Claiming Callie: Part two (12 page)

She can feel the excitement spilling over, the bubble of laughter rising within her. And before she
can stop herself, she gives the outstretched paw a high five before accepting her fourth rose. The panther does a cartwheel, then runs off, leaving Callie with this stupid grin on her face she can
’
t erase, no matter how hard she tries.

She can feel Jinny
’
s
gaze on her, boring into her with supersonic heat. She barely glances at her to see a smug expression, then focuses back on the flowers in her lap. This is the most excitement Callie
’
s had in a long while. Whether that makes her pathetic or not she isn
’
t
sure, but the fireflies dancing in her stomach are real.

Behind her, the girl sighs and says to her friend, “Why can
’
t we find a guy like that?”

“Why can
’
t I?” she whispers.

Did I say that out loud?
Jinny clears her throat, and Callie stills. Of course, s
he meant theoretically. But even still, she can
’
t bring herself to say anything. Not while her cheeks are aflame and the light within is burning so bright. Not when the darkness from earlier in the day has lifted so completely. All Callie knows in this mom
ent is that she doesn
’
t want to ruin this feeling. Even if it is only for some other girl’s benefit. Even if it
’
s all a show.

Her decision made, Callie leans back in the bleachers and lets herself enjoy the glow.

DEAN

Normally Dean can
drown out the crowd, the cheers, and the screams around him until they are nothing more than white noise. As a player he has to—otherwise, he
’
s risking distraction. On the court, he only allows room for total focus. There is only one thing on his mind: the
basketball, the net, and keeping it away from the opposing team. Nothing more.

But tonight is different. Tonight, he can
’
t help but listen for the cheers, the roar of the crowd with each shot at the hoop. The wail of disappointment the couple times he mis
sed, and the screams of joy when he makes yet another shot.

Instead of distracting him, though, he lets it fuel him. Because one look at Callie sitting in the crowd, across the court, her arms full of flowers, only partially obscuring the huge smile on her
face, and the adrenaline shoots through his limbs, setting him on fire. He
’
s completely aware that he
’
s fighting a battle both on and off the court. And based on the scoreboard as well as Callie
’
s expression, he
’
s winning both.

Sweat drips from his hair i
nto his eyes as he faces off against the Boston ballplayer. His fingers twitch in anticipation. He watches his eyes, not his body, as the ballplayer dribbles slowly in front of the three-point line, preparing to make his move. He throws a sharp pass to his
right. Dean follows, hustling to place his body in front of him. The ball comes back at them and the Boston player catches it with ease. Whipping around, Dean waves his arms in front of him in an attempt to block any throws and make moving freely more dif
ficult. He sees the hesitation in his opponent
’
s eyes as he stops dribbling and grips the ball, realizing too late that there’s no way to pass. Now his opponent’s stuck. Pass or walk.

Dean takes advantage and darts at him, managing to steal the ball, and
runs down the opposite end of the court without hesitation. But his opponent’s on his heels, and Dean knows he has little time before he catches up and blocks him. He plants his feet in front of the three-point line and raises his arms to shoot. But the Bo
ston player shoves him just as the ball leaves his fingertips, causing it to fall short of the net.

A whistle blows and the ref makes an
L
shape with his arms, then gestures the pushing signal and grabs the ball.

Dean shakes his fist in victory. He
’
ll get
three shots at the foul line, since the shove cost him a three-pointer. Three baskets. Three roses.

I have to make these.

Dean sets up a couple feet off the free throw line. He draws in a deep breath and lets it out again. He wipes his palms on the bottom
of his shoes, then accepts the ball when the referee throws it to him. He rolls his head on his neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles.

He grips the ball, spins it once in his hand, and readies his shot. Ignoring the jests and screams from the Boston
bleachers to his left, he rises on his toes and shoots. The ball is off slightly. Bouncing on the rim twice, it finally rolls into the net.

He lets out a huff of air.
Too
c
lose. Come on, relax, Dean.

He pictures her sparkling blue eyes.
Imagine what they m
ust look like right now.
I wish I could see her face. Read her expression.

He receives the ball again and goes through the same process. This time he shoots and the ball easily swishes through the net. In the distance, he hears a woman scream. “That
’
s two
roses. Come on, get her one more!”

“Yeah. Three roses!” he hears another yell.

Across from him, where the players line up in anticipation of the final shot, a Boston player mocks them. “Yeah. It
’
d be a shame if you missed this and lost a rose.”

Dean glance
s at Emmett. He
’
s standing two men deep, his expression easy. Unlike the other players, who are on the defense, ready to grab the ball and make a play if he misses,
Emmett
stands with his hands on his hips. Smiling at Dean, he shakes his head and nods towa
rd the stands.

Grinning back, Dean meets his gaze and spots Callie. She
’
s now standing on top of the bleachers next to the Panther mascot. They
’
re holding hands and wiggling their hips, dancing, while the Panther grips two roses in his right paw and the c
rowd chants excitedly. His heart clenches at the sight
.
He should probably laugh or grin at the cute display, but he
’
s frozen. His heart comes to a complete stop as he watches her dance, her hair swishing over her face, her hips moving.
She
’
s so completely
beautiful.

 “Yo!” someone yells. Startled, Dean whips his head back to the referee, who passes him the ball without warning. He takes it and exhales.
One more
.

He raises the ball in front of his body, and beside him the Panther crowd chants louder and beg
ins to clap.
“Three. Three. Three. Three.”
Tension fists at the base of his spine, tightening all the muscles in his back. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face as he stares at the hoop. With a flick of the wrist, he lets the ball fly. It sails i
nto the air, hits the backboard, and bounces into the net.

Yes!
Dean pumps a fist into the air, and the crowd goes wild.

The clock counts down. Only a minute and a half left. Boston goes on to score another basket, but when the buzzer sounds Dean
’
s teammat
es—all except Jason, whose scowl is larger than the opposing teams’—run from across the court and the bench to surround him. They pat him on the back and raise him in the air, carrying him across the huge gymnasium to the bleachers, riled by the crowds
’
cr
ies.

Dean finds Emmett below him and asks, “How many?”

His friend is quick and knows without clarification what he wants. “
Twenty-nine.
”

Dean nods, letting the corners of his lips curl. He hadn
’
t been able to count his baskets. But now he has one more thin
g to do.

His teammates lower him. He moves toward the bleachers, and the Panther mascot meets him halfway. As discussed prior to the game, he hands him one more rose.

A flurry of cheers rises up around him before the crowd hushes completely when they see
Dean look from the rose to Callie. The anticipation surrounding him is thick, blanketing him like a wool coat. His stomach clenches as his gaze locks on hers.

She
’
s sitting next to Jinny, her blue eyes bright, sparkling like sapphires. Her blonde hair fall
s in waves over her shoulders and glows golden under the bright lights, giving her an ethereal effect. But what takes his breath away, what gets him the most, is the soft blush blooming over her fair skin.

He takes another step toward her and his heart sla
ms in his chest. He
’
s being bold for the first time in his life and it feels wonderful and horrifying at the same time—like standing on a high dive just before a jump.

He pauses and curls his finger at her, beckoning her to stand and close the gap between
them. In the second he waits for her to act, it feels like forever. It
’
s as though she
’
s trying to decide what to do, and icy fingers squeeze his chest as she chooses.

After an excruciating moment she finally stands, cradling the twenty-nine roses in her
arms like a baby. Moving down the bleachers she makes her way to him, but stops just short. Only a foot separates them now, but even from here, he can smell the spicy scent of her perfume, the lavender of her favorite lotion, mingling with the sweet fragra
nce from the roses. He inhales, and his head swirls.