Chapter 24

Dona's POV

I pushed my bedroom door shut with my hip and leaned against it for a second, sighing. My room looked like it had been hit by a tornado, clothes everywhere from earlier today when I’d been hunting for something decent to wear. My eyes landed on the back of my closet. Right, my old basketball stuff.

I crouched down, tugging out a wrinkled bundle of shorts and a jersey. They looked smaller than I remembered, but maybe that was just me overthinking. I slipped the shorts on and groaned. Nope. Definitely smaller. They hugged my thighs way too tight, and the hem stopped higher than I’d ever been comfortable with. The shirt wasn’t much better: it stretched across my chest and rode up every time I lifted my arms.

I stared at myself in the mirror, tugging at the fabric like it would magically grow an extra inch. “Perfect,” I muttered. “Overgrown twelve-year-old chic.”

But I wasn’t about to back down now. If August thought he was going to clown me on the court, he had another thing coming. I jammed my feet into my sneakers, tightened the laces, picked up my basketball from the closet and headed for the door.

When I came downstairs, August was still at the bottom step. And of course, he hadn’t even changed. He was in the same jeans and T-shirt he’d worn all day, hands stuffed in his pockets.

I stopped short. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna change?”

He raised an eyebrow, letting his eyes travel slowly down to my shorts before coming back up to my face. “Why would I? I can beat you in these.” He gestured lazily at his outfit. “Meanwhile, you’ve got the whole uniform going. That’s commitment.”

I narrowed my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I don’t like you staring at me like that.”

“I wasn’t staring,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “I was observing. Big difference.”

Rolling my eyes, I brushed past him into the kitchen. “Whatever. I’m starving. We’re not playing until I eat something.”

He trailed after me, chuckling under his breath. “Scared already?”

I ignored him, pulling the leftover lasagna from the oven. Cutting two uneven squares, I shoved one plate in his direction. He leaned against the counter, eating in silence.

I finished first, dropped my plate in the sink and darted for the door. “Let’s go!”

He followed more slowly and laughed when I nearly tripped over my own sneakers in my rush. “Relax. The court isn’t going anywhere.”

We piled into his car, and he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove the short distance, while I sat bouncing my leg like a kid on too much sugar.

When we got to the sports center, I jogged ahead, pushing through the gate to the court. The second my sneakers hit the pavement, my nerves evaporated. This was my space. My game.

“Alright,” I said, spinning the ball in my hands. “Prepare to be destroyed.”

August stepped onto the court. “Big talk.” He jerked his chin at the ball. “Check up.”

The first few minutes were easy. I actually scored a couple of clean shots, and my confidence soared. I even tossed him a grin as the ball swished through the net. “See? You’re not the only athlete in this family.”

But then he shifted gears, and It was like watching a switch flip. He started guarding tighter, moving faster, cutting me off before I could even think about driving to the hoop. And when he stole the ball right out of my hands and dunked it into the net, I stopped cold.

“What the hell?” I demanded, hands on my hips.

He shrugged and dribbled casually. “What? You thought I didn’t know how to play?”

“You’re supposed to suck at this!”

“Never said that.” He sank another shot without even trying.

I chased him harder, refusing to give up. Sweat dripped down my back and my ponytail was sticking to my neck. But no matter how fast I moved, he was faster. And the more competitive he got, the more people around the court started paying attention.

A couple of kids stopped dribbling on the other end, eyes wide as they watched us go at it. Some guy even shouted, “Damn, he’s killing you!” which made August grin like an idiot.

“Shut up!” I called.

But August was in his element. He blocked every shot, stole the ball over and over and still somehow looked like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

By the time I finally scored again, my lungs were on fire. I bent over with my hands on my knees, glaring at him. “You’re not human.”

He bounced the ball lazily and spun it on his finger. “Told you I’d win.”

“The game is not over,” I snapped and August laughed.

The ball bounced high between us, and I lunged for it at the same time August did. Our shoulders crashed together and his arm brushed across mine. I grabbed at the ball, but his hand closed over it too, and for a second our fingers tangled.

“Let go!” I snapped, yanking at the ball.

“You let go,” he pulled just as stubbornly.

We stumbled and our bodies collided awkwardly. My elbow rammed into his side, his shoulder pressed into mine, and then... God help me, his arm brushed right across my chest.

My limbs immediately forgot how to move.

“Sorry,” he muttered quickly, but his voice was too low, and his hand didn’t leave the ball.

“It’s fine,” I forced out, but my face was already burning. Before I could step back, he shoved forward, trying to wrestle the ball from me, and my foot slipped. The next thing I knew, I was falling.

August caught me by the waist, steadying me before I could hit the ground. His fingers were splayed wider than they needed to be. My stomach dropped to my toes. His chest brushed my shoulder, and I realized just how close his hips were to mine.

“Got you.” He said quietly.

For a moment, the whole court blurred out. My heart was pounding way too fast, and it wasn’t from running.

“Let go!” I hissed, jerking away.

He released me instantly and the ball rolled out of bounds. “Relax, Dona. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“You play too rough!” I snapped, brushing my hair out of my face.

He spread his arms in surprise. “You literally elbowed me in the ribs two minutes ago!”

“That’s different!” I retorted. “We’re not supposed to be—” I stopped myself, pressing my lips together.

He gave me a side-eye, watching me carefully. “Not supposed to be what?”

I crossed my arms and glared at the ground so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Not supposed to…whatever this is. We’re just playing basketball, okay? You don’t need to touch me like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to touch you like that." He said flatly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” I shot back, angry at the fact that my skin still buzzed where his hands had been.

"Wait, Dona." He stepped closer, frowning now. “Why are you acting like I planned it? You tripped. I caught you. End of story.”

“End of story,” I repeated. “Sure.”

“What are you really mad about?!”

The question hit too close. Way too close. I could still feel the heat of his hand on my waist, still picture the way our bodies had slammed together. And I hated myself for noticing any of it.

“Look, I need a break,” I blurted, backing away. “I just... give me a moment.”

“Dona—”

“No!” I threw my hands up, grabbing my water bottle from the bench. “Don’t. Just… don’t follow me.”

Without waiting for his reply, I stormed off the court, my sneakers squeaking against the pavement. My face was hot, my palms were sweaty and I hated that he was probably standing there with that confused look.

I ducked behind the bleachers, pressing the cold bottle to my forehead. My heart was still hammering, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the memory of the way his fingers had curled into my waist, like he’d wanted to hold me there.

I cursed under my breath. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to play with him in the first place. August was supposed to be the enemy, the constant thorn in my side. Not someone who could make me feel like I’d just lost control of my own body. He wasn't supposed to make me feel like this!