“I’m Keith Gimpel.” He stuck his hand out. “I run this place.” His smooth-talker voice was on. He was hoping to impress Reese Forster now.

Reese just nodded at him and moved back a step, to the side. “Thank you for letting our team use your facilities.”

Aiden stepped forward, shaking Keith’s hand instead. “I’m Aiden, one of the team’s trainers.”

Reese stepped back again, as if Keith’s presence repulsed him—or maybe that was my wishful thinking. Either way, Aiden moved forward again, engaging Keith in further conversation, and somehow, Aiden had Keith walking back into the concessions area a second later.

I was in awe.

I might need to be friends with this Aiden if he could handle Keith like that, because that’s what they both just did. My boss got served, in the best way ever.

Reese had gone back to watching me, and I couldn’t help myself. “That was awesome! It’s like you have creepy-guy radar, and Aiden’s your superhero,” I gushed.

Reese winced. “I don’t know if it’s like that exactly.” He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Your boss is a dick. I can tell.”

Stalker mode: engaged. Again.

“I think I want to be your best friend.”

I cringed, hearing those words before I could take them back, but a second later, Reese Forster laughed. It was small, brief, but it was there. And the sound flooded me with a warm, slightly gooey feeling.

“Let’s just keep it at weird camp buds, and by that, I mean you give me a damn ball. Now.”

That edge from last night was back in his voice. It was slight, but it was there, as if he’d been trying to hold it back.

I nodded, turning for the cage. That was the guy who’d showed up last night and practiced for four hours straight by himself, and with a vengeance—as if he needed to save the world with his basketball skills.

I felt honored he was even trying to hold back with me.

After handing over a ball, which Reese took in the same instant half-dribble, go-between-the-legs motion as he walked toward the court, the screen door slammed shut once again.

Please, not Keith. Please, not Keith.

Grant walked around the corner. “Hey—”

I shot my hands in the air and clapped them together. “It worked!”

I must’ve shouted, because Reese stopped dribbling. He and Grant both looked at me, but I didn’t even care. At this point, both were aware of my quirks.

“Okay.” Grant shook his head, rubbing his hand over the side of his face. “I’m not even asking. Did that trainer guy find you?”

“Yes. We need tubs.”

“Tubs?” His eyebrows rose.