First and Forever (Heartache Duet #2) - Jay McLean Page 0,28
in place.
Trevor—he’s lost it. His hands are on his stomach, his eyes watering from laughing so hard.
Mom tells him, “Posture.”
Connor gets to his feet, all six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt of him. “Posture?”
“Yes, posture.”
“Posture?” Connor repeats.
Mom shakes her head, looks up at him. “Are you deaf? I said it twice.”
Connor busts out a laugh, then looks over at me. “Damn, now I know where you get it from.”
“Jump shot weak,” Mom says. “Posture wrong.”
Connor rolls his shoulders back, his spine straightening. “All right, Miss D. Show me what I’m doing wrong.”
Mom nods. “Okay.”
Connor stands in the middle of my living room, adjusting his limbs to mimic what I assume is his jump shot. Legs apart, ass out, arms raised. “What’s wrong with this?” he asks her.
She walks around him, her pointer finger tapping her chin as she assesses him.
“This is gold,” Trevor says, phone raised in front of him as he takes a picture. And then five more.
I’d be embarrassed… if it wasn’t so endearing. I mean, the boy of my dreams, an All-American who just got in to what might possibly be the best basketball college in the nation is standing in my living room allowing my mother to give him tips on his jump shot. Sigh. It’s kind of adorable.
Mom uses her foot to distance the space between Connor’s feet. “Better,” she says and starts walking circles around him again. She stops at his right arm—his shooting arm—and adjusts his elbow, then lifts her amputated limb. “Ugh,” she huffs. “Sometimes I forget it’s gone.”
Connor smiles down at her.
“Ava!” she shouts.
I stand. “Yes, Mama?”
“Hold his arm.” She taps his bicep. “Right here.”
I stand in front of him, grasp his arm where Mom said, and roll my eyes when he flexes his muscles. He smirks down at me, and dammit, I can’t help my body’s reaction to him—to being this close to him. I remember the way he felt when his entire body was covering mine, skin on skin. The way every muscle shifted when he moved down, down, down, until his shoulders rested beneath my thighs, the way his neck—“Ava,” Connor whispers. “You’re blushing.”
I choke on air and come back to reality. “Shut up.”
Mom angles Connor’s forearm closer to his head. “Like that.”
“Like this?” Connor asks, then mimics taking his shot. “Huh.” He stands to full height again, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ll have to try it.”
“Yes.” Mom nods. “Try it, and when it works, credit me.”
Connor laughs. “Absolutely, Miss D.”
Mom pats his arm. “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Miss Diaz.”
I ask her, “Do you need me to—”
“No,” Mom interrupts. “You stay. Help him with his weak jump shot.” She goes into her room and closes the door behind her.
Trevor says, “That’s the most entertained I’ve been in years.” Then, following Mom’s lead, he goes to his room and closes the door behind him, leaving just me and Connor and, apparently, his weak jump shot.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice low. “I had no idea that’s why she wanted to see you.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind. Honestly, it was fun. She seems like she’s doing a lot better.”
“She is. We just worry about how long it’ll last, you know?”
Nodding, he looks around the room. “Well, I’m here now…”
“You are.” I try to hide my nerves. “Do you want to—”
“Yes,” he cuts in.
I laugh. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Whatever it is, yes.”
I switch on the TV and motion to the couch. “Do you want a drink?”
He sits down, his eyes on mine. “Sure.”
“Water?”
“Thanks.”
I head to the kitchen, and when I glance back at him, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. I return with his water. “I’ll be back,” I tell him, going to my room to throw on a sweatshirt. I notice his team jacket on my bed, and figure, fuck it. I slip it on. Sniff it. Yum. When I re-enter the living room, he has the glass to his lips, his entire body frozen except for his eyes. His eyes follow me all the way until I’m sitting next to him, my legs bent beneath me. He tilts the glass, downs the entire thing in two gulps. Then he leans back, throws his arm behind me on the couch. “You know that jacket’s got my name on the back.”