Page 29 of Gamebreaker

Today, I fumbled three passes in the first fifteen minutes.

"Cap, you good?" Destiny asked, retrieving the ball I'd just bounced off her shoulder instead of into her hands.

"Fine." I grabbed it back, reset. "Again."

The ball felt wrong in my hands. Too big, too heavy, like I'd forgotten the exact weight and texture I'd known for decades. My timing was off by fractions of seconds that might as well have been hours. I kept seeing Harper's waist under my palms, feeling the heat of her body against mine, hearing that sound she'd made when I'd adjusted her stance, halfway between surprise and something else I wasn’t ready to admit to myself.

"Russo, what the hell?" Coach Lopez called from the sideline. "You're playing like a rookie who's never seen a basketball before."

"Sorry, Coach." I shook my head, tried to clear it. "Lost focus."

"Find it."

I tried. Ran through the drill again, managed to complete it without embarrassing myself. Then we moved to shooting practice, and I air-balled my first three attempts.

Air-balled. I hadn't air-balled a shot since I was fourteen.

Trish appeared at my elbow after I missed the fourth one, her expression a careful blend of concern and amusement. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Cam. You just missed four free throws in a row. You shoot ninety-three percent from the line. This is not nothing."

I grabbed the ball, lined up for another shot. Bent my knees, elbow in, exactly the way I'd positioned Harper yesterday. My hands remembered the curve of her waist, the give of her skin under the fabric of that tank top, the way she'd fit against me like she'd been designed to sabotage my concentration.

The ball clanged off the rim.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

"Is this about Harper?"

My head snapped toward her. "Why would this be about Harper?"

"Because you've mentioned her six times today."

"I have not."

"You have. When someone asked if you were going to the youth clinic next month, you said yes and mentioned Harper might help again. When we were talking about the next game, you said you hoped Harper wouldn't be there to distract you. When Destiny asked what you did yesterday, you said you ran a clinic with Harper. When—"

"Okay." I held up my hand. "Point made."

Trish crossed her arms, gave me that knowing look I'd learned to dread. "So. Is this about Harper?"

"No."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying. There's nothing happening with Harper. We don't even like each other."

"Right. That's why you can't focus, can't shoot, and have mentioned her name more times today than I've heard you mention anyone who isn't on this team in the last year."

I didn't have an answer for that. Couldn't explain what I didn't understand myself.

"Cam." Trish's voice gentled. "It's okay if you like her."

"I don't like her. She's annoying. And loud. And she thinks basketball is boring."

"She came to the clinic."