Court Time

They quickly split into two teams: Mateo, Jordan and Levi on one team and Blake and Darren on the other one.

“Hey, Ethan, we need one more player, wanna join?” Blake offered.

“Nah, I’m not that good,” Ethan answered.

“Oh, come on! You know it’s not true!” Blake protested.

Ethan finally agreed to play resulting in:

Mateo, Jordan and Levi against Blake, Darren and Ethan

They lined up on the court, sneakers scuffing over the old paint, the metal chain netting clinking faintly in the breeze.

“Alright,” Blake clapped his hands. “First to eleven, ones and twos, call your own fouls. Keep it clean—unless you’re losing.”

That got a few laughs. Jordan spun the ball in his hands, already bouncing with energy.

“Bet,” Mateo grinned, “just don’t cry when we win.”

“Talk less, play more,” Darren shot back, giving Ethan a light tap on the back. “You ready, rookie?”

Ethan looked sheepish but nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

From the bleachers, Riley called out, “Don’t worry, Ethan! I’ll only roast you a little if you airball.”

Lena laughed beside her, sipping on a soda she’d brought from the gas station down the street.

“Game on,” Blake called, throwing the ball to Mateo for the check.

The game started fast. Mateo blew past Darren with a slick crossover and scored the first point with a smooth layup. Jordan whooped from the corner, already cocky.

“Uh-oh,” Blake said, jogging back on offense. “Gotta wake up, boys.”

They settled into rhythm. Levi’s height made him a nuisance in the paint, but Blake found space at the top of the key and hit two mid-range shots in a row. Darren got scrappy with Jordan, the two of them trading blocks and shoulder bumps.

Ethan, to everyone’s surprise—including his own—hit a clean jumper off a pass from Blake, and even Riley stood up and clapped.

“Look at you!” she called. “MVP incoming!”

Ethan blushed but grinned.

Sweat started to bead on their foreheads. The sun dipped lower, casting amber across the pavement. The teams stayed close—6 to 6, then 8 to 7. A few people from the park had started watching. Not a crowd, just the occasional curious glance.

On a switch, Blake found himself guarding Mateo. They locked eyes. There was no animosity—just that natural, unspoken competitive edge. Mateo jab-stepped left, spun right, tried to drive, but Blake kept up. **** him to reset.

“I see you,” Mateo said with a grin.

“I never left,” Blake replied.

On the next possession, Blake hit a corner two. Darren pounded his chest once and pointed at him.

“Ten to eight,” Levi muttered. “Let’s tighten up.”

But the momentum had shifted. After a couple of gritty rebounds and a loose ball scramble that ended with Darren diving and tapping it to Ethan, Blake got the ball back up top.

Riley stood, sensing the end was near. “Let’s go, baller!” she shouted.

Blake faked the drive, stepped back just past the arc, and let it fly.

The shot hung in the air, spinning, backlit by the golden hour sun—and dropped through with a perfect swish.

Game.

Cheers went up. Darren slapped Blake’s hand. Ethan’s face was glowing, both from adrenaline and disbelief.

“That was ridiculous,” Mateo laughed, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “I thought you’d drive.”

“I wanted the crowd to feel something,” Blake joked, nodding at Riley, who gave him a slow clap.

“Alright,,” she said. “That was solid.”

Everyone gathered near the bench area, passing around water bottles, catching their breath. The energy was warm, loose. Just high schoolers at the park, letting off steam and forgetting everything else for an hour.

Blake leaned against the fence, wiping sweat from his forehead. Ethan sat on the ground, sipping water, while Darren gave a play-by-play recap of one of his blocks to Lena, who nodded patiently.

As the buzz from the game slowly faded and the sun dipped low behind the trees, Lena picked up the ball from where it had rolled near the fence.

“Wanna shoot a few?” she asked, tossing it gently to Mateo.

He caught it with a grin. “Sure, but only if you’re shooting too.”

“I haven’t shot a basketball since middle school PE,” she warned, raising an eyebrow.

“All the more reason to change that,” Mateo said, waving her toward the free throw line.

Lena stepped up reluctantly, adjusting her oversized hoodie sleeves. Mateo stood to the side, not hovering, just giving casual pointers as she lifted the ball.

“Alright, bend your knees a little more. Keep your elbows in—no chicken wings,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Like this?”

“Yeah, not bad. Now just aim for the back of the rim and flick your wrist.”

She let the ball go. It bounced once on the rim, clanked against the backboard, and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

“Close!” Mateo called out, jogging to grab the rebound. “One more and you’ll nail it.”

Lena laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

Back near the benches, Blake turned to Riley, who was sipping from a water bottle and scrolling through something on her phone.

“Hey,” he said, nodding toward the court. “Your turn.”

She looked up. “To do what? Embarrass myself?”

He gave her a cocky half-smile. “Nah, you’ll have a good teacher.”

Riley stood, brushing off her shorts. “That confident, huh?”

“Always,” Blake said as they walked toward the free throw line.

He passed her the ball, and she caught it with a light grunt. “Alright, show me.”

“Okay, line up your feet first. Shoulder width. Relax.”

She did as he said, bouncing the ball once.

“Now hold it like this,” Blake said, stepping behind her. He placed his hands gently on her arms, adjusting her grip. “Elbows in… good.”

She could feel him behind her—close. Not too close, but just enough to notice the way his body lined up with hers. The warmth of his hands on her skin sent a flicker of tension down her spine.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low and right next to her ear.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathier than she meant to.

“Alright. Keep your form,” he murmured, sliding one hand along her forearm to adjust her wrist. His other hand moved to guide her hip into position, lightly but firmly, just enough to center her stance.

And then she felt it, a warmth that spread from her crotch when she felt him get closer to her and something rigid brush against the top of her jean-clad ass. Oh, my gosh…, her breath quickened, Blake was even taller than her and his breath on her ear made a shiver go down her spine.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his hand brushing her side. “Now, shoot.”

Riley focused on the rim, ignored everything else—the breeze, the bench, even the fact that she could feel Blake’s breath on her neck making her weak in her knees—and took the shot

Swish.

The ball dropped clean through the net, and for a second neither of them moved.

“Well damn,” Blake said with a grin, stepping back.

Riley turned around, just as smug. “Told you I was coachable.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome for the perfect form.”

“Please. That was all me,” she shot back, but the way she smiled at him made it clear she didn’t really mean it.

As they walked back toward the benches, Lena gave Riley a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“What?” Riley said, pretending not to know exactly what.

“Nothing,” Lena replied innocently. “Just… great form out there.”

Riley just grinned.