The Cracks Begin to Show

Jordan had never been the jealous type. Not in high school, not on the court, not ever. He'd always been too busy grinding, too focused on proving himself to let anything as ridiculous as possessiveness push his buttons. But that was before James Calloway became an infuriating part of his daily existence.

Now, everything felt off.

James was still an arrogant, entitled pain in the ass, still insufferable in the way only a rich kid could be, but somewhere between their constant fighting, the late-night arguments in the locker room, and the silent moments where James almost looked human, Jordan had started paying too much attention.

And suddenly, he wanted James' attention back.

It started small—little things Jordan hadn't noticed at first. The way he'd find himself scanning the locker room for James before sitting down. The way his mood soured when James spent too much time talking to someone else. Or the way irritation clawed at his gut when he saw James laughing at something Vanessa said, his ex-girlfriend still floating around in his orbit like a goddamn ghost.

But the real breaking point came at practice.

"Move your feet, Miles!" Coach barked as Jordan barely reacted to a screen, allowing his man an easy mid-range jumper.

Jordan gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to clear the haze. He was off his game today, and he knew it.

Because James had been ignoring him.

Okay, maybe not ignoring him. But he wasn't paying attention to him either. He wasn't throwing as many sharp insults Jordan's way, wasn't meeting his gaze with that same tension that had become their norm. It was like James had pulled back, and Jordan hated it.

When James made a quick spin move in the paint and drained a fadeaway over him, Jordan barely reacted in time.

"Too easy," James muttered as he jogged back down the court.

Jordan scowled. There it is. That's what I wanted.

But it wasn't enough.

The next possession, James drove hard to the rim, but this time Jordan was right there. He met him at the peak, bodying James mid-air and sending him crashing down to the hardwood with a brutal foul.

A loud whistle cut through the gym.

"Jesus, Miles!" one of their teammates yelled.

James hit the ground hard, landing awkwardly on his shoulder. For a brief second, panic shot through Jordan's chest—what if I actually hurt him?—but then James rolled onto his back, wincing as he propped himself up on his elbows.And instead of looking pissed, James smirked.

" Do you have to be the jerk as advertised?" he taunted, his voice rough but teasing.

Jordan felt his heartbeat hammer in his throat. He was Furious. But not at James—at himself. At the way his stomach flipped at that damn smirk.

"Watch yourself, Calloway," Jordan muttered, offering his hand. James hesitated for only a second before grabbing it, and Jordan hauled him up with more force than necessary.

Their faces were inches apart now, and for a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then James chuckled low under his breath. "Knew you'd come back to life eventually."

Jordan let go of his hand like he'd been burned.

He needed to get his head on straight.

After practice, Jordan stormed into the locker room, yanking his jersey over his head with more force than necessary. He needed to cool down, needed to—

"Something eating you, Miles?"

Jordan's hands stilled. James was standing at his locker, a towel draped over his bare shoulders, his hair damp from his post-practice shower. He looked too good, too effortless, too James, and it sent another surge of irritation through Jordan's veins.

"Nah," Jordan muttered, slamming his locker shut.

James leaned against the row of lockers, crossing his arms. "You've been weird all day."

Jordan shot him a glare. "Maybe you should focus on your own damn business."

James didn't back down. "I would, but it's hard when you're out here trying to murder me on the court."

"Maybe you deserved it," Jordan snapped.

James arched an eyebrow, amused. "For what?"

For ignoring me. For talking to Vanessa. For not looking at me the way I want you to.

Jordan clenched his jaw. "For existing."

James let out a surprised laugh. "Jesus. You really hate me, huh?"

Jordan wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell James to shut the hell up and stop getting under his skin. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't hate. It wasn't even close.

It was something else. Something he didn't know how to deal with.

James' smirk softened just slightly, green eyes scanning Jordan's face like he was figuring something out. That only made Jordan more restless.

He needed space. Now.

Without another word, he grabbed his bag and shoved past James, ignoring the confused look James shot him.

He didn't stop moving until he was outside, gulping in the cool night air like he'd just survived a drowning.

What the hell was happening to him?