Page 1 of Full Court Love

CHAPTER 1

LUCY

You knowthatmoment in a rom-com, the one where they lock eyes across a crowded room for the very first time, the rest of the world melts away, and it’s just the two of them—hearts racing, sparks flying, and a spotlight appearing out of nowhere to underscore the gravity of the whole ordeal? It’s kind of cheesy and unrealistic, but secretly we all hope it happens to us.

Well, I just experienced that for the very first time.

Unfortunately, it led to me turning the ball over in a pick-up basketball game, so now I’m pissed off–and also a little embarrassed.

I sprint back on defense, but not before casting a sideways glance at the guy who just walked into the gym and gave me my rom-com moment. He’s watching me with a slight grin on his face, like he knows he caused my mistake and simultaneously sent a jolt of electricity through my entire world somehow.

Infuriating.

I know for a fact I’ve never seen him before because I definitely would have remembered that six-foot-five frame that looks like it was carved to be a replica of a Greek god. Notthat I typically notice that kind of thing. I’m hyper-focused on my personal goals–such as playing in the NCAA tournament and winning Player of the Year. Noticing hot guys has never been high on my priority list.

Until today—like, two minutes ago—that is.

My college teammates joke that I’m destined to become a nun because I’ve always shown zero interest in any man who looks my way. And although I would be a badass nun, this curly-haired, caramel-skinned, brown-eyed guy is suddenly making me question my no-guy stance. Not that it’s a stance exactly. It’s more of a natural result of my overconsumption of the romance genre in all forms–books, movies, TV shows, forcing my parents to tell me the story of how they met over fifty times, you name it.

Yeah, that’s actually the root cause of the problem.

This guy, though. He looks like he should be the leading man in any one of my favorites–and I will happily play the leading lady.

Totally kidding. Kind of.

This is a gym, which means I need to be focused on the game. Unfortunately, my willpower is weak, and his cheeky grin is making focusing nearly impossible.

So yeah, this isn’t going to work.

I cannotplay with him. One brief moment of eye contact caused me to lose all limb control. If we go shirts versus skins and I see his abs, it’s all over for me.

I direct my attention back to the game at hand. My team had a chance to win on the last possession before my turnover, so we need to get the ball back quickly. I have to end this thing and get out of here. I don’t need a run-in with whoever this newcomer is, no matter how much I want to see him shirtless.

My teammate Tom, a middle-school gym teacher well past his prime, pulls down the rebound and quickly finds me. I take a couple dribbles and pull up for a deep three.

Swish.

The guys on my team cheer while the opposing team lets out a collective groan. I fight back a smile, trying to play it cool. I can’t help but cast a sideways look at the hot guy on the bleachers, who meets my gaze once again. His eyes are still glued to me–I don’t think he’s looked away since he walked in, not that I’m keeping tabs–and a grin spreads on his face when he notices me watching him back. I look away too fast with cheeks burning. I need to escape this gym ASAP.

“Well, that’s game, guys. I’ll see you next Saturday.”

I wave and grab my bag, turning toward the exit.

“Quitting while you’re ahead, huh?”

I don’t recognize the voice, but the teasing tone makes my blood boil.

“Excuse me?”

I’m not one to back down from a challenge. Hence the season-ending injury last February. Competition is my Achilles’ heel–the injury, however, was to my knee.

I glance over my shoulder to whoever insinuated that I was a quitter, and of course, it’s him.

He has a smirk on his face that puts all my senses on high alert.

“I mean, I just got here and I’m ready to play, and you rush out. Seems a little cowardly.”

His voice is smooth and low. I know I’m being goaded, but I take the bait without an ounce of hesitation. With an aggressive pivot, I walk back toward the bleachers and toss my bag down.