Hoops Holiday

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “Tara just moved to LA,” Decker continues, a rueful set to his lips. “And took Kiera with her.”

  “I’m sorry.” I frown. “It must be harder to see her now with you still on the East Coast, I guess?”

  “Yeah. Takes a little more work, but she’s worth it. I’ve accomplished a lot, but she’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” He shrugs and then turns an inquisitive look on me. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” My fingers tighten around the fragile stem of my martini glass. My heart tightens in my chest, braced for questions I’ll have to evade.

  “Well, I know you were engaged,” he says with a careful look at my bare ring finger. “And I don’t think you are anymore.”

  He doesn’t know.

  I savor that tiny slice of time while I can where he doesn’t know. For the last year of my life, everyone has known what happened. And I often feel smothered under the weight of their speculation, their awkward sympathy, their damn good intentions because they know everything. Well, they think they know everything. I have my secrets; secrets kept alive only by me because only Will knew.

  And now Will is gone.

  “He died.” I clear my throat, my lips trembling in the most vexing way. I steady them like I’ve learned to steady my emotions. “Will, my fiancé, died last year around this time actually.”

  When I say everyone knows, it’s not like when “everyone” knows Deck got a divorce or the details of a multimillion-dollar contract he inked. When “everyone” knows what’s going on in his life, it’s the world. His fame is much broader than mine. I’m a sportscaster, and I’m on television, but my life isn’t national news, much less international. With Deck, the whole world could know his business. The whole world doesn’t know my fiancé died last December. Only everyone who knows me and everyone who knew Will. Everyone in my life knows. And now so does Decker.

  For the last few minutes, it was easy to forget that just beyond the barrier of Deck’s torso and shoulders, our colleagues are drinking and talking. Laughing and blowing off steam after a long day. I didn’t realize how completely Deck had managed to isolate us; to monopolize me until it gets so quiet in our little corner.

  “Avery, I’m so sorry.” His voice is a soft rumble of compassion. “I had no idea. I hadn’t heard.”

  I nod, panicking as a familiar knot ignites inside my throat, threatening to choke me. Out of habit and necessity, I start blinking rapidly against ill-timed tears.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t . . . something we broadcast.” Dark humor taunts the corner of my mouth. “Will would have hated that; to be a part of some media circus. He wasn’t . . . he was the last one to draw attention to himself.”

  A door cracks open that I keep closed and locked; that I try to forget exists. The one with all my memories of Will. His smile, which had become so rare at the end. It was the first thing I liked about him; that his smile was kind and genuine. I can’t do this. Not here. Not now. Not with Decker watching my face for signs of distress. If he keeps looking, he’ll find it. It’s not as deeply buried as I manage to convince most people. Decker isn’t most people, and I instinctively know he won’t be fooled.

  “It’s getting late.” My smile is a cold, waxy curve trying its best to look alive. “I think I’ll go.”

  “Avery,” he says softly. Just that. Just my name, but there’s so much more there, and I can’t do this shit right now.

  I ignore him and reach down to grab my purse, using those few seconds to compose myself and swipe at the corners of my eyes. When I stand, so does he. Our eyes clash for a moment, mine watery and his concerned. I step around him, snapping the thread strung taut between us, and address my coworkers.

  “Okay, guys.” I spread a bright smile around to everyone. “I’m heading out. Have a good weekend.”

  Blindly, I make my way to the door, longing for the fresh air, at least as fresh as New York City has to offer.

  “Hey, Ave,” Sadie calls from behind me when I’m just a few feet away from the exit. “Wait up.”

  I stop and turn, smoothing my expression into patient inquiry, hoping the churning waves in my gut aren’t washing up on my face.

  “You okay?” Sadie sees more than most. She knows more than most, too, but even she doesn’t know everything.

  “I’m fine.” I roll my eyes when she gives me the look that says it’s me you’re talking to. “Okay. I’m not exactly fine, but I will be.”

  “Do you need—”

  “I just need to go home, Sade.” There’s a pleading note in my voice that I can’t suppress much longer. “Please. Just let me get out of here.”

  Sadie nods, hooks her arm around my neck and whispers into my ear.

  “It’s gonna get better, babe.”

  Some things don’t. Some things never get better because they can never be undone. I had to learn that for myself the hardest way. I won’t try to teach Sadie at the hostess stand of this nice restaurant.

  “Night,” I settle for saying before walking swiftly to the door.

  I draw in great lungfuls of the cold night air and start walking. With every step, my heart decelerates and my breath evens and my tears dry up. That’s all I needed. Some time to myself.

  “Avery!” a deep voice calls from behind me.

  So much for time to myself.

