Claiming Callie: Part two (11 page)

“Weird different. I have to remind myself to play the role.”

“Oh,” Jinny's smile fades before she turns away and falls silent.

Did I say something wrong?
I hope she doesn
’
t think I
’
m insulti
ng him. Let
’
s face it, though, continually reminding myself to act like a love-struck girlfriend around my
best friend
’s brother does fall into the weird category.

Shrugging it off, Callie turns her attention back to the basketball court. After the
pre-game warm-up, the players take their positions. Dean
’
s gaze catches hers in the crowd easily because of her position right off the court. For a split second, his eyes holds hers before the game begins and the men scatter into position.

Callie watches a
s the teams fight for domination. After a Pitt player fumbles the ball, Boston College gets it and moves downcourt, but in a flash Dean manages to steal it and dribble in for a layup shot to score the first points of the game. The crowd roars next to her.
Students and fans scream, some jump up in their seats, others ring cowbells, and some simply sit and clap. The Panther mascot boogies across the front of the bleachers, doing a wild celebration dance. Before Callie knows what
’
s happening, he is coming towa
rd her in his white Pitt jersey. His large, furry head bobbles slightly as he walks, and when he comes to a stop in front of her, he pulls a red rose from behind his back, waves it in the air, and gives it to her with a flourish and a bow. The fans around
her chatter, their voices rising excitedly above the noise in the gym.

Callie
’
s cheeks burn red-hot as she accepts the rose, and the Panther dances away. A bubble of excitement works its way up through her chest.
This can
’
t be from Dean.

Turning to Jinny,
she says, “What was that?”

Jinny takes one look at the rose and grins before turning her attention back to the game. She nods toward the court. “I think that
’
s what it feels like to be the girlfriend of the star player.”

Callie follows Jinny
’
s line of visi
on with wide eyes to where Dean stands, legs bent at the knees, guarding his opponent. His arms unfurl, surrounding the space of the other player, his fingers curled. His expression is fierce, intent. But, as he bumps the player with his hip and wards off
a pass, his gaze flickers to her, as if he can sense her eyes on him, and he winks.

“Oh,” Callie says, then glances back down at the flower.

It really is from him. Dean gave me a rose.

Warmth spills into her limbs and her head grows fuzzy.
That
’
s so…
sweet.

She lets the gesture sink in and thinks,
Maya must be here.

A couple minutes pass and Callie
’
s still staring at the rose—its delicate petals, the deep-red hue, the way they curl and fold around each other in an intimate embrace. She brings the rose back u
p to her nose and inhales the floral perfume. Next to her, Jinny screams, startling Callie from her flower-induced trance.

“
Oh, come on!
” She throws her hands in the air, then says, “Thank you!”

Callie looks back out at the court to see what the commotion
is about and sees Dean setting up for a free throw behind the foul line.

“Did you see that jerk? Talk about an arm to the body,” Jinny growls. Callie says nothing. If Jinny is one thing, she
’
s fiercely defensive about her brother when he
’
s competing. And
her defensiveness can turn into irritation at the blink of an eye, so Callie typically prefers to stay mute during the game, cheering when appropriate, and agreeing to whatever Jinny says about it.

Callie nods, then focuses on the game. The Panthers fans q
uiet as Dean sets up to take the shot. On the opposite side of the court, the Boston fans taunt and yell, pounding their feet on the bleachers, filling the gym with thunderous sound in an effort to distract him. But the concentration on Dean
’
s face is stea
dy. His forehead creases as he glances up at the hoop. The referee passes him the ball and Callie watches in fascination as he wipes the bottom of his shoes with his hands, then dribbles. There
’
s no sign of tension in his mouth or the set of his brow. His
face is placid, his expression tranquil as he lifts the ball and shoots.

He scores and the fans erupt around her. When the ref hands him the ball for a second shot, he goes through the same steps, lifts on his feet, and scores a second basket.

Callie jumps
up to clap and cheer with the other fans. Dean
’
s running backward on the court, giving a teammate a high five. He moves with such grace that Callie wonders how anyone could watch anything on the court but him. She starts to sit down, but before she can, t
he Pitt Panther is dancing toward her again—this time with two more roses. He hands them to her and bows with a flourish, making a huge spectacle of Callie and the flowers.

Sitting down, she holds the roses, her belly fluttering wildly. She has to force he
rself to contain the feeling.
This isn
’
t real
.

She looks from them back to the court to where Dean
’
s blocking someone
’
s shot and feels someone tap her on the back. She turns to face two girls. They
’
re dressed in Pitt sweatshirts and look to be freshman. Th
ey
’
re both smiling, and the one with long dark hair asks, “Is that your boyfriend?”

The words squeeze her stomach, but Callie nods. “Yeah,” she says a little breathless.

“I thought I saw an article in the school paper about you guys, right?”

Callie nods,
unable to find her voice.

“That is just. So. Sweet,” the girl gushes. “How long have you two been together again?”

Callie swallows. She tries to think back to their story, the one they told Greg at the newspaper, but she finds it more than difficult. “Um.
About a year now.”

“Yeah? That
’
s awesome,” the girl’s friend says. “He
’
s so incredibly hot.” She adds, staring back out at the court.

Callie follows the direction of her gaze to see Dean, fighting for the ball with a Boston player, before the referee blows
the whistle. The players back off and set up in position on the court again, and Callie focuses on Dean. She pushes aside the fact that she
’
s known him her whole life—that he
’
s
Dean Michaels
—so that she can see him through these girls’ eyes.

His
sweat-soaked espresso hair is a perfectly disheveled mess, as he runs a hand through it before setting up to defend the ball. He holds his arms out, his eyes gleaming fiercely—an electric blue—under the harsh gym lights. His outstretched arms are nothing b
ut muscle, coiled and waiting for action. His biceps flex and twitch with each subtle movement of his body, and his silky jersey sticks to his damp chest, revealing the outline of his tight pecs and abs.

Callie
’
s mouth drops slightly.
He
’
s totally ripped.
How have I never noticed this before?

She stares, unable to help herself. Her stomach dips and she marvels at the man moving across the court, wondering why she
’
s never seen just how completely gorgeous he is. How thick his hair is. Or the mesmerizing shad
e of his eyes. How built. How…

She presses a hand to her belly.
Oh, God. Get a hold of yourself, here. It
’
s Dean.

Yes, it
’
s just Dean, but…

No buts!

In all her reflection of Dean
’
s hotness, it takes her a while to notice he has the ball. He dribbles down
center court and points to one of his teammates for him to go deep, but he gets blocked. Dean pivots and goes left, swinging wide. But all of his teammates are guarded far too tightly for him to pass off the ball. No one’s open, and the player guarding him
isn
’
t letting up, either. In a rush of movement, he pivots and pushes right, only to swirl around left and shoot the ball. It swishes in the net with ease. Never stopping, already moving, he returns two high fives from teammates, ignores Jason who shoots
him a dirty look, then runs downcourt to where Boston takes the ball.

This time, Callie
’
s ready for it. She waits to see if this will set the pattern for the game, and sure enough, she spots the Panther, another rose clutched in one furry paw. He
’
s riling
the crowd of Panther fans up. He
’
s pumping his furry, golden-brown arms in the air, swinging the rose like a conductor, before he stops in front of Callie.