It was time to stop and face some of the people I had run from before.

I smiled. “I’m excited to meet her.”

He nodded and was gone, and because I was feeling more myself, my eyes returned to Reese Forster. I should just embrace the stalker inside of me, right?

With a jolt, I found he was looking at me again.

As our gazes met and held, he reached forward. His gaze was almost smoldering. He grabbed his milk, his own middle finger splayed out on the side of the cup. Tipping it to his lips, he never broke eye contact, even when he put it back on the table.

I bit down, squelching a smile.

The ghost of a grin teased on his face too, and I had to bite down harder.

I shouldn’t find that exciting, but I did.

And because I felt a question wanting to be blurted out, and knowing it was going to be highly inappropriate, I ripped my gaze from his.

I headed out.

Then I smiled.

Chapter Eleven

The balls were all there, in the same spot where I’d left them.

They were good balls, trainable balls. I felt an odd amount of pride in these two inanimate objects and scooped them up. Cradling them as if they were my balls, I took them inside the cage.

The screen door creaked open and slammed shut a second later, and a guy walked around to the front of the cage, decked out in all white.

He had the swoosh symbols on his shoes, his pants, and his warm-up windrunner, and over his left chest was the Seattle Thunder lightning bolt. His hair was shaved on the sides with the top long and healthy, a sandy mix of browns. I wasn’t even sure if he was blond or had brown hair. The length was pulled back into a messy bun—one I was jealous of.

He moved toward me briskly, as if it were his normal speed, but he was constantly being told to slow down for the rest of us mere mortals.

“Are you in charge of the courts? Charl—” He cut himself off, his head cocking to the side.

I would’ve bet money that he knew my name was Charlie, but he wanted to be the guy who called me Charlotte instead. That wasn’t my name, but some men felt special, thinking they’d guessed the right name and called me that instead of the nickname everyone else used.

There’s a reason it’s used, and that’s because I like it.

I finished for him, “ie.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Charl-ie. That’s my name.”

“Right.” His head lowered, but his eyes remained trained on me. His eyebrows pinched together as if he’d stepped into an invisible pile of poo, but he couldn’t see it or smell it. He only had the feeling it was there. “Charlie. That’s you?”

“That’s me.”