The Senior (College Years 4)

And that sounds like progress.

“Why’d you come tonight?”

“Ellie wanted me to.” She stands up straighter. “She thinks I need to let loose and have fun.”

“I need the same thing,” I say, going for the bathroom when the door suddenly swings open and a guy I’ve never seen before walks out.

“Hey,” Ava yells, dashing in front of me. “I was next.”

“Gotta move faster than that, babe.” I slip into the bathroom before she can and shut the door in her face, twisting the lock extra loud. I laugh when she pounds on the door and then go handle my business, smiling when I hear her call me names through the thin wood of the door.

I really do love a pissed-off Ava. She’s fun to mess with.

Once I’m finished and I’ve washed my hands, singing “Happy Birthday” under my breath, because I know it takes a long time and I’m just trying to piss her off more, I finally go to the door and slowly open it.

She’s standing where I left her, looking furious. And gorgeous. She shoves past me and strides inside the bathroom, going straight to the sink and turning on the water.

“You just wanted to wash your hands?”

Ava lifts her head, our gazes meeting in the mirror. “So?”

“Lame,” I tell her, thinking she had to pee or whatever. “Now I’m glad I cut in front of your ass.”

“You’re rude.” She soaps up her hands and starts scrubbing them vigorously, like she’s going in for surgery.

I ignore her insult. “You like it.”

“Not really.” She rinses her hands off, her gaze still on me. “You played a good game tonight, Eli.”

I try to shrug off the pleasure filling me at her compliment, but I can’t. It feels good, that she said something.

“Thanks—why’d you come?” I shut the door when someone approaches, locking it once more.

I don’t want anyone barging in on us during what I think could be an important conversation.

“I came with my parents. They have season box tickets.” She drops her gaze, watching her hands as she continues to run them under the water. She gives a little jerk and shuts the water off, reaching for the hand towel hanging on the hook nearby.

I approach her, which means I take approximately three steps, since the bathroom is so damn small. I’m standing directly behind her, my body so close it’s almost brushing hers and I will her to look into the mirror so our reflections will meet once again. When her gaze finally lifts, I say what’s been on the tip of my tongue since she answered me.

“You didn’t come to watch me?”

Her green eyes are big, eating me up. My heart is racing. Being close to her always amps me up. More than any alcohol I can drink or any dynamic play I make out on the field. Nothing makes me feel like Ava Callahan does.

Nothing.

“Not really,” she whispers, her gaze never straying from mine.

I raise a brow. “Really?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes, I came to watch you.”

My blood warms and I stand a little taller. “Knew it.”

“You’re having a terrific season.”

“You actually keep track?” I’m surprised.

“I can’t help myself. I still root for you out on that field, Eli.”