“That’s not why I ran out of there.”
“Oh, yeah?” he questions with a knowing smirk. “Sure seemed like it.”
“Maze was talking shit.”
“From what I hear, it was shit he already knew.”
I groan, hating that I’m discussing this with Damian of all people. “Apparently.”
The front door barges open, making me jump and reach for a knife that isn’t there as a high-pitched squeal comes tearing out of Damian. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Slade growls at his best friend as my eyes travel up and down his body, gawking as I take in the loose basketball jersey and the grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.
I shoot to my feet, glaring at Slade while trying not to drool. “What the hell is this? Do you two just make it your business to annoy me at every chance you get? What are you doing here?”
Slade tears his glare away from Damian and it comes back on me. “I told you, I’m making it up to you.”
I groan as Damian’s signature smirk crosses his face. “Ah, so you told her then?”
My head whips to Damian. “You knew?”
“Perks of being his best friend.” I flop back down on the couch, unsure how to feel about all of this, though really, should I even be surprised? His head rolls toward me with that signature smirk once again. “Thought you said there was nothing going on between you guys.”
Slade kicks the door shut and strides into the room. “There is nothing going on,” I say, watching him slink across the room with the swagger of an asshole, the one I find so damn enticing.
Slade scoffs at my remarks. “Deny it all you want, but there’s definitely something going on here.” My mouth opens to protest but he glances at the TV and instantly cuts off whatever I was going to say. “No, shit. The game’s on,” he cheers, dropping down beside me and throwing his arm over the backrest of the couch as his other sneaks under the blanket to take hold of my thigh.
What the hell is this?
Damian offers him up a slice of pizza and he scrunches up his face. “Ew, no. Bro, I’ve fucking told you about those nasty toppings. No one eats pineapple on pizza.”
I grin wide in victory as Damian rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath. “You two were made for each other.”
And…cue the awkwardness.
My eyes meet Slade’s and something softens behind their darkness, bringing on a wave of butterflies that make me want to scream. I hate that I’m falling for his charm, especially now that I don’t despise him, I’m starting to find it kind of irresistible.
This isn’t good.
Needing something to distract me from the mountain of a man beside me, I head into my room and bring out my sketch pad and pencils. I drop back down beside Slade but make sure to give myself a little more distance and as the boys watch the game in that loud, ridiculous way that boys do, I work on a portrait to remember this moment.
Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t mind a bit of basketball but after two hours, I’m more than happy when the game finally comes to an end. The boys cheer and their excitement shows in their eyes.
“Come on,” Slade says, throwing himself off the couch and grabbing my sketchpad. He tosses it aside as though I haven’t just been working hard on it for the past two hours and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go to the courts.”
Damian gets up and starts making his way to the door, only stopping when I put up a fight. “No,” I say, loving the feeling I get every time I go against him.
Slade looks down at me. “Yes.”
“No, what am I supposed to do at the courts? I don’t play and I sure as hell don’t plan on sitting on the sidelines like your personal cheerleader.”
His brows furrow and I grin wide realizing that this is something completely new. He’s probably used to girls fawning over him, desperate to be the one sitting on the sidelines. “Well, I’m not sitting here all day watching you draw.”
“Then by all means,” I say, waving my hand toward the door. “Go ahead.”
A strange look comes over his face and he appears to be deep in thought, which couldn’t possibly be good. “Have it your way,” he says with a shrug, making Damian howl with laughter.
Confusion baffles me until he scoops up my sketch pad, grabs a couple of pencils and my eraser and then bends down until his shoulder is slamming against my hip. I’m thrown over his shoulder and I squeal out as he spins around and heads for the door.
“No,” I scream, banging my hands against his back. “Put me down.”
“Nope.”
“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll go with you losers happily if you put me down.”