On The Rebound (Steinbeck U #1) - L.A. Cotton Page 0,30

know how sweet you taste, how wet you get for bad boys and their dirty words.”

“Zach...” It came out rough as she gulped.

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

“Fuck. You.” She slammed her hands into my chest, and I stumbled back, laughter rumbling in my chest.

“Already been there and done that, and I hate to break it to you, but I’m not looking for a repeat anytime soon.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re testing my patience.”

“Why do you even care? I’m not trying to insert myself into your life. I didn’t even know Joel was on the team when I met him.”

Just the mention of his name has my fists clenching. “Because...” I hesitated, and she saw it. Calli’s eyes widened as my truths unraveled in the space between us.

“You—”

“Don’t.” It was a rough bark.

“You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me. Is that it? Well, newsflash, Zachary,” venom dripped from every syllable of my name, as she moved closer, “I’m not looking to play your game.” Calli shouldered past me and took off down the path.

And for the second time in less than a week, I was left standing there wondering what the fuck had just happened.

For as much as I never wanted basketball, there was something oddly settling about being on the court alone at night. I cradled the ball in my hand, bouncing it a couple of times to get a feel for the weight of it in my palm.

It was after hours, but when your name was Messiah—my name literally meant savior, oh the fucking irony—it was like having the keys to the kingdom. I preferred to practice alone, but basketball was a team sport, and I was the Scorpions star point guard. I was expected to run the team’s offense, to control the ball, the plays, to create opportunities to score. I was their reluctant leader. Their general. Their king.

And this was my kingdom.

Darting forward, I dribbled the ball towards the top of the key before snatching it up and taking a three-point shot. The ball sailed through the hoop, like it did every eight out of ten times. Of course, the percentage dropped in games. But out here, on the empty court, I sank point after point.

It was a strange thing, to be so good at the one thing you’d always hated. I could remember watching Declan as a kid. He was a couple years older than me and always had a ball in his hand. By the time he was eight, he could already run circles around most of the kids in junior high. I watched how proud my dad was, how much he doted on Declan, and instead of wanting that, inside of picking up a ball and trying to be like my big brother, I pulled away.

I didn’t hate Declan, not by any means. I just didn’t want to be him.

As the memories ran through my mind, I pumped my legs harder, switching between plays. I cut across the court, darting under the hoop and performed layup after layup, watching with bitter satisfaction as the ball bounced off the backboard and fell perfectly through the hoop.

Memorizing the playbook was the first thing Coach Baxter had me do when I arrived at SU before the summer. The team was at breaking point. They’d suffered a grueling season after losing their number one point guard, Maverick Prince. My brother stepped into the position effortlessly and led the team straight into March Madness. But they didn’t quite have what it took to go all the way. Then the accident happened right after the tournament, and the team fell apart at the seams. They lost a lot of experienced senior players and their point guard.

So when I turned up, with my brother’s name, the same dark blond hair, and a near perfect record playing for the San Diego Aztecs, it was like I was the second coming.

The guy sent to help the Scorpions rise from the ashes.

Their savior.

Their messiah.

I’d expected some resistance from them, some confusion over everything. But it had been the opposite. The team were happy to have me. Relieved, even. Now they could look forward. They could go on and play a killer season in honor of Declan... because what better way to do it than with his brother leading the show.

Sweat trailed down my back and I jogged over to the bench to grab my towel. After wiping off, I chugged half a bottle of water, relishing the blast of icy cold liquid