Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

Family, friends, and coaches gathered courtside.

Liam sat on the front bench, arm-in-arm with his tall, broad boyfriend. Quinn stared at Liam with a soft, secretive smile, while Liam gazed purposefully toward the court.

Tantric sex.

I groaned as images of entangled, sweaty limbs hijacked my mind.

I would kill Hunter for telling me that piece of information.

Hunter rolled from his teammates to Quinn. He wore a dark blue tank-top with his name printed in white. A basketball sat on his thighs. Hummingbirds covered his arms and peeked out from his tank top, and fuck it was hot in here. Seriously needed better AC.

I sat heavily on the bench.

Dimples appearing, Hunter slapped Quinn and Liam’s hands. As if sensing my shameless stare, Hunter glanced along the sideline to me. He jerked with surprise, spoke to Quinn and Liam, and rolled toward me. His wheelchair was, again, different. Slanted wheels were probably better suited for sport.

“Marc.” His voice sounded bright despite the undercurrent of hesitance.

I rubbed my jean-clad thighs. “Hunter.”

“Just in time for the game.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded, watching his team high-five one another.

Hunter juggled his basketball. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

I whipped up a brow. “Yep, why not?”

“You’re tapping your foot like you can’t wait to bust out of here.”

Liam stared blatantly in our direction. My nape felt clammy. “Well, I don’t know much about wheelchair basketball, that’s all.”

He slanted me a look that said he knew better. “Right, wheelchair basketball.”

I kept trying, arms folded, casual smile. “I thought the hoop would be lower?”

“Same rules as regular basketball. Only you bounce every two pushes of the wheel. It’s okay to change your mind.”

I frowned. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

Hunter eyed me like I was a complicated math equation. Was that the look he’d taken to bed last night? I needed to say something. Acknowledge—

“Look,” Hunter said, beating me. “I’m sorry about last night. It was just a kiss.”

“I mean, yeah.” I shrugged off the disappointment. “No biggie.”

Hunter rolled in, closer. All earnestness. “We can forget about it if you like.”

I shrugged again. I was on fire in the communication department. “Sure.”

He hummed, and nodded reluctantly. “If you sit next to Quinn and Liam, they’ll explain anything you want to know.”

I palmed my nape. Fuck, why did I come here? “I’m good right here. Great view.”

Hunter pressed a sliding hand on my knee and leaned in. “If we’re going to keep being friends, you’ll have to talk to Liam eventually.”

Talking to Liam was the last thing I wanted to do, but hearing “friends” almost had me skipping over to the guy.

I mean, I’d hoped we were friends. But hearing it was an epic relief.

I lightly punched his bicep. “Go rip up the court.”

And, holy fuck, Hunter ripped up the court.

The game was ferocious. Squealing rubber and echoing bounces, testosterone-laced grunts and the delicious taste of exertion. The eye–hand coordination the team had was insane. The sweat, the glistening, flexing muscles. Hunter’s total control of the ball, the easy three pointers. The heart-pounding stamina . . .

My stomach knotted at the tight score, and I leaped up and hollered Hunter’s name when he scored the winning shot.

I wasn’t the only one yelling, but I was the only one bouncing on the balls of my feet, blocking the view of the family behind me.

Hunter glanced over and winked, lips hitching lazily on one side.

I resumed my seat when my knees buckled.

The teams shook hands, and Hunter’s rolled off the court for the changing rooms.

I realized most people on the sidelines knew each other. They studied me like I was the newest piece of gossip to dissect later.

That embarrassing holler would have their minds spinning.

Liam was watching me, a pensive expression on his face.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and ambled to him, each step stirring up guilt. Liam spoke to his boyfriend, who instantly scowled in my direction. Yep, this would be fun.

Liam pushed up his thick-framed glasses, and I tried to hide my awkwardness. “Liam, hey. Can we, like, talk for a moment? In private?”

Not that there was anywhere private to go. But a few steps away, just the two of us.

Liam shifted on his feet. “Anything you have to say, Quinn can hear it.”

Quinn protectively folded his arms, puffed his chest out.

I admired Quinn for not letting anything happen to his Liam. “Right. I guess I wanted to apologize to you about everything last year?”

I hated my achy throat, the vagueness of my words, my faux-cavalier tone.

“That’s a bit vague,” Liam said. Not unkindly.

Which was more than that attempt deserved. “I mean—”

He waved me off. “Why did you hang out with Jack?”

I glanced toward the basketball hoop over his shoulder. “I didn’t know he was violent.”

“You knew he joked about gays.”

I winced. “I thought he was in denial.”

Liam laughed dryly. “Not good enough.”