Static

~Focused, I'm focused~

Coach didn't even hesitate. "Against... Robin."

Of course.

Robin was already stepping up, all swagger and casual arrogance. The ball bounced once in his hand, the thump echoing too loud in my ears. He caught it one-handed, fluid and easy, then glanced at me with that lazy tilt of his head.

"Try not to faint this time, amor."

I clenched my jaw. "Stop calling me that."

"Nope," he said, tossing the ball to me. "You're up."

The whistle blew.

And I was moving. Adrenaline kicked in. I drove forward, dribbling fast and low, cutting to the side, but he was already there. Every move I made, he mirrored. Too fast. Too smooth. Like he was reading me, like he knew.

My chest ached from how tight I was breathing. My palms were sweaty, the ball slipping slightly every time it smacked down against the polished floor. I could feel him at my side, every breath, every movement, he was too close, but somehow never too close to foul. Just enough to unsettle.

I pivoted hard to the left. The ball bounced under my hand, smooth,

and then his fingers were there.

Fast. Brutal. Clean.

He stole it.

He spun, almost lazily, and jogged a few feet back, dribbling like it was no effort at all. Then turned to face me again, grinning.

"Cute try."

I muttered something under my breath that probably wasn't the best right now...since coach side eyed me but stayed silent.

From the side-lines, Gwen cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "FINNEY! FLIRT AFTER YOU WIN!"

Laughter exploded. Coach didn't even bother to shush them.

My ears burned. My skin prickled. I wanted the floor to open up and devour me whole.

Robin raised an eyebrow, one hand still lazily dribbling. "Flirting, huh?"

"Shut up," I growled, charging him again.

This time I didn't care. Screw strategy. I wanted the ball. I wanted to wipe that grin off his stupid, stupid face. Even if I had to throw myself at him to do it.

We circled each other, the tension thick like humidity. His breath came in slow, controlled puffs. Mine was ragged. My heart was sprinting.

I lunged.

We both reached for the ball.

And for a half-second, our hands touched, clumsy, hot, electric. His fingers grazed mine, and it was like being shocked. Like I could feel the heat of him. The weight. The everything.

The ball skidded out of bounds, rolling toward the wall.

Coach blew the whistle. "Reset!"

Robin stepped closer. Not retreating. Not walking away yet.

He wasn't even winded. Just glowing. Charged.

"You're not bad, Finney," he said, voice quieter now, deeper, a little breathless. "You just get distracted too easy."

I swallowed hard.

Couldn't speak.

My mouth forgot how to move.

Then he leaned in, just enough. Just close enough that I could feel the brush of his breath against my skin. His lips near my ear. His voice sliding into me like a knife wrapped in velvet.