Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,27

from the night before. Something about starting small, and then something about not backing her into a corner.

Kind of like I am now.

So, I go against my nature and fall back, give her room to breathe despite wanting to push and be heard, which isn’t going so well anyway.

“Sorry I bothered you,” is where I leave it.

She’s eyeing me, maybe a little surprised I’m not pushing as hard as expected, but I’m trying to stick to the plan. The one that has me feeling like I’m leaving things between us unfinished as I back off.

My gaze slips from her eyes, down the length of her, resenting the hell out of this intense energy that keeps us strung together. It’s what makes me want her even when her mean ass gives me the cold shoulder, or when she tears my fucking ego to shreds.

I earned this, though. Every ounce of it.

Turning, I head into the locker room to change. Well, to sulk, and then change.

I’ve never had to work so hard for one girl in my entire life. Chicks’ feelings aren’t even something I consider, but that’s not the case with her. I mean, here I am letting her hate me, all because my brother said I shouldn’t push. So, this is me trying to comply.

This is me not pushing.

Kind of.

I make it out onto the bleachers just as Mrs. C. blows her whistle and glances down at her tablet to take attendance. From the corner of my eye, I’m aware of the blonde ponytail I know to be attached to Southside, but I don’t turn her way.

Give her space, jerkwad.

Sighing helps relieve the tightness in my chest, but this whole thing is killing me inside.

“Today’s the official start of our basketball unit,” Mrs. C. announces. “You all did swimmingly during our pool unit.”

No one laughs at her lame-ass dad joke but some douche on the front row.

“Anywho. We’ll start with a simple layup tutorial for the first half of class, then we’ll move into small drills to practice what you’ve learned. I’ll need a couple volunteers,” she calls out.

Of course, no hands go up.

When her gaze lands on me, I groan, knowing my name’s about to be called.

“West? Can you join me, please?” she asks. “And … how about you, Trip. Get down here and grab a ball.”

I do as I’m told, dribbling while I await instructions.

“Trip, I need you on defense. Start at the free-throw line.”

We make our way there and Trip spreads his arms, studying my body language. Still, he somehow gets crossed up when I fake left, then break right. The ball rolls off my fingertips into the basket when I jump, and it isn’t until I look back and find Trip on the ground that I understand why the class is laughing.

“My bad,” I apologize, offering him my hand. He takes it and stands.

Eager to redeem himself, he plants his feet more firmly this time, and I dribble until Mrs. C.’s whistle signals the start of the play. Trip’s more focused than before, and a little tense. Trying to give him a break, I hit him with the same move, thinking it’ll be predictable, but dude goes down like the Titanic for a second time, and the ball rolls into the basket with ease.

This time, when I turn to help him up, I’m laughing with everyone else.

“Good thing you picked football over basketball. Otherwise, they’d have to hire someone just to scrape your ass off the court after every play,” I joke.

His face reddens, but he’s laughing a bit himself.

“Caught me off guard is all,” he insists. “I’ll block you this time.”

“Won’t be a next time,” Mrs. C. cuts in. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re being replaced.”

Smiling a bit, her hand lands on Trip’s shoulder as he passes her on his way back to the bleachers.

“Riley, you’re up,” Mrs. C. announces.

Southside peers up from a daydream, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“What? I—I’m not really feeling well,” she lies, volleying a look between me and Mrs. C., begging for mercy with her eyes.

“Won’t take long,” Mrs. C. insists. “Besides, I’ve peeked in on a few of your practices. I have faith if anyone can stop Golden short of the basket, it’s you.”

Southside’s face is redder than Trip’s and I honestly wonder if Mrs. C. is the one person on this planet who hasn’t seen the video. Woman must live under a rock. Otherwise, she would’ve known why this pairing is probably the