Jagger ran through the basics on our way here. I got the gist of it, but instead of watching the ball, I’ve been gawking at him. Right now as he strips his faded black hoody off and cocks his baseball hat to the side, he couldn’t look more disheveled. And with his black track pants hanging low and his thin white T-shirt rumpling in the wind, I couldn’t be more turned on.

“Watch out, man,” Jagger calls when a guy with multiple tattoos runs into me.

I have no idea what I’m doing on the court. I’ve been watching Dahlia, who has this thing down. She was guarding some girl who must be at least six foot tall and called out something about the 3-point line and other words I didn’t know, when I run into my teammate and we both fall to the ground.

“Hey, man, lace’em up or get off the blacktop,” Jagger mutters, pointing at the guy’s sneakers. He lends a hand and hoists me to my feet. My cute black sweatsuit isn’t any worse for the wear and I brush my hands against the soft velour of the pants.

“You okay?” he asks while shooting a dirty look at the guy who has apologized to me twice already.

“I’m fine.” I giggle. “This is actually fun.”

Then he looks at the guy next to me and extends his hand, giving him a hoist up—all’s good.

Jagger twists back toward me and his gray eyes swirl as they zero in on me. “I knew I’d get you to like basketball.”

Popping up on my toes, I kiss him softly. “You were right.”

“You didn’t just seriously stop play for that,” River yells.

“Je t’aime,” Jagger whispers in my ear. He shrugs at River and kisses me one last time before sprinting toward the goal line.

I love you, too, I think to myself. And as he steals the ball from River and dribbles down the court, I watch him in the same dazed state I’ve been in since the first time I laid eyes on him and think . . . if Alice hadn’t been curious she’d have never fallen, so I’ll lean forward every time because I know he’s the one who will be there to catch me.