Her back was towards me as she stood in the arena’s tunnel. And while I thought about taking a moment to stop and stare at how good her ass looked in the hot pink pantsuit she had on, I knew better than to make a complete scene, instead greeting her with a casual, “Well if it isn’t Ms. Bleu Taylor.”
Turning around to face me, her smile was surprisingly pleasant - or maybe just professionally pleasant - when she responded, “Kage Steele. Always an… experience seeing you.”
“I like to think so too,” I smirked. “How you been, though? The Sunday segment turned out fire.”
“I’ve been good. And yeah, people seemed to really enjoy it,” she replied plainly, almost like she hadn’t seen the enthusiastic #TeamUs response it had gotten online.
Of course she’d seen it. But if she was going to play it cool, then I was too, giving a bit of a shrug when I suggested, “Guess we gotta do a part two.”
That made her smile. “Possibly. One day.”
Since she wasn’t completely blowing me off, I felt compelled to go all in, rubbing a hand against the back of my head as I told her, “I don’t know if you got any plans for after the game, but maybe we could…”
Before I could even finish, she interrupted, “Please don’t make me turn you down again, Kage.”
“You don’t have to, baby. There’s other options.”
“There’s not,” she giggled. “Like I told you before, I have a boyfriend. We’re happy. And even if he didn’t exist, I don’t date athletes.”
I knew that was her religion, but it still left plenty of room for me to defend, “I’m more than an athlete, Bleu. Isn’t that what your show is all about? Seeing me for who I am beyond the bench?”
“Cute,” she quipped. Then she took a step closer to me that I thought was good progress until she added, “But unless you’re ready to tell me what was said that night in Vegas, or you have some inside information I need to know before this game, then we have absolutely nothing to talk about.”
With that, she gave a little pat to my chest and started to walk off. And while I could’ve, maybe should’ve, left it at that, I needed her to know why my pursuit refused to waver, using the one thing I knew would grab her attention once I blurted, “You said you wanted me.”
Just that part was enough to stop her dead in her tracks. And when I moved to find her eyes again, I was met with a mix of confusion and interest as I continued, “Said you wanted me so fuckin’ bad, but you couldn’t cross that line. Said you could already see my heart, knew I was a good person, and that some girl would be lucky to have me. And you know what I said back?”
Pulling her eyes away, she bit into her bottom lip before turning back to correctly answer, “You said I could be that girl.”
It was relieving to hear she remembered it exactly the way I did, that I hadn’t made this shit up. But really, this conversation was more about a future than the past as I licked my lips to assure her, “That offer is indefinite, Bleu. Whenever you’re ready. I’m not patient with a lot of things. But for you? I’ll wait a lifetime.”
The way that line made her blush, it felt like I was finally getting somewhere. And when she licked her lips, I lowkey started feeling hopeful for a part two of Vegas, her facial features softening as she moved to fill the little space between us and whispered, “Just don’t hold your breath.”
With that, she left me in the tunnel to prepare for her broadcast while I just stood there trying to figure out how our interaction had fallen apart. And that confusion must’ve been written on my face since the second I returned to the court, Niko asked, “You good, bruh?”
I nodded my head yes since that was the only thing I could do without giving him a full explanation. But that lie was written all over my game once I found myself caught in a stream of careless errors.
Dribbling off my foot.
Getting called for cheap fouls.
Throwing lazy passes that were easily stolen....
It came as no surprise when Coach decided to bench me in favor of playing the back-up point guard. And of course, the rookie decided today was a good day to ball his ass off.
Honestly, I couldn’t even be mad at him for taking advantage of his opportunity. Anybody in his position would, myself included. But as far as my role as the starter was concerned, I knew it wasn’t a good look for me to have played so poorly in our first game back, preseason be damned.
Coach Kirkwood didn’t seem all that upset about it. Neither did Dre or Coach Bryce. But if I was going to live up to the reputation Niko had set for me as the always ready, energy boost of the team, then I had to get my shit together.
Aggressively pursuing Bleu would have to wait.
Three
The scene was eerily familiar.
The crowd of blurry faces surrounding me.
The music thumping through the suite.
The alcohol coursing through my system…
It was almost like I’d been here a time before, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly when, trying not to think too much of it as I left my friend in the main party area so that I could go to the bathroom. But even when I was there, something still felt off, the whole thing not making any sense until I started washing my hands and felt a muscular body pressed up against mine.
Smiling to myself, I immediately realized why I’d been so suspicious, the surprise of his lips pressed against my neck and his hands caressing my breasts making me giggle and moan until I peeked up at him through the mirror and saw who was actually staring back at me.
The sight alone should’ve been enough to make me panic. But for whatever reason, I didn’t, only watched as he aggressively hiked my dress up over my hips. Then with a lick of his palm, he wet his dick before entering me from behind, every stroke that followed feeling so wrong yet so so right as he posed the simple request that seemed to drive me crazy.
