“So we’ll go and pig out on free food and check out the eye candy. Basketball might be my new favorite sport,” Kayla says.

  I spin my chair to face them—difficult as it is in the cramped space—and dig my ticket back out of my bag. “Do you guys know anyone who would want mine?”

  Three faces slack-jawed and frozen with disbelief stare back at me. Then they all start firing off questions one on top of the other.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “You know we don’t have any other friends.”

  “Why can’t you come?”

  I lean over and drop my ticket on Ryan’s desk. “I’m busy that night.”

  “Not any busier than the rest of us,” Julia points out.

  “I have some reading I need to catch up on.”

  Kayla guffaws at this. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re never behind on reading. Never. The world would have to be ending. And even then, you’d be fighting off zombies while up to date on Dr. Hughes’ seminar slides.”

  “Besides, spring break is coming up,” Julia adds.

  I don’t make eye contact with a single one of them as I leave my ticket on Ryan’s desk, roll my chair back, turn, and try to focus on my emails.

  None of my officemates know about Ben, obviously. And something tells me, even if I tried to tell them about it now, they wouldn’t believe me. Yeah, yeah, hilarious. And I had sex with Chris Evans last week. Good one.

  “You know what? I just realized we should turn this game into a birthday celebration for me!” Julia says.

  “How humble of you,” Ryan teases.

  “What? It’s a good idea. My birthday is in two weeks and we’re too poor to celebrate it, so let’s go to the game and do it there! Maybe I can get on the jumbotron or something.”

  “Yes! I’ll splurge and buy us all matching t-shirts to wear,” Kayla adds. “Raelynn, c’mon you have to join. What size shirt do you want?”

  “I—”

  Julia cuts in. “And before you insist you aren’t going, remember, it’s my birthday. Since you’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated to celebrate with me.”

  Even though I’ll keep trying to weasel out of it with half-feeble excuses, I know it’s decided right then and there…I’ll go.

  The next few days pass by in a frenzy of activity. I’m the teaching assistant for one of Professor Olmsted’s freshman courses, which means there are over a hundred students that demand my time and attention on a weekly basis. I arrive early to the course each week, set up Professor Olmsted’s slides on the projector, pass around the required materials, check attendance, and then take my seat at the front. In addition to her seminar, I host four small-group sessions with students from her class so we can review the material again and work through more conceptual ideas. I grade assignments, answer emails, and meet one-on-one with any students who’ve requested extra help. On top of that, I have my own studies. I’m in twelve hours of graduate level courses with an emphasis on computer science and electrical engineering. I’m a member of Caltech’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, which works closely with the university’s observatory. I help bridge the gap between the two fields while maintaining a GPA high enough to continue to be supported by the National Science Foundation Graduate Fellowship. My work is specifically focused on imaging outer space and building on the work of the Event Horizon Telescope team, who were the first group to capture an image of a black hole back in 2013.

  My life revolves around school, and when I’m finally free, I cram into a room I share with Kayla in a rental house near campus filled with other graduate students. It’s a nightmare situation, too many people and too few bathrooms. I never have privacy, Kayla loves chatting late into the night, and her side of the room is constantly messy. I never thought I would, but I actually miss that old trailer on Sheriff Corbin’s property. Sure, it had its faults, but it was quiet and all mine.

  Saturday evening, I sit on my bed in my room with my back against the wall and my laptop propped in front of my crossed legs. I’m supposed to be working. Even now, a new email from a student tumbles into my inbox, demanding my attention, but I’m staring out the window, remembering. Recalling my time with Ben is more pain than pleasure, but still, I do it all the time. I dwell in memories more than I should, and even now, I can picture my moments with him all too well.

  The night we lay in the back seat of his SUV, the air a warm blanket surrounding us, his hand between my thighs. Sometimes, it’s not the intimacy I crave the most, it’s the friendship. The tilt of his smile and the cut of his deep dimples as he sat across the counter at Dale’s watching me while I worked. God, I miss it.

  I’ve been with someone else since him. One drunk night at a party here on campus, I let a friend of Ryan’s kiss me to see if maybe I’d been building Ben up in my mind. Maybe any guy would make me feel the same way he did: worshipped and admired, crazy with desire. Maybe I just needed to get back out there. Maybe I put too much emphasis on him. He was the first guy I had sex with, and it’s not out of the question that I might have latched onto him solely because of that.

  At the party, Ryan’s friend was so eager, so wide-eyed and surprised when I let him lead me upstairs to his room. I had every intention of having sex with him, just ripping the Band-Aid off with a cute, simple guy and getting it over with. He laid me down on his bed, wedged his knee between my legs, and started kissing me. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to push away the nagging doubts, and still, I couldn’t get into it. He tasted like cheap beer and his hands were too rough and too eager. He found the zipper on my jeans and I winced. He felt it and pulled back.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me.

  I was crying by then, and he could tell. There was no way for me to stem the flow.

  “Shoot. God. I’m sorry.”

  He was so nice and helped me sit up and straighten my shirt.

  I bawled on the edge of his bed, and he just sat there and let me.

  “I…I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  I shook my head, trying to assure him he hadn’t.

