The scoreboard flashed, music blared—definitely not the song from Grease Sonny had suggested before the season—and the crowd roared.
My blood pumped hard. I lived for this moment before the ball went airborne at center court and the action would begin. This was my time, my game, my court, and my championship to win this year. I hadn’t risen from nothing not to take what was mine, and I had the best guys to do it with. I was fucking ready; bring it on, Central Michigan. My Fighting Green were hot and on point, and I was pumped to take them there.
D-man got the tip and knocked it to Ash, who passed to me. It was an easy open shot from there. Three–zip, Hafton. We ran back on defense and when Mo blocked a shot, we were back on offense. Ashton brought the ball up, slipping it to me at center court, and from there I drove right to the hoop, finishing with a dunk.
The hoop lit up and the student section started yelling “the Stealer,” but there wasn’t time to get distracted. I was back on defense in a hurry. We played a man-to-man defense, and no way the guy I was guarding was getting his hands on the rock.
“Hey, Blane! Call me,” some ball baby yelled after I blocked a pass and stole the ball.
Chants of “the Stealer” continued to echo in the field house. I tossed the rock back to Ashton, who drove down the court and sent a heated pass to Alex, who hit the backboard with it. Mo was right there waiting for the alley-oop.
We didn’t hold the bad guys at zero, but we were up by eighteen at the half when I tossed a towel around my neck and ran toward the tunnel. Little slips of paper rained down over our heads. All phone numbers; ball babies were there for the taking.
Like an idiot, I automatically lifted my head to flash them a smile, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar curvy figure leaning against the wall in Section 108. Her hips filled her jeans, and her curls hid most of her face. Every part but the smile on her lips, a smile I wanted to kiss the fuck off.
Like I said, I was an idiot.
“Steele, what the fuck is he doing in here?” Coach Conley growled as I burst into the locker room.
“Who?” I yelled back, but my question was answered when my gaze landed on Sonny’s face.
“I don’t know what kind of antics you two shits are up to now,” Coach yelled, “but I’m not in the business of betting on girls or championships. Get the fuck out of my locker room, Sonny. I have a game to win. In fact, I have a shit-ton more to win, so don’t ever come back here again!”
“Give me a winner, guys! See you at the after party. Peace out.” Sonny flashed two fingers as he shot through the door.
Coach turned his furious gaze on me. “Steele, if you didn’t have twelve so far, I’d have your ass. I thought I told you to behave when it came to the fucking radio jock.”
“Oh, he is, Coach,” Mo offered. “He told Sonny off, and the good little girl—”
“Shut it, Mo,” I interjected before he spilled everything. “We’re not here to discuss my personal life. We’ve still got a game to win out there.”
Coach nodded. “Right, get your heads out of your asses. We should be up by thirty. Get out there and give them a show, put some points up on the board . . .”
He rambled on some more, spitting and swearing as he slapped his clipboard into the bench and loosened his tie. A few of us dropped trou and put on dry tights while he spoke, me being one of them. I hated wet balls. Nothing pissed me off more than crotch rot in my spandex.
Now fresh as a daisy, I trotted back out to win a game, but not without glancing up to Section 108 and winking at the stunned little missy still leaning against the wall, one foot propped against the cement.
Catie
I raced to the library after the game. Actually, I had a paper for Stanwick to finish, but mostly, I wanted to avoid any contact with Blane. Watching him lead the team to victory tonight was one thing; interfering with his game was another.
Plus, there were a million ball babies he could choose from. Blondes and redheads, tall and even taller ones, gorgeous and even more gorgeous girls. He liked me because he thought I didn’t like him back, but I was so not his type.
I opened my laptop and clicked on the document in progress. My title was Maybe Pornography Isn’t All Bad?