“Be that girl, Bleu.”
Waking up in a jolt, I brought my hand to my chest in an attempt to calm my racing heart, relieved to discover I was actually in my hotel room, alone, instead of… wherever that dream was.
Not that the location really mattered.
It was the co-star of choice that had me most bothered, especially when I considered what he was doing and the fact that I was turned on in real life from the way he was doing it.
I mean, damn.
If the way he fucked in my dreams was anywhere close to the way he… Bleu, what are you even talking about?
Dreaming about Kage was already a problem. And still thinking about him in that way now only made that problem worse as I tried to ignore the bit of guilt I felt in favor of checking the time on my phone. But I quickly realized that was a mistake once I was met with an alarming stream of notifications that had the screen looking more like a slot machine.
There were calls and texts, voicemails and emails, a variety of alerts from every social media app I had installed. But it was the Google alert I had set for whenever my name popped up somewhere on the internet that had me most intrigued as I whispered, “What the hell is going on?” getting ready to check it out until my mother’s name popped up with a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Bleu!” she squealed, her tone laced with relief when she sighed, “Oh, thank God you’re okay!”
“Something tells me that’s only temporary,” I expressed as I sat up to turn on the lamp like having a little light in the room would somehow provide me with extra clarity for whatever it was that had her, and apparently the rest of the world, so concerned.
It didn’t.
In fact, I only grew more confused once my mother lowered her voice to mention, “Look, Bleu. Whatever trouble you’ll be in for fleeing the scene of that accident, you know your father and I can get you out of it. Just let us know where you’re hiding out at, and we’ll meet you there as soon as we can to discuss our options.”
While I appreciated the fact that my parents were ready to pull up and do whatever to make sure I was good even a
t my big age, I literally had no idea what she was talking about, a frown on my face as I asked, “Fleeing the scene of an accident? When did this happen?”
Instead of filling me in, my mother sighed, “Oh, Lord. You must have a concussion.” And I could only assume she was talking to my daddy when she asked, “Babe, what’s that stuff they used to use during games to bring the players back to life after y’all got knocked the fuck out?”
Once my daddy casually answered, “Smelling salts” in the background like I really needed them - or like I was supposed to just have a spare ammonia pack in my toiletry bag - I knew it was time for me to stop asking questions and instead give some answers that I hoped would get the both of us to the bottom of whatever was going on.
“Mommy, I appreciate the concern, but I wasn’t involved in any accident. Meaning no concussion, no scene for me to flee, no reason to hide out, and…”
Before I could round out my list, she interrupted, “If that’s all true, then why is the news saying that you and Todd were seen fleeing the scene of a car accident out in Connecticut?”
“Say what now?”
“The news is reporting that that ridiculously-expensive sports car Todd owns was just found crashed into a tree after hitting a nearby parking meter in Bristol, and that witnesses reportedly saw you and him fleeing the scene.”
I thought having her repeat herself was going to make things clearer on my end. But it only left me wearing a scowl when I defended, “Mommy, that’s not even possible. I’m still in Nashville.”
“And Todd?”
“Todd is… let me call you back,” I told her once I realized I didn’t have a concrete answer, rushing her off the phone so that I could give him a call and hopefully clear all of this up. But after getting sent straight to voicemail five times in a row, I felt myself growing nauseous for multiple reasons, forced to finally click on that Google alert to see exactly what it was that my mother - and everyone else - had already been notified of.
She was correct that the news had reported on one of Todd’s cars being found after an accident. And by the looks of it, I could understand why she thought I might’ve had a concussion since the front end of his McLaren was completely obliterated. But when it came to who was actually seen fleeing the scene, only Todd’s name was listed on a consistent basis, some media outlets sticking to what must’ve been the police’s version of what happened that acknowledged an “unidentified woman” being seen with Todd, and others incorrectly filling in the blank for the police by saying it was me.
Of course, that was all it took for the internet to have a field day with commentary about what had really gone down; my name and his already trending on Twitter as people went back and forth about the situation like it was a movie or a T.V. show instead of my real ass life.
“We all know what made Todd Boswell crash into that parking meter. And with Bleu Taylor’s fine ass involved, I bet it was worth it. #ChampionshipHeadGame”
“Bleu Taylor totaled that nigga’s McLaren?! I’d never put my hands on a woman, but mannnn...”
“Streets is sayin’ Bleu Taylor wasn’t even in Bristol at the time of the accident, but y’all ain’t hear it from me.”
That truth was buried by the lies people were spreading for their own personal entertainment, the fact that I was nowhere near Connecticut but had been tied to the scene of a… crime?
Is that a crime?
Honestly, I wasn’t even sure.
And I wasn’t sure if Todd was even okay.
But if he was okay, he wasn’t going to be once I got through with his sorry ass since it was his fault that my name was even being mentioned in all of this.
