He smiled slowly, before moving in and kissing me. The touching, the hand holding . . . they were all constant, but the kisses weren’t. He lifted me off the ground until my legs were around him. My hands gripped his hair as he kissed me harder, lifting me and moving us until I was sitting on the washing machine. He began to kiss along my jaw and down my neck. He grabbed my ass and pulled me closer to him, so I could feel him between my legs. Then his hands moved higher, under my shirt and onto my waist. His lips moved back up until they were on my mouth again. Kissing me softly, slowly. He pulled back quickly, searching my face. “Chloe?” It came out as a question, and I knew what he wanted.

   “No, Blake,” I told him.

   It was the first time he’d brought it up but definitely not the first time I’d thought about it. Sex with Blake wouldn’t just be sex, no matter how much we’d try to convince ourselves otherwise. Sex, Blake, the experience, the emotion . . . I knew without a doubt that it would be the one thing that could make me stay. And I didn’t want to do that to either of us.

   “I know.” He frowned before pulling away, holding my hand, and helping me to hop down.

   He swiftly exited the laundry room mumbling something about needing to shoot hoops to get his mind off it.

   Blake

   “Chloe. I don’t wanna sound mean or anything . . .” I watched as she used both hands to bounce the basketball in my driveway. “But I’ve been trying to teach you how to dribble for weeks now, and you’re just like . . . beyond uncoordinated. I feel like I’ve failed at life.”

   She laughed. “Shut up!” She bounced the ball twice; the second time it hit her foot. She yelped as the ball rolled away toward the guesthouse. Mom opened the door just as it stopped at her feet.

   She waved. “Hi, Blake.”

   “Hey, Ma.” I nodded toward the ball and clapped my hands, a signal for her to throw it back.

   “Oh,” she said, surprised, then bent over and picked it up. She looked at it a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

   “Just pass it,” I shouted.

   “Okay, Blake. Calm down.”

   She lifted the ball in her hand and slowly moved it over her shoulder. It looked as though she was about to throw it, but she changed her mind last minute. Instead she placed both hands on either side of it and lifted it over her head.

   I stood with my fists at my waist. I tilted my head, wondering what the hell she was doing.

   But suddenly she dropped it—right onto her head. She squealed and ducked as it fell away from her.

   I laughed. “You and Chloe should start a team. Call it Team T.U.L—The Uncoordinated Losers!”

   “Hey!” Chloe shouted from behind me. “We could totally take you. Both of us against you? No competition!”

   “Yeah?” I asked, watching her walk over to me. “I’d like to see you try.”

   She stopped in front of me, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. Then she smiled, an all-consuming smile. “Mrs. Hunter,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Blake just challenged us to a game.” She looked over at my mom. “Get your sneakers on and come play!”

   A minute later, Mom joined Chloe and me in the driveway.

   They stood next to each other, their arms at their sides, looking ridiculous. “Do you need me to remind you of the rules?”

   Chloe rolled her eyes.

   Mom shrugged. “Maybe.”

   I held the ball to my side. “Rule one: Travel—”

   Chloe stepped forward and pushed my arm, releasing the ball from my grip. She squealed when she got hold of it.

   I laughed. “Maybe I should have started with fouls.”

   She awkwardly dribbled in her spot a few times but stopped when I towered over her. “Your move, Chloe.”

   She squealed again and threw the ball in the air, aiming for absolutely nowhere.

   “Got it,” I heard Mom shout.

   I turned around to see her chasing the ball. Once it was in her hands, she tried to dribble and move at the same time, but it was too much for her.

   “Pass it,” Chloe said, now standing under the ring.

   I just stood there, watching them, I guess, attempting to play.

   Mom didn’t pass. Instead, she just walked the ball over to Chloe, who then tried to shoot.

   Nothing but air.

   “You guys are the worst,” I laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone so awkward!”

   Mom stopped and started to laugh. “You think this is awkward? You should see me dance. I’m like Taylor Swift, all over the place.”

   Chloe screamed with laughter.

   We played for a good half hour. Well . . . I played; they just stood around shouting and calling me names.

   “Time out,” Mom called, her hands resting on her knees and her body bent over, as if she was trying to catch her breath. I don’t know why—she hadn’t even been running.

   “You got one minute. Max.” I set the timer on my watch and eyed Chloe as she made her way over to Mom. When she was close enough, Mom covered her mouth, I assumed to whisper something to her. As I got my water bottle from the side of the driveway, I pushed down the thoughts of how good a time I was having and how nice it felt to watch Chloe and my mom together. Laughing, joking around, getting along. When the timer went off and I looked back at them, Mom was looking down Chloe’s shirt. “What the hell!” I shouted.

   Chloe laughed.

   “Time’s up!”

   “Settle down, Blake,” Mom yelled, then whispered something else to Chloe. Chloe shook her head, her smile wide. Mom rested her hands on her hips. “Come on, Chloe. It’s our only hope.”

   Chloe lifted her gaze and locked it with mine. She shook her head again and groaned, “Fine.” Then she took off her shirt.

   My jaw dropped.

   My hands had touched her bare skin, the curve of her hips, and her tiny waist, but I’d seen her body only once, when she was in a bikini, and that had been for only a minute. But that was nothing compared to seeing her like this. Up close. So close her sports bra–covered breasts were just under my nose.

   “Blake?” she whispered.

   I struggled to take my eyes off her chest, but I finally made it to her face. She had her hair tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, like she often did. But a few strands were stuck on her neck and on her face . . . and a little sheen of sweat covered her arms and her stomach, her chest, her breasts . . .

   “Blake,” she repeated, and I trailed my eyes back to hers again. She pouted before she said, “Give me the ball?”