Hooped (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series #1) (7 page)

I spent more time than I want to admit getting ready
for the game. Before I had ever met Devon, I’d been able
just to throw
on an outfit and head over to the
game,
if it was on campus. If it was an
away game, I’d pile into a car and head over to whatever school with a group of
people, or I’d skip it if no one was going. But now that I had not only met
Devon,
but had had sex with him—and might
actually see him after the game—there were a lot more things to think about.

I wanted to look at least as good as I had the night
before, but I didn’t want to look like I was dressing up for the game. I didn’t
want to look like those desperate girls who threw themselves at the players; I
had seen them before, and even if I didn’t credit Devon with half of the rumors
that my friends had told me about him, it was easy to see how members of the
team would get laid whenever they wanted.

I changed my clothes three or four times, deciding
against one skirt and then another, against jeans and then against a dress. I
swapped the shirt that I had paired with one of the skirts with the shirt I had
put with the pair of
jeans
and finally
decided that it was good enough. I wouldn’t be jumping up and down crazily; I
would be cheering, and while I wanted to look cute, I also wanted to be
comfortable. I wore a pair of
high-tops
and put my hair into two braids on either side of my head instead of wearing it
down. I tied off the braids with ribbons in the school
colors
and decided that I’d wear a little bit of makeup.

I felt my heart beating faster as I made my way across
campus; I didn’t know if I would know anyone at the game, but I felt like
anyone who saw me would know—would be able to see it on my face—that I had had
sex with Devon. I told myself that I just wanted to watch the game and watch
Devon
play
and that I wasn’t even going
to think about what I’d heard about him while I was watching the game. I would
just focus on the team as a whole. I wouldn’t worry about anything. I was just
going to enjoy it.

A few times I considered running back to the dorms and
changing into a pair of jeans. I knew I was overthinking things, but I figured
that after losing my virginity, even if I had done it casually, I was entitled
to overthink things a little bit. I wasn’t sure how exactly I was going to
approach Devon after the game; I didn’t want to make a giant
scene
or embarrass myself. I wasn’t even sure,
as I walked to the arena, whether or not I was going
to even try
and talk to Devon after the game.

The arena was packed with people; as I got closer to
it, I could see the crowds coming in from the parking lot, merged with other
crowds heading for the entrances from the campus side, just like me. Even if I
didn’t have an ulterior motive for going to the game, it would be exciting just
to see it. I knew that it would be absolutely packed with people
inside—cheering for our team, mostly. My heart beat faster in my chest as I got
in line for the entrance.

As the line crawled forward, I tried to stop myself
from thinking about Devon and found it impossible; between the people in line
with me, holding signs for Devon, and my own experiences—both with him and with
my friends talking about him—my mind was absolutely full of him. I chewed on my
bottom lip, feeling impatient, wanting nothing more than to get inside, find my
seat in the arena, and watch the pre-game show.

The line inched
forward,
and I found myself getting more and more anxious to get inside. I looked around
and saw people in jerseys, their faces painted, with signs. I wasn’t sure
whether I would stand out more with or without similar loud, bright signs of my
fandom; but even though I loved watching basketball, I was never the kind to
paint my face or carry a sign. I just wanted to watch the game and cheer for my
team.

I tried to decide whether it would be easier or harder
with my friends with me. They’d probably tease me all night about being into
Devon if they came
along, but
I at least
would have someone to talk to other than
bland
small
talk
. I
fidgeted, trying not to mangle my ticket as I waited to get to the gate.

Finally, I made it through the gate and into the arena
proper, looking around until I found my seat. It wasn’t one of the best ones;
those were reserved for the newspapers, the friends and family of the team, and
alumni. But overall my seat wasn’t terrible. I could see the court just fine,
and that was the important thing. I looked around me; the seats were already
packed,
and more and more people were streaming
in, finding their spots. I was starting to get excited purely
by
the game itself—starting to get into the
simmering, electric atmosphere. The cheerleaders were on the sidelines, doing
routines, getting everyone pumped, and the band was playing—both bands.

The other team took the court and began warming up,
and I watched eagerly; I wanted to see how good they were. I wished that I’d
looked up the stats for the players before I’d left the dorms.
The other team looked fairly fit, and from what I had
heard about Valley State, they were good; not as good as our team, but they
were more cohesive.
Our team mostly depended on Devon; he was the
shooting guard, with fairly decent defensive skills on top of his ability to
score points. Valley State, from what I could recall—and from what I could see
of their warm-up—was more team-oriented, with no real stars.

Our team came out onto the
court,
and I felt my heart beating faster as everyone cheered; the
cheers got even louder as Devon appeared in his warm-ups, bouncing around,
looking utterly focused. I smiled to myself in spite of the anxious way I felt,
unable to quite take my eyes off of him. He was laughing and talking with the
rest of the team, watching the Valley State players as they went through their
drills. A shriek of excitement rippled through the crowd on my side of the
arena as the team ventured out onto the court proper, taking one end of the
court to do their own drills.

