The universe, Sienna decided, was a relentless, unsubtle playwright with a very specific, and very annoying fixation on her love life. Or lack thereof. This realization hit her as she stood frozen in the doorway of the Titans' practice gym, a place that smelled aggressively of sweat, ambition, and floor wax.
Her presence here was Tasha's fault, obviously.
"It's for our media studies project!" Tasha had insisted, shoving a release form and a cheap digital camera into her hands an hour earlier. "Professor Gupta wants 'an analysis of non-verbal communication in a high-stakes, non-academic environment.' What's higher stakes than Division I basketball practice? You're already a campus media phenomenon, so you're practically a researcher by default."
It was flimsy logic, even for Tasha. But theassignment was real, the deadline was looming, and Sienna's stubborn work ethic overrode her deep-seated desire to avoid any and all buildings associated with Jace Rivera.
So now she was here, a reluctant anthropologist in a temple of athleticism, clutching her camera like a shield. The squeak of sneakers and the pounding of a basketball were a chaotic symphony. For a moment, she just observed, her art-history-trained brain automatically analyzing the scene. The bodies were like moving sculptures, all taut muscle and explosive motion under the harsh fluorescent lights.
And then her lens found its focal point.
Jace.
He was at the far end of the court, running a drill. This wasn't the joking neighbor or the smirking coffee-shop flirt. This was Jace Rivera, the athlete. His face was a mask of intense concentration, hismovements fluid and powerful. He dribbled the ball with a control that seemed effortless, weaving through practice dummies before launching into a jump shot. His form was pure poetry…a perfect arc, a graceful follow-through. The ball swished through the net without touching the rim.
Nothing but net.
The thought popped, unbidden, into her mind. She felt a strange, proprietary sense of pride, which she immediately batted away.
Coach Danvers's whistle screeched. "Again, Rivera! Faster! They're not gonna stand around and watch you pose at Northwood!"
Jace nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. He bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. And that's when he saw her.
His eyes, dark and focused, scanned the bleachers and locked onto hers. The intensity in them didn't fade; it shifted. The mask of concentration slipped, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. He straightened up, his gaze unwavering.
Sienna felt pinned in place. The noise of the gym seemed to fade into a dull roar. She was acutely aware of her own heartbeat, a frantic drum against her ribs. She should look away. She should pretend to be fascinated by the water cooler. But she couldn't.
Coach Danvers blew the whistle again, a sharp, impatient sound. "Rivera! You sleeping? Let's go!"
The spell broke. Jace gave a quick, jerky nod to his coach, but his eyes lingered on Sienna for a second longer before he turned back to the drill. Mason, standing nearby, followed Jace's line of sight. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face, and he gave Sienna an exaggerated wink.
The next play was a disaster. Jace received apass, fumbled it, and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to recover. The ball bounced out of bounds.
"Heads in the game, Number 11!" Coach Danvers bellowed. "That was pathetic!"
Jace shook his head, visibly frustrated, and shot a quick, heated glance toward the bleachers. It wasn't an angry look. It was a look. A you-see-what-you-do-to-me? look that sent a fresh, dizzying wave of heat through Sienna's entire body. She quickly lifted the camera, pretending to take photos of the general scene, using it as a barrier between them.
Practice eventually ended. The players broke into groups, some heading to the weights, others gathering around the coach. Sienna decided her anthropological study was conclusively over. She needed to escape. She turned to make a beeline for the exit, but a familiar, sweat-dampened presence fell into step beside her."Doing a little reconnaissance, Cole?"
She kept walking, not looking at him. "It's for a class. Non-verbal communication."
"Yeah? Learn anything?" His voice was a low, teasing rumble. He was still breathing heavily from practice, and the sound was unnervingly intimate.
"I learned that you have a tell," she said, falling back on sarcasm like a familiar armor. "You get a little clumsy when you're being watched."
He let out a short laugh, stepping in front of her to block her path gently. He was glistening with sweat, his practice jersey dark and clinging to his chest. The scent of him…intense, salty, and uniquely Jace, was overwhelming. "I get a little clumsy when you're watching."
The directness of it stole the air from her lungs. Her carefully prepared retort died on her lips. She just stared up at him, her camera hanginguselessly at her side.
He reached out, not touching her, but his hand hovered near the camera. "Get any good shots?"
"A few," she managed, her voice embarrassingly breathy.
"Of me?" His eyes were challenging, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but there was a genuine curiosity underneath.
Sienna's mind went completely blank. Every witty, deflecting comment she'd ever made evaporated. All she could see was the sweat tracing a path down his temple, the intensity in his dark eyes, the confident set of his shoulders. He was a force of nature, and she was caught in his gravitational pull.
"I… I have to go," she stammered, sidestepping him. "Tasha needs the camera."
He didn't try to stop her. He just shoved his handsin the pockets of his gym shorts. "See you at home, neighbor."
The word home felt loaded, heavy with meaning it hadn't had before.
She practically ran out of the athletics center, the cool evening air doing little to cool the fire in her cheeks. She didn't stop until she was a block away, leaning against a brick wall, trying to catch her breath.
Her phone buzzed. It was Tasha.
Tasha: Well??? Did you get the footage? How was the view?
Sienna looked down at the camera in her hand. She scrolled through the photos. There were a few generic shots of the court, the bleachers, the scoreboard. And then there was a sequence of shots, taken in rapid succession, all of the same subject. Jace, mid-drive, his body a study in motion. Jace, shooting, his face a perfect pictureof focus. Jace, looking directly at the lens, his expression shifting from shock to something far more unreadable and potent.
She typed back, her fingers trembling slightly.
Sienna: The view was… distracting.
She attached the clearest photo of him, the one where he was looking right at her, right before he fumbled the ball.
Tasha's reply was instant, a string of heart-eye and explosion emojis.
Tasha: YEP. YOU'RE A GONER.
Sienna slid the phone back into her pocket. As she walked home, the image of him, sweaty and focused and flustered because of her, was seared into her mind. Her quiet, predictable semester was a distant memory. And the terrifying, thrilling part was, she was no longer sure she wanted it back.