  We’ve run into each other around campus a few times since then, and he’s always been extremely nice, if not slightly awkward.

  Other than that night, I haven’t delved into any other relationships while back here in California. For the first while, it made sense. I told myself I needed time to heal and refocus my attention on school. I wanted to mourn Nan in peace, but thoughts of Ben were always there. Months slipped by and then a full year passed plus some, and now it just feels embarrassing. How long am I going to grieve a fleeting romance? How long am I going to pretend what we had was something worth this much heartache? It’s pathetic.

  The doorknob jangles and Kayla curses. Then the door flies open and she spills inside, arms laden with her book bag, water bottle, sweater, textbooks, and a bright blue shopping bag. She shuffles over to her bed quickly and plops everything down before it all tumbles onto the floor. From the top of the pile, she plucks a t-shirt out of the shopping bag and tosses it over to my bed.

  “Those things are everywhere. Some guy set up a table on Del Mar and they were going like hot cakes. I grabbed four. He was sold out of our size, but I’ll cut them and make them crop tops or something.”

  I hold up the white t-shirt that’s meant to mimic a basketball jersey and laugh when I see it’s Ben’s number. Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “I know it’s way too big but, like I said, I’ll fix them before tomorrow. They’ll be cute.”

  Tomorrow.

  I’ll see Ben in the flesh tomorrow.

  Why does that make me feel so sick?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Raelynn

  “Would you stop fussing with it?” Kayla says. “It’s fine.”

  I tug on the crop top as we walk past the security checkpoint at the Staples Center. “It’s a little short.”

  She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “It’s supposed to be. That’s the style these days.”

  “Are you sure? I swear my midriff is showing.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I’m not convinced. I feel like I’m trying too hard in this outfit. A crop top? Who am I kidding? I’m a boring grad student. Most days, I don’t even bother with makeup. I toss my hair into a braid or ponytail, throw on a pair of leggings or jeans, and call it a day. I spend my life hunched over textbooks and computers. I’d look pale and sickly if I didn’t make a point to eat my lunch outside every day and soak up as much vitamin D as I can.

  Since we rarely see the outside of a research lab, Kayla and Julia both insisted we really try to go all out tonight with hair and makeup. Kayla hopes we’ll catch the eye of one of the basketball players (dear god, please no), and I suspect Julia secretly wants Ryan to take notice of her. So far so good. Since we all met up near campus to catch an Uber, he hasn’t been able to peel his eyes off her. Even now, he edges toward her as we walk through the crowd toward our section of seats.

  “Stick close together,” he says, touching her elbow.

  “It’s not a big deal if we lose each other,” Julia says with a shrug, holding up her ticket. “We know where to go.”

  He frowns, and I look away to hide my smile. How can two people be so oblivious to what’s right in front of them?

  “Food first?” Kayla asks, veering off toward the line for the concession stand.

  “Yes!” Julia claps. “I want to try it all.”

  I would join them in line, but my stomach is in knots. Nothing sounds appetizing, least of all a heaping plate of nachos or a massive chili cheese dog.

  “Raelynn?” Kayla asks. “You want anything?”

  I shake my head. “No. You guys go ahead.”

  Ryan frowns and leaves Julia’s side to head over to me. “What’s up?”

  I train my face into a gentle smile. “Nothing.”

  He arches a skeptical brow. “I’m not buying it. Are you stressed about finals coming up or something?”

  Not in the least, but I appreciate him feeding me an excuse that’s somewhat feasible.

  “Oh…kind of.” I shrug.

  It’s not an outright lie, right?

  He huffs in disbelief. “If you’re worried, there’s no hope for the rest of us. Besides, spring break is next week. You’ll have tons of time to study with us out of your hair.”

  “Ryan!” Kayla shouts. “What do you want?”

  He hurries to join them at the front of the line to order his food, and I hang back, looking around and checking out the stadium. Even here, in the mezzanine, it’s all decked out for the team—their logos and signs are everywhere, posters boasting past championships, and huge cardboard cutouts of Ben and Trey and Anthony that fans can pose with. People are actually doing it too, lining up and everything.

  Everyone’s dressed in jerseys and gear, and I’m suddenly in disbelief that I’m here, putting myself through this. Maybe I didn’t resist hard enough. I could have faked an illness or something. What good is it going to do to sit here in this stadium confronted by all of Ben’s greatness? How will that end well for me? Spoiler: it won’t.

  After my friends have their arms laden with food and drinks, we head toward our section of seats. The circular mezzanine branches out on the left and right so fans can go up to level two or down toward the court. Our tickets are on the lower level, so we head down, and down some more. With every step, I start to lose my cool more and more.

  “These tickets are insane,” Ryan says, leading us into a row on my left.

  We’re smack-dab in the middle of the arena, only six rows back from the court.

  “We’re almost close enough to touch them,” Julia says in amazement.

  “Just how long do you think your arms are?” Ryan teases.

  She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  She grabs a seat, Ryan quick to sit beside her. Kayla is next, and I take up the tail end, right on the stairs, which is great in case I need to make a clean getaway.