I mean, it was one thing for him to get in a late-night accident. And it was another thing for it to more than likely have been caused by some sort of alcohol consumption. But to have done all that with a woman not named me in the car took things to a whole different level, just the thought of cussing his ass out about it enough for me to call his number again.
The line actually rang this time before someone very obviously pressed ignore. And that was all it took to send me over the edge, my fingers quickly firing off an angry text that I sent to myself instead of to Todd since I didn’t want him to have any traces of my rage nor concern. Then I shared a picture to my Instagram Story of the hotel’s stationery and the time on the clock, posting it to cover my own ass before reaching out to the one person I knew locally who would still be up at this hour.
“I knew you couldn’t have possibly gotten to Bristol that fast,” was how Katianna answered the phone, proof that she was not only awake but also already hip to the situation which meant I didn’t need to explain it all before getting to the real point of my call.
“I need a place to stay.”
“I won’t be harboring a fugitive, will I?” she asked teasingly, even giving a little giggle that had me rolling my eyes as I whined, “Kat, that’s not funny.”
“It is when I know you didn’t actually do anything wrong,” she insisted like that was supposed to make me feel better, my frown remaining as she continued, “But my condo downtown is yours for however long you need it, Bleu. Just promise me you’ll stay away from the parking meters.”
With that, she started laughing again, the dead silence I responded with enough for her to apologize, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Do you need a ride or anything?”
“Please.”
“I’ll send a car,” she confirmed. “What about PR assistance?”
“I’m pretty sure I already covered that with my Instagram Story post,” I told her, something I could tell she was going to see for herself since she didn’t follow up with another question right away.
Honestly, I was feeling proud about the move until Katianna asked, “Bleu, you posted your current location on your IG story, in the middle of the mayhem, with no clear and defined exit strategy? You know the paparazzi is gonna be waiting for you at the door!”
“Shit,” I hissed. “I guess I didn’t think that all the way through.”
“Which means I’ll be sending my best security guy to come get your ass out of that hotel as discreetly as possible,” she urged before instructing, “Get your shit packed, dress in something dark, and text me your room number. I’ll have him there in the next ten minutes.”
I didn’t even get a chance to really respond before the call was already ended, sending me into a fresh whirlwind of gathering all of my things so that I could be ready for whenever Katianna’s security guy showed up. But I was grateful that she’d taken charge, giving me less to think about since the situation in itself was already overwhelming enough.
I mean, there was the obvious personal aspect. And of course, the public aspect. But it was the professional aspect that made everything even more twisted, the fact that the face - my face - that was supposed to be working courtside at another preseason game in two days was now in the news for something other than the sports I covered making this shit a total disaster that only had me more upset at Todd for being so reckless.
I thought about calling him again. Had my phone in hand, ready to give him a piece of my mind via voicemail, when it buzzed with a “stand-down” sign from God in the form of a text from Katianna.
“Don’t answer the door until you hear this specific combination of knocks. Three - pause - four - pause - two.” - K.L.
If this was regular times, I’d tease her about her family being secret drug lords for even having this sort of protocol. But in this particular moment, I could only respond with a simple affirmative.
“Got it.” – B.T.
“Security will get you settled in at my place if I’m not already there by the time you arrive.” - K.L.
To that, I replied with a thumbs-up emoji so that I could focus on getting the rest of my things together before the man with the mysterious knock combination showed up. And after my suitcase was packed, I grabbed my phone so that I could shoot my mother a text and update her on my pl
ans; though I damn near shattered my screen when I dropped it on the floor in response to the sound of three heavy raps of someone’s fist against my door.
The pause and next four was enough for me to answer it, met with a raised fist as the burly man first glared at me then groaned, “I wasn’t finished.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him nervously, getting ready to shut the door in his face for him to do so until he easily pushed past me to grab my suitcase.
“This everything?” he asked, watching me nod before he instructed, “Put your hood up, grab my hand, and stay as close to me as possible, aight?”
Again, I nodded as I pulled my hood over my already ball-capped head. Then I grabbed the hand of his that wasn’t carrying my suitcase, his large palm easily dwarfing mine as he guided us towards a stairwell, down multiple flights that left me a bit winded, and then out of a door labeled for emergencies only that I expected to set off an alarm. But the fact that it didn’t only reminded me of the stature of the family I was dealing with, a family I considered something like my own after my time spent working in Nashville almost a decade ago.
It was my first big girl job to cover the Tennessee Trojans during what just so happened to be their championship season, a job I’d forever hold near and dear to my heart since it practically jump-started my career in sports journalism. But the professional side of things was only part of it since that year was also spent creating personal bonds with some of my favorite people to this day.
Katianna Lloyd was one of them.
A lot of people didn’t understand our friendship since I was known for being personable and bubbly while Kat was known for being a bit... high-handed. But a large part of her personality was in response to what she’d been up against for most of her adult life after being hired on as the Director of Operations for the men’s professional basketball team that her billionaire father owned.
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