Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (20 page)

Blane

T
uesday, Coach called us early to the field house for a team meeting before the night’s game. He made it clear we were to win, and win big.

“Listen to the radio guy, Steele. You can’t afford any distractions,” Coach said, directing his comment at me. And he was right; I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

We hit the hardwood and warmed up as a team. When the buzzer rang, we were shooed down the tunnel back toward the locker room to wait until the official introductions.

As I wound my way to the overhang, I saw her.

She might have said she wasn’t coming, but Cate was there in Section 107 leaning up against the wall, her eyes anywhere but on me. She was pretending to focus on our opponents from Indiana. I almost yelled up to her, but she wanted to remain anonymous. And I didn’t need the distraction.

I had a game to win—actually, a season to win. There was no denying, I also wanted to explore whatever this was with Cate, but she needed to be into it. I was fine with inexperience or not taking shit too quickly, but this whole not allowing herself to enjoy pleasure was bullshit. Not me at all. I was one hundred fucking percent behind getting it on and getting it on good. I wasn’t going to feel guilty for having wants or desires, and she shouldn’t either.

Fucking nuts
. How could she be all pro-women, but be so repressed? It didn’t make sense. And what did we really have? One night of passion, a few funny conversations in a coffeehouse, and a shared disgust for Sonny?

“Y’all ready to win?” I shouted as I banged my fist into the locker, setting my thoughts aside.

This was what I had—a locker room full of sweaty guys willing to leave it all out there on the hardwood for me. My life was hanging on the precipice, and these guys fucking knew it. We were a family.

“Damn straight,” Ashton yelled back.

“Amen!”

“You know it, Steele!”

The rest of the team joined in, shouting obscenities and promises for destruction. Demetri and Mo slapped a high five, putting aside any personal shit before heading out to the hardwood. The locker room resounded with cheers, chants, and slaps until Coach Conley blew his whistle.

“Let’s go tonight! I want you dunking and putting on a show for these dudes. Scare ’em right up front. Give
them
your goddamn cockiness, not me, you hear me? You’re never a shoo-in for a win. You have to work for every damn point, men.”

“Yes, Coach,” chorused throughout the room.

Then we were on the move again, through the locker room and out the tunnel, ready to hear our names called. I felt good; loose and pumped. I’d like to say hearing my name and all the cheering that followed didn’t do much for me. But it did.

Midway through the first half, Coach gave me a break, benching me for some rest since we were up by twenty-five points. The beating we were putting on this cupcake team was insane. I’d gone hard for the first three minutes, putting up two dunks and serving up five assists. Then I’d banged a three from way downtown, and the bad guys missed on their offensive run.

Alex snagged the rebound and threw a heated pass to Ashton for another three. The dude was fouled, smacked on the arm as he lofted the ball into the air. The shit sank right into the net, but he pulled an and-one foul.

Of course, my man made his extra point from the line. From then on, it was easy. With sweat trickling down my back and over my arms, I passed with fury and dribbled with intensity. This was my house and the love of my life all wrapped up in one.

I had loans from the bank counting on me going pro. My car was sold to me on borrowed money. My mom wanted a new place, even though she wouldn’t say anything. My dad wanted a star.

There was a lot riding on this. It was a good thing I fucking loved being on the court.

Seated on the bench, I swigged from my Gatorade bottle and looked toward Section 107.

Gone
. Cate was gone.
Oh well, like I thought. We didn’t have much. Or did we?

I stared for a beat or two and then my head was back in the game—games, actually. Because this was all I had.

With a ball in my hand, I would do what I needed to.

Wednesday, I tried to find Cate, but she wasn’t in any of her regular haunts. I leaned my chair back at Mean Beans and pretended to listen to Ashton, but I was on the lookout. I ducked when Ava’s friends popped in and eventually left, successfully avoiding chatting anyone up.

I might have also traipsed by the women’s studies building, but nothing.

I couldn’t spend all day on the hunt; we had practice and team meetings. It was the beginning of the season, ultimately the most important season of my career so far. This would be the one everyone was watching; my performance would be judged and graded. The rest of my life depended on this season.

Thursday, I hit the weight room for some light lifting and stretching. Some Bush from the nineties blared over the plates clanking into the bars and the bars hitting the racks. I was in a wall sit stretching my legs when Mo squatted next to me.

“What’s happening?” He turned his head toward me.

“Living the dream, Mo.”

Our thighs quivered and my forehead dripped onto the floor. I pushed my sweatband higher on my head, swiping the sweat with it.

“You are, buddy, and don’t you fucking forget it.”

He was right. I came from a trailer park. When that Catholic school gave me a scholarship in ninth grade, I didn’t know how much my life could change. Now I did.

I glanced at Mo. “You’re right, man. I don’t know, feel like I’m floundering a bit. Shit, you got a kid on the way. Who’s going to be waiting for me when I’m making all this money next year?”

I stood, straightening my legs and shaking out my quads.