I stood, not even caring whether anyone could see me
or not, fascinated by watching the way our team performed. Anyone could see
that even without Devon, our team was good; with Devon, it was practically
unbeatable. They passed the ball back and forth, moving
on
their designated side of the court like a well-oiled machine. I
compared and contrasted the two teams mentally, wondering how prepared each
coach was. If I were a coach, I thought, I’d keep my team focused on blocking
Devon and getting in the way of Miles, one of the other secondary stars of the
team. Miles wasn’t quite the scorer that Devon was, but he was great at assists
and steals—definitely someone to watch out for. On the other team, it was hard
to know whom
to target specifically
;
their team-oriented play, with players switching positions easily, made it less
than easy to pick someone out from the crowd. The players were versatile, which
was a good thing—but none of them
were
quite as good at scoring as Devon was. It would be an interesting game, for
sure.

I settled into my seat as the announcers started
winding down on the pregame action, taking a deep breath. The players left the
court,
and the crowd stood again as someone
took the center of the court to sing the national anthem. I looked at the
sidelines and spotted Devon. It was as if I couldn’t miss him now that I’d met
him; I’d never be able
just to watch
the
game without watching him in particular. If he did turn out to be the awful
person that Kelly and the rest of my friends claimed he was, I’d have to find
another team to follow. I didn’t think that I could actually watch one of our
games without wanting us to lose just to spite Devon—assuming that he was the
person that everyone said he was.

The whole crowd held its breath at tip-off. The other
team snatched the ball, but then Miles got in fast, executing an expert steal.
I couldn’t sit still. I stood up with everyone else, cheering madly, watching
as the team flowed across the court. Devon got the ball, and I nearly screamed
as he scored the first point in the first thirty seconds, a two-point shot.

The game settled in, and I realized—along with
everyone else—that if I kept cheering at full force, I’d have no energy for the
second half of the game. For the first quarter, our team dominated; Devon
landed five shots easily, in rapid succession, putting us quickly ahead. Valley
state managed two shots, but they were still six points behind us. I found
myself wrapped up in the game itself, watching the ball as it traveled from one
end of the court to the other, jumping up with everyone else around me and
sitting down when it was too much to take.

In the second quarter, Valley State started to work on
catching up, executing quick steals and going
on
the defense
to keep our team from scoring more points. If they could
outlast us, then they could make up the point deficit in the second half. Devon
managed to score two more baskets, but the onward press had slowed down, and
both teams
were
jockeying for position. A
groan went through the crowd as one of the players on our side went down; the
refs didn’t rule it a foul, since he had tripped, but it was still a minor
shockwave through the stands at the harsh crash of the player onto the floor of
the court. He limped off into the sidelines, replaced by a fresh player. He
wasn’t the only one to be cycled out; it seemed like everyone except for Miles
and Devon managed to get put in and taken out as our team tried to get farther
ahead in points, tried to break through the tough defense.

By halftime, we were still ahead, but it was clear
that Valley State was pushing to get the advantage. I watched as the players
left the court, heading into the lockers to rest for a little while, get some
water in them, and talk about the second half of the game—and how they were
going to get an indisputable win. The cheerleaders went into their routines,
but I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention to them. I was wondering what
Devon was doing specifically in the locker; I pictured him in my mind, huddled
in the locker, drinking
water
and
Gatorade, listening to the coach as he caught his breath. They didn’t dare take
him out in the second half—Devon was the key, he was the most aggressive scorer
on the team. I thought that if I were the coach, I’d put some more
defense-oriented players on the court alongside Devon, and just work on keeping
Valley State from scoring any points at all as much as possible. If Devon and
Miles could make a few more baskets, and hold
onto
the lead
they already had, they would be in great shape. It wouldn’t be
a high-scoring game, but it was just important to win after all.

The teams came back out, and I watched to try and
figure out what each team’s strategy was going to be. Devon and Miles took the
court once more, and I saw that the coach had put in some of the most
aggressive offense players at the same time. I smiled to myself; they were
going to try and just score as many times as humanly possible in the third
quarter, create a lead that Valley State could never possibly hope to catch up
to—that was clear. I wondered how Valley was going to counter that strategy.

The game
resumed,
and I was on my feet once more, cheering, watching Devon. One of the other
players stole the ball right before Valley State’s forward could get his shot;
he passed to Miles, who passed to Devon. But before Devon could make his shot,
Valley State stole the ball back. I listened to the cheers ebbing and flowing
around me, as the ball moved from one end of the court to the other, all of the
players throwing
their
entire being into
the act.

After the jockeying for position, Devon broke through
the Valley State team play, scoring a three-point shot; Miles stole the ball
and got it to him again, and Devon landed a two-point basket, putting us even
more comfortably ahead. I screamed my head off, beyond even caring about Devon
as a person I had had sex with—I was completely wrapped up in the game itself,
in the excitement of it all. The third quarter ended with us twelve points
ahead of Valley State, and we were all fairly sure that there was little that
Valley could do to keep us from winning.

The fourth quarter
came,
and it was clear to everyone that Valley was desperate for the win. They
pressed the offense, and to my relief, our team’s coach put out more defensive
players, giving Devon a break on the sidelines. I was too busy watching him
to pay
attention to the game for a few minutes—he
was dripping with sweat, his curly hair plastered down onto his skull. I had to
admit to myself that he looked even better in his jersey than he had the night
before in regular clothes. He was definitely in great shape—and I blushed to
myself, remembering the sight of him naked.

Valley State scored three baskets, but our team came
out ahead, scoring another three before the end of the game. Everyone on my
side of the arena was screaming, cheering, and jumping up and down—me included.
Nobody wanted the game
to be
over, and as
the team celebrated on the court, everyone celebrated with them except for the
Valley State fans; they began to filter out of the arena almost immediately.