as close as he could to the way he had in bed with me
the night before—it was as if, for a moment, the crowd around me and the game
going on had disappeared. I felt my body heating up, and flashes of memory
flitted through my mind at the sight of Devon. He looked up into the crowd and
found me in an instant, and held my gaze for a long moment, his lips curling
upward in a knowing little smile.
    Devon sat out the first half of the second quarter,
catching his breath, throwing me little,
flirting glances as the game went on out on the court. Then the coach
changed up, and Devon took the floor again, running out and flashing me a
little grin as he went into position. It seemed like every time he stole the
ball, or scored a basket, or managed to evade the other team’s defense, he
managed to find me in my seat and grin at me—as if to tell me that I was the
reason he was playing so well. I kept my cheering up all through the second
quarter of the game, getting drenched in sweat as I jumped up and down in front
of my seat, not sitting down for even a minute. We scored fifteen more points
to Northwestern’s eight, giving us a fairly solid
lead heading into halftime.
    I slipped away from my seat when Devon and the team
left the court to head into the lockers, knowing there was no real point in
sticking around for the halftime show. I had seen it so many times before, and
if Devon wasn’t there playing—and my throat was already hoarse from cheering
and screaming—I might as well take advantage of the break to get something to
drink. I bought a soda and a water, deciding on some cheap nachos at the last
minute before I hurried back to my place, cramming the food into my mouth so
that I would be ready to cheer once more when the teams came out again.
    The second half of the game started, and I was on my
feet once more, cheering my head off, jumping up and down. Devon was just as on
fire as he had been before, moving fast on his feet, ducking and