He dribbles the ball with an exercised grace and ease as he runs up and down the court. He knows this slab of concrete like the back of his hand – he's memorized every scratch, pothole, every single nook and cranny. His prized Jordan's softly patter upon the ground as he runs, a fresh bead of sweat trickling down his brow, his breathing heavy. The ball explodes from his hands, the rubber sphere flying through the air with the speed enough to rival a bullet. Unfortunately, Lucas' aim is off, and it bounces off of the rim and falls…
…Into her arms.
Brooke Davis stands there innocently enough, that sly smile upon her face. Lucas feels his knees go weak as she steps forward, tossing the ball back and forth with surprising skill. She seems to get more beautiful each time they meet, her dark auburn hair cascading about her shoulders and framing that stunning, unforgettable face. Her features – she is perfection. She exudes sex, lust, desire; she is the object of many a high-school boy's fantasy, this cheerleading femme fatale. But, despite all of her superficial blessings, she has a hidden side. Lucas knows because he is one of the lucky few to have ever seen it.
Brooke is like a golden jewelry box, he surmises. She's physically dazzling on the outside, yes. But when one slides the key in and opens her up, they are greeted with an even lovelier musical tune that promises contentment and happiness beyond that of sexual satisfaction. Brooke is lovely, but what lies beneath shows even more promise. Lucas craves the kindness, tenderness, and broken heartedness that he saw in Brooke the night before - he's addicted and prays that she's for real, but, somehow, he has a feeling that he knows the truth already.
"Hey there, Broody." Brooke's voice is sultry and low as usual, but tonight Lucas finds it even more appealing as he turns to face her and catch the ball she tosses back to him. "Imagine running into you here… Coincidence? Or maybe we're just meant to be," she teases.
Lucas smiles back at her, beaming from ear to ear as he takes another jumpshot. This time the familiar swooshing sound permeates through the calm. Somewhere far off, there's a train whistle blowing and around the bend a car horn honks. The blazing sun is almost out of the sky, and the moon is high in the almost-ebony sheet draping the heavens.
"That depends, Cheery… Now, what's a pretty little girl like you doing walking around by yourself? The mall's thataway," he chides back, pointing off in the distance.
Brooke wraps her arms about herself. In her hasty departure to see Lucas she forgot her jacket and the twilight air is chilly. She walks to where he's standing, the basketball tucked under his arm, his blue gaze steady and unwavering upon her. She wants him so badly; yet, these feelings are strange. Brooke Davis is accustomed to one-night stands, sexual escapades with no strings attached. But with Lucas, she feels differently. She wants to feel his lips upon her own, to embrace the heat from his body, to feel his skin underneath her fingertips. Sure, she can almost taste the passion, that familiar feeling that prompted her to initiate her move. But tonight she can wait. Brooke Davis is a patient girl, and for some unknown reason, she wants more from Lucas Scott then a mere friends-with-benefits kind of relationship.
"Well, who'd 'a thunk it; tall, brooding, and handsome cracked a funny," she responded. "But if you must know, I saw you out here, all hot and sweaty-like and I couldn't resist," she smirks, moving even closer, her pulse increasing with every step. "I actually had to ask you something…" She takes the ball from him and dribbles, trying her best to imitate his perfect execution. For a girl in high heels, she does pretty well, but the sight is still pretty amusing, and totally adorable. "Are you a gambling man, Mr. Scott?"
"That depends, Ms. Davis. What's your proposition?" Lucas asks, trying to keep a straight face as she attempts to pass the ball under one leg and fails miserably.
"Ok. Well, I'm dying to hit that new club downtown and I'm debating over whether or not I should bring a friend." Brooke stares about as if looking for someone, then feigns surprise when she turns back to Lucas. "Now, Peyton is still recuperating from last night's debacle so I guess you're an acceptable substitute." She walks up close to him and plants her hand flat on his chest; it travels up to his shoulder and she leans in and up to whisper in his ear.
"So, you down, handsome?" Brooke whispers in that sexy voice.
Lucas knows he is lost before she finishes her sentence, but he tries to hold out anyway. "I don't know Brooke," he beams. "As much as I'd hate to pass up this opportunity, I'm not much of the clubbing type."
"Hmmm. Well, that's quite the conundrum. But I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. I always get what I want..." She pauses and nods towards the goal, smirking mischievously. "But just this once, we'll leave it up to God, or Buddha, or Allah, or whoever the hell's up there right now. Here's the deal: If this bitch goes through that basket, well, you're mine for the duration of this lovely evening."
"And if you miss?"
"Gorgeous, did I not just say that I always get what I want? This ball's going in that hoop." She releases him, the ball in her hand, and walks towards the three-point line. She raises the ball, and Lucas playfully rolls his eyes.
"No way you're gonna beat Fate shooting like that. Y'know, for such a pretty girl, you have one ugly-ass shot. You're holding the ball completely wrong." Lucas walks up behind Brooke and wraps his arms around her, his large hands covering hers and indicating the correct position to maintain. "This is how we do it, Brooke," he whispers softly. Moving her hands, they throw the ball and it flies through the sky, severing the night air like a blade. It blows through the mesh of the net quickly and bounces along the cement of the court, rolling off into a ditch somewhere beyond the streetlight's glow.
"I guess that's your answer," Lucas continues quietly, his hands traveling down to her stomach. "I guess a deal's a deal…" This is the moment, he realizes. It's almost exactly as he had envisioned it, except the girl is different. It's not Peyton Sawyer, yet he feels no remorse.
"A deal's a deal, baby," she replies over her shoulder, voice hushed and husky. "It is so on."
Brooke reclines her head backwards, her arm traveling up to rest behind his neck. She gently guides his head down, his lips slowly caressing her own. They brush lightly at first, and then the intensity of the moment captivates them both. His mouth opens and their tongues dance. Her lips are luscious and full, and he can practically see the sparks explode beyond his closed eyes. Her kiss is electric, like a blazing conflagration as their pace quickens, his head moving in tune with hers to gather every sweet taste.
Brooke can feel the power and turns around, wrapping both arms around his neck, her hands running through his short blonde tresses. They mold together, there on the basketball court, Lucas' holy sanctuary for so long. She's let him in, so now it's his turn to do the same. His hands travel down the small of her back and down her side. He doesn't want to let her go; he wants to hold her like this forever, in this unlikely love.
But, alas, everything ends. Lucas lets her go, but Brooke takes his hand in hers. He caresses her cheek, wiping away a thin auburn strand that's happened to fall in front of her deep jade irises.
"Thank you for that, Lucas." Brooke knows that that's what she's wanted, ever since she saw him play that first game. He captivated her, and he still does now. These past two months he's summoned up a whirlpool of strange emotions within her she never really allowed to surface; but, to be honest, she feels that she may now know how to love. This boy standing before her, holding her hand in his may possibly be the catalyst for her metamorphosis. She doesn't understand what's happening within her at this moment, and as she drives away with him sitting beside her, she's still utterly clueless as to what exactly she's feeling. She just wants more.
They pull up to the large lake at the edge of town. The moon is shining in full now, its reflection evident over the still waters. They're both wrapped in each other, consumed by emotions that they haven't yet come to understand, their kisses fiery and passionate. Lucas' lips travel down Brooke's bare neck; all the while, he never once thinks of Peyton. However, when he gets home, he'll feel guilty for some reason unknown to him.
But Lucas Scott won't regret it.