For the next seven months, basketball runs my life. I look forward to it and dread it equally every year. Sounds like she does, too, but it seems like she’s in more than a life’s about to get crazy funk.

“Worried about seeing your roommates again?”

“No, not really. I mean, we still have a long way to go, but I’m not worried they tossed my stuff out into the hallway while I was gone. They’re probably not waiting by the door anxious for my arrival either.” She shrugs. “Cam thinks I should come clean with them. Tell them that you and I aren’t really together. Except…” Hands resting in her lap, she twists the rose gold ring on her thumb. “Now I don’t know what we are.”

She doesn’t give me time to answer. Her face scrunches up, and she visibly cringes. “Oh, God, sorry. I’m totally that girl.”

“What girl?” I glance from the road to her face. I bite back a laugh at her panicked expression.

She gives me a look that says she’s not saying any more, so I put her out of her misery. “You’re not that girl. We’re hanging out.”

The words don’t quite describe us, I know, but we’ve only been dating for real for two days.

“Hanging out?”

Desire to claim her, tell her I want her to be my girlfriend, and that we’ll figure out the rest later courses through me, but I can’t do that. Who knows what she’ll want in another few weeks after her teammates come around? And they will.

I don’t want to be the guy who saved her, I want to be the guy she chooses. I’d like to believe this is one of those good things in my life I’m going to be able to hang on to, but the pessimist in me isn’t ready to forge ahead so blindly.

“Listen, we’ve got a couple weeks left in our fake relationship to figure it out. By then, you may be sick of me. Until then, let’s just roll with it.”

Tuesday afternoon practice is shit and the team looks sloppy. Coach is on the floor demonstrating an inbound play that should be so easy middle schoolers could get it done. Sitting on the sidelines getting water and taking a break after almost an hour of non-stop play, Joel and I share the same worried expression. After winning the NCAA tourney last year, all eyes are going to be on us and we fucking suck.

“We gotta do something,” he says and drapes the towel over his head. “I don’t wanna go out like this. Last year and we’re going to be laughed off the court.”