  “Tip-off should be any minute now,” Ryan says, leaning forward eagerly. “If we’d arrived earlier, we might have been able to catch them before they went back into the locker room.”

  Thank god we didn’t.

  There are dozens of people on the court, preparing for the game, dancers and mascots entertaining the fans while music blares overhead. The camera for the jumbotron jumps around the crowd, highlighting all the enthusiastic fans with their painted faces and foam fingers.

  I bounce my knees nervously, wishing I had something to do with my hands other than wring them out. Kayla looks over at me, and I realize how weird I’m being. I slide my hands over my knees and offer up a smile. She eyes me suspiciously before getting distracted by her nachos.

  The lights in the stadium suddenly go black, and the crowd roars. The noise level inside the Staples Center is at an ear-piercing all-time high. The center bank of screens and scoreboards hanging above the court start blinking neon colors in time with the music. An announcer encourages everyone to welcome the Utah Jazz as they take the court, and most everyone does the exact opposite. There’re a few errant cheers, but this home crowd is loyal and saves all its love for when the announcer starts to list off the starting lineup for Los Angeles one by one, building up the suspense.

  It’s such a huge production. Flashing lights and plumes of smoke and pulsing music accompanies each player as they emerge from the locker room to screams and cheers from the crowd.

  With all my worrying about Ben, I hadn’t even considered the fact that I would know the other players taking the court.

  “Number fifteen, ANTHONY BRADSHAW!”

  The announcer’s booming voice sends goose bumps cascading down my arms.

  I whistle and clap as loud as I can, genuinely excited. “Go Anthony!”

  Then I look over to see my friends staring at me oddly.

  “Are you a big fan?” Kayla teases.

  I shrug and lean back in my chair. “Just being nice. I would want people to clap for me too.”

  Fortunately, they brush off my enthusiasm, and when Trey takes the court next, I rein it in a little.

  Still, I can’t keep a huge smile from spreading across my face. This really is cool. When I first met the guys, it was in my diner, in my tiny neck of the woods. It was easy to forget who they are in real life.

  “And now, your three-time NBA finals MVP, Western Conference Player of the Year, number twenty-eight, BEN CASTILLO!”

  The stadium rumbles as the cacophony of cheering fans roars louder than ever. I feel the noise drumming in my chest. My heart pulses to Drake’s “Forever” blaring from the speakers as Ben emerges from the dark tunnel out onto the court.

  At first, he walks with his head ducked, his attention down at his feet. He jogs out, wearing the team’s dark purple tracksuit over his jersey. I can see nothing but his tall frame and rich brown hair, highlighted by the neon colors. I don’t blink, don’t breathe. Time ceases to exist as he slowly lifts his head to look out at the crowd, and the air rushes out of me as if I’ve just been struck square in the chest by a well-aimed arrow.

  It hurts more than I expected.

  God. He looks good. Better than anyone should look. It’s horribly unfair. His dark brown hair is trimmed shorter than the last time I saw him but still blessedly carries a hint of curl on top. His patrician nose, dark brows, and sharp cheekbones bear no mark of peace. He’s a soldier walking onto the battlefield. His intimidating jaw is clean-shaven, and he looks utterly focused as he joins the rest of his team on the court.

  The lights come back up and the players immediately start running through short drills. Utah sticks to one side, Los Angeles across from them. I watch with rapt attention as the players warm up before tip-off, basketballs flying toward the net three at a time as the players pass and move aside quickly.

  My stomach squeezes tight as I stare at Ben, completely mesmerized. His handsome face is a mask of determination. I’ve never seen him look so severe. It almost takes me back to the first time I saw him at the gas station, when he seemed closed off and unapproachable, before I knew him. It’s his game face, and I’m sure it works wonders.

  Just when my heart rate finally starts to settle and I think I’ve come to terms with his unholy hotness, Anthony passes by him and says something as they bump shoulders. Ben smiles and my mouth gapes open.

  Okay.

  There we have it, folks—I’ve just caught my death.

  That smile on that face is just it for me. Put me in my grave.

  “He’s so freaking hot,” Kayla says before proceeding to shout at the top of her lungs. “Ben! BEN! WE LOVE YOU!”

  I drop for cover like I’m in the middle of a war zone. Then I grab Kayla’s arm and yank her down beside me. “Are you insane?” I hiss.

  “Ow! You’re hurting me!”

  “Don’t shout his name! He’ll hear us!”

  She’s looking at me like I’m certifiable. “You mean among all the other fans also screaming his name?”

  I loosen my grip, and she extracts her arm and shakes it out exaggeratedly.

  “You’re lucky I just set down my nachos. Had you spilled them…” She mimes a finger slicing across her throat.

  Yeah, yeah.

  I peer back out onto the court, and sure enough, Ben still doesn’t know I exist. He’s over on the side talking to a coach. I’m in the clear.

  “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Can I get you a beer or something? Here, have mine.”

  She presses her drink into my hand, and maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Maybe it’ll give me a little bit of courage to endure the next few hours. I take a sip and settle back down into my seat. Ryan and Julia and Kayla eat their pregame snacks as the team finishes their final warm-up drills, then the team jogs toward the sidelines and starts stripping out of their tracksuits.