“Let’s talk about you, honey. Any young women in your life?”
The waitress came and took our orders, bringing me a tall glass of milk and my mom a coffee. Apparently, she’d ordered those while waiting for me.
“She needed some space. I’m respecting that and then going back in.”
“Good. I never thought you to be a quitter.”
“Ugh, Mom, enough. How about we talk about your pets?”
That was a safe subject, so that’s what we discussed.
We ate and said our good-byes, and when Christmas rolled around, I didn’t tell her Dad stayed to have dinner with me.
It had been a lonely dinner for two at the diner. Two despondent men acting macho over two plated Christmas dinners. Afterward, I’d gone home and downed some Crown Royal with Mo, who was envisioning the following year when he’d be a dad, and no doubt dressed up as Santa.
As a team, we’d lost some of our focus over the holidays, so when we got back, Conley had verbally whipped the shit out of us on a daily basis. Tonight we needed to be focused, to run like a well-oiled machine, or however the expression went.
“And last but not least, they’re calling our starting two-man, my good friend and the guy you wish you all knew, third-year player Blaaane Steele!”
Sonny’s annoying voice trailed behind me as I ran out to the crowd screaming my name. I ran through the line, bumping shoulders and chests with my teammates before removing my warm-up jersey.
We went right in for the tip, and the ball was flying to me. I kept the ball to myself and took it right to the rack. Two–nothing, Hafton. The bad guys got the ball and went for three, the ball swishing through the air, and we were down one. Back and forth was pretty much how the first quarter went. I imagined Sonny’s colorful commentary kept the radio listeners entertained.
It was only a four-point game at the half, and I knew by the way Conley was staring at me, his eyes nothing more than tiny slits, he wanted me to take over in the second half.
I tossed my warm-up jersey over my head as I made my way to the tunnel. Foolishly, I looked up when I heard, “Stealer! Hey, baby, be mine!” It wasn’t the girl screaming who caught my attention; it was the short stack leaning against the wall right under Section 108.
I shook my head to get the vision out of my mind. The next twenty minutes were crucial. I needed to listen to Coach; my judgment couldn’t be clouded by a tiny black-headed minx. But after . . . that was a different fucking story.
“Y’all are my fucking men!” I pumped my fist in the air as I entered the locker room, raging obscenities.
“We gonna take our game back?” Ashton banged his fist into the locker.
Coach yelled, “Shut it, gentlemen. Not enough of a show out there. Where’s my team? You all stay out too late last night? Give me a W!”
We took over the second half with an attitude adjustment. I moved the ball down the court, feeding the guys with dimes. One by one, they hit buckets. I had a gorgeous outside shot that swished through the air and sailed into the net. We ran a man-to-man defense where each of our guys guarded one of theirs, and we basically rendered them scoreless in the second half.
We won by twenty-five and poured out of the court on a sea of cheers.
“Unstoppable! Yeah, boys,” Ashton chanted as he pounded his fist into his locker.
Sweaty clothes flew through the locker room, most landing in the big industrial hamper, and steam filtered above the showers as the cheering continued.
“We partying tonight,” D screamed. “Yeah, boys. Fucking A-right, Green for life!”
“Get after it, next week, we’re gonna kill it! Yeah!” Mo slapped his towel against the wall and swiveled his hips, waving his dick in the cool air.
We were a bunch of pigs, but winning pigs.
“Put that fucking thing away,” Demetri said sternly.
“Don’t be so fucking crazy, it’s all your sister’s,” Mo taunted him.
“Shut the fuck up, Maurice, while I’m still in a good mood.”
“Let it go,” I told them, not in the mood to break up a fight.
“Where’s the party?” Alex strutted in, toting a few freshmen behind him. “They’re ready to get laid on our coattails.” He pointed to the scrawny nineteen-year-olds.
“I got my lady waiting,” Mo said as Demetri eyed him up. “Speaking of ladies, I saw your DJ girl over New Year’s, Steele.”
I was drying my ass with the towel, and didn’t bother covering when I turned around. “What did you just say?”
“I saw Ms. Cute Catie.”
“Where?”
“Put your cock away and I’ll tell you.”
I snagged my towel off the floor and tied it around my waist. “Well?”
“At the new wine joint.”
“She’s not twenty-one. What was she doing there?”
Ashton smirked at me. “I thought you were over her.”
“Be quiet,” I said to Ashton, then circled my hand at Mo to spill it.
“She was alone, man. Spewed something about you not needing her shit right now.”