Mo snorted. “My man, you’re gonna buy your momma a house and make a good life. And shit, you’re gonna fuck a lot of women looking for the one.” He stood and smacked me in the side with the back of his hand. “Don’t let the rest of us down, especially the one with a fucking baby.”

We didn’t talk anymore; Coach called us in to watch tape for the next day’s game. Sitting in the dark room, my mind wandering, I wondered if the Stealer might have stolen his last heart.

Fucking Cate. She was cute, yeah, but smart and sexy too.

And she was ignoring me.

Blane

Mid-December

“S
onny B. here. Most of you are packing up and heading home for the winter break, but I’m staying right here in Hafton, and my girl, Miranda, and I are going to decorate our tree tonight. Have no fear! I’ll put a picture up on Twitter for all you jealous lovaaas.”

“Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” played in the background as Sonny made love to the mic.

“You know who else is here over the break? The Hafton men’s and women’s basketball teams. That’s right, folks . . . I wonder if they get freaky together? Let’s hear your thoughts, Haftees, give me the 4-1-1. Call me or e-mail the station, and we’ll be back with any and all scoop. Oh, and give a nice hello to Johnny, our new intern, if you call.”

“Grandma” finished and some Bob Marley-style steel band song played.

“God, that guy’s taste in music is ass. I’d know he was white from a mile away.” Ashton tossed a foam ball against the wall over and over again. A constant whir and whack echoed throughout our apartment.

“Hey! Enough with the white-boy jokes,” I said. “And dude, fucking cut that out with the ball or I’m getting a new roommate.”

“It’s true,” Ashton said with a grin. “Present company excluded. You like good rap. I do worry when you start with the rock, but I know it’s hard to take shake that out of the Southern boy.” He took aim and zinged the ball my way.

“Thank God. I was getting a headache from all the back and forth.” I snatched the ball before it slammed into my chest. “So, what’s got you all twisted in knots?”

He hung his head. “Fucking Christmas is in two days, and I got no poontang.”

“You’re vile, man.”

“Hey, it’s the truth. My girl, Ava, went home, and you should be proud ’bout me hitting it with just one lady.”

“You’re growing up.” I flashed him a wicked grin and lobbed the ball at his shiny bald head.

“How ’bout you?”

“Sonny’s leaving me alone, maybe since we’ve won every non-conf game, but he’s not mandating I stay celibate. So I guess I’ll go out looking. Wanna come?”

“What? In your pickup?”

“Yeah, we can be like,
y’all looking for a good throw?
”

Ashton burst out laughing. “Dude, you been hung up on that intern ever since she went MIA. Don’t you fucking tease me. We’re not going on the prowl in your truck.”

“Plus, you have Ava.” I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly, white boy. Good thing you’re smart.”

This time I laughed hard, and Ashton laughed with me a moment before giving me the eye.

“So, what’s with Catie?” he asked, not giving up on it. “Where the hell did she go?”

“Not a fucking clue. She left the radio station and hasn’t been back, according to Sonny, and I haven’t seen her around. She’s got a new phone number too.”

“Ouch, cold dusted by the lady, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ash. Let’s play some
NBA 2K
,” I said just as Sonny came back on the air.

“Okay, Haftees, let’s hear it. What the heck are you doing this Christmas, and don’t bother calling in if you’re heading to Aspen to chase some snow bunnies. We don’t want to talk to you.”

“He’s a train wreck,” Ashton said, pulling out the game controller.

“Sonny B. here. Who’s this?” Sonny’s radio voice echoed from the speakers.

“Hey, Sonny, it’s Jules in Southern B! I wish you were still single, and I’d stay and decorate with you.”

“Be still my beating heart. Miranda, are you listening to this? If so, cover your ears.” Sonny lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Me too, Jules. Me too.”

Stupid Sonny
.

There was a click, and he went to another caller. “Sonny B. on the line, who’s there?”

“Hey, Sonny. I’m heading home, but I’m going to watch a ton of that new adult star, Ariel Stone. Have you seen her? She’s new on the scene, and fiiine.”

“Now, really? Let’s keep this discussion PG here, buddy. But e-mail me. Don’t forget.”

Click.

“I’m going to roll another tune. This one goes out to my guys about to get busy with their conference games and winning us a ’ship.”

Nelly’s “Air Force Ones” overtook the station, and Ashton clicked it off with his foot.

“God, it’s enough of that ass. Who you want to be on the game?”

“The Magic, of course.” They were my favorite team, and I had the game set to play all their superstars.

“Bullshit, you and the fucking Magic. I’m going old school. Lakers.”

A while later, as we began the second game of our virtual basketball war, Ashton said, “We should google that Ariel chick. Sounds like we both could use a release.”

“I don’t do porn anymore,” I said without thinking, and then winced.
Big mistake
.

“What?” Ashton threw his controller down and pounced on me. He had me pinned to the floor, his hand at my throat as he growled out, “You don’t do porn?”

“Not anymore,” I gurgled. “Can you let me go?”

“I’m outta here,” he said, and he scrambled off of me. “You might be fucking contagious. Don’t do porn,
pfft
.”