CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Blake
She was wearing the blue Duke jersey, my name and potential number on the back, and I’d never wanted to play for Duke as much as I did right now.
“Should we just skate down? It’s only half a mile to the pier.”
“Whatever you want, babe.” But I was already pulling our boards out of the trunk.
I skated to the pier. She held on to my shirt and rolled along behind me. There was a street art show going on, and she wanted to check it out. I’d do whatever she wanted.
“I wish I was good at art,” she said from next to me.
“Have you tried it?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I just can’t do anything creative.”
And it struck me then, that even though we’d spent all this time together, I really didn’t know much about her at all. “What do you do?” I asked.
She laughed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when you’re not with me, skating, or practicing shots from the three-point line. What’s your deal?”
She shrugged. “Not much, really. I don’t really have any hobbies, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah.” I followed her to the next artist—a chalk drawer. “But there must be something you like to do . . . or are good at. Something?”
“Not really.” She dropped some change into the dude’s hat.
“I call bullshit. I bet you sing or play guitar or something phenomenal.”
She laughed. “No, Blake. I really do nothing.” She started walking toward an ice-cream truck, but stopped a few feet away and turned to me. “Maybe it was because I was fostered or something. Like, I didn’t want to do anything permanent, because I didn’t know if I would be permanent.” Her eyebrows bunched, and she pursed her lips. Then sadness washed over her features. “Maybe it was because I didn’t think I’d be around long enough to enjoy it.” She shook her head. “That sounds so stupid.”
“Baby, it’s not stupid.” I hugged her with one arm, the other busy carrying both our boards. “I get it, though—why you would be like that. Maybe it’s time we find something for you.”
She pulled back and looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re always fucking around with the skating and the basketball. Maybe we find something you like and do it together. We can learn together. You like music? We can buy guitars. You want to learn magic? We’ll buy a—”
“I like you,” she cut in. She smirked and placed her hands under my shirt, fingers splayed flat against my stomach. “Can I learn you?”
“You’re changing the subject and avoiding talking about this.”
She pouted and dropped her hands. “Why does it matter?”
“Because,” I said. “It matters because you deserve to have something of your own. To want something for yourself. Even if it’s not forever.”
“Okay, Blake.” She nodded. “I’ll think about it. I’ll do it for you.”
I sighed. “Babe, I want you to do it for you. Not for me or anyone else.”
“Okay,” she agreed. Then her gaze moved toward the ice-cream truck. I watched as her eyes narrowed and a glare appeared.
“Chloe?”
She jerked her head toward the truck. “That girl won’t take her eyes off you.”
“And?”
“And it’s pissing me off.”
I chuckled.
“Wrong time to laugh, asshole.”
I laughed harder.
She gripped my arm. “Oh my God,” she gasped.
I followed her gaze just as the girl walked into a wall.
“Oh my God,” she said again. Then, through a laugh, “That girl was so busy checking you out, she didn’t even see a wall right in front of her!”
I took her hand, and we walked to the ice-cream truck.
“I bet you’re used to it, huh? Girls looking at you. God, I feel so average right now.”
I dropped her hand and the boards. “Chloe.” I stood in front of her and made sure she was looking at me. “Don’t ever talk like that about yourself. Ever.” I was beyond serious, and my tone let her know.
She frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I released a breath and tried to calm down. “I just hate when you look down on yourself.”
She tried to smile. “You need to give me a break. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl, and you’re my first boyfriend . . . and you just happen to be stupidly hot. So what if I get petty and jealous?” She shrugged. “I’m allowed. I bet if a guy looked at me like that, you’d probably feel the same.”
I let her words sink in before speaking. “A, if a guy looked at you in any way, I’d probably beat his ass. B, I didn’t know I was your boyfriend.”
Her eyes went wide. “I just assumed—”
“Good,” I interrupted. “Assume away, girlfriend.”