  I turn to find Decker almost caught up to me, his long legs making quick work of the few feet separating us. I wanted to be alone, and he’s ruining that. Yet my heart lifts a little at the sight of him. I knew it! If my vagina and my heart ever get on the same page, they’ll be my downfall.

  “Can you not take a hint?” My voice lacks the irritation it should hold.

  “Only the ones I want to take,” he replies easily, hunching into his dark coat and squinting against the cold. “You walking?”

  “Obviously since you’re walking to catch me.”

  “Ahhh.” He grins, slanting me an amused look. “The smartass is back.”

  My answering smile dims as I remember what chased me out of the restaurant in the first place.

  “I meant are you walking all the way home?” he asks.

  “It’s not far.” I glance up at him. “And I don’t need an escort.”

  “Well you got one, lady.”

  I roll my eyes, which only makes him laugh. We’re silent for the next few steps, and I focus on the bustling anonymity of the city. You can get lost in this hectic, harried press of humanity. I have over the last year. I’ve hidden myself in its crevices and I’ve hurt in my solitude. I thought it was what I deserved—to hurt alone. With Decker here, the sounds of the city swallowing up the yawning silence inside of me, I wonder if maybe I’ve been wrong. It feels good to have someone . . . here. Just here. Not demanding answers, or hovering for fear I’ll self-destruct. But someone who just wants my company and wants to offer theirs. It dents my loneliness.

  “Here I am.” I stop in front of my apartment building and turn to Deck, prepared to say good-bye.

  Of course, he walks ahead to the entrance. My doorman recognizes him instantly, rushing over to hold the glass doors wider for him.

  “Deck, we sure miss seeing you on the court,” he says, an eager grin splitting his face.

  “Can’t say I miss being out there as much as I thought I would,” Decker replies, signing the slip of whatever paper the doorman found for his autograph. “I like not aching and creaking half the year. Eighty-two games for twelve years will kick your ass.”

  “Not to mention playoffs in the post-season,” the doorman reminds him with an admiring grin.

  “Yeah, there were a few of those, too, huh?” Decker laughs and turns when the elevator arrives. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Great meeting you, too. Thanks for the autograph. My son’ll love this. Good night, Ms. Hughes,” the doorman adds, finally acknowledging me.

  I return his smile, not minding being ignored. It’s not every day you see a living sports legend. I remember feeling that way the first
night I met Decker, even though I still had to ask him tough questions. He’d won rookie of the year the season before and was already one of the brightest stars in the League. Remembering the towel incident makes me smile as we get off the elevator.

  “What are you grinning about?” Deck asks, narrowing his eyes in false suspicion. “I don’t trust you when you grin like that.”

  Feeling a little lighter, I turn to face him, walking backward toward my door.

  “I was thinking about the first night we met.”

  “Ugh.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly. “I was such an immature asshole.”

  “I think I told you that then.” I laugh when he glowers at me. “You just admitted it. I’m agreeing with you. Be happy.”

  “You know it’s funny. That was ten years ago.” His smile as we keep walking borders on wistful, if such firm lips could be described that way. “So it feels like I’ve known you forever, but before I started the show last week, we’d never had a real conversation. I mean, unless you count the one at my locker.”

  “I don’t.” I lean against the door to my apartment. “You were wearing a towel, and not even that at one point.”

  “Nice.” He stops in front of me. “I’ll never live that down with you, will I?”

  “Do you really want to?”

  “Nope,” he admits with a shameless, cocksure grin. “At least I knew you would never forget me.”

  As if I could.

  I don’t say the words, but something on my face must confess that I never forgot him. That sometimes in quiet moments alone, he was always an unanswered question. Or maybe I was afraid to ask. His humor evaporates, and his eyes take on that fierce focus I’d always noted when I watched him play. The camera would catch this exact look on his face; like the prize is in sight, and it was only a matter of four quarters before his opponent would yield. I wonder which quarter we’re in.

  “So, like I was saying.” He picks up where he left off, that intense stare like steam hovering over my skin. “I feel like I’ve learned a lot about you since I started with the show.”

  “Is that right?” I press my shoulders into the door for support because that look is melting my bones, and I need to stand my ground.

  “I know that as soon as you walk into a room, you charge the air,” he says softly. “Everything comes to attention around you.”

  My breath stutters and I lick dry lips.

  “I know that people enjoy following you so much they don’t even realize you’re leading them,” he continues, taking a step closer and stealing another ounce of air from my lungs. “And that you’re usually the smartest person in the room, but you know when to let other people think they are.”

  I thought butterflies in your stomach were some urban myth from Harlequin romance novels, but sure enough, something is fluttering in my belly at his words.

  Aw, crap. I don’t do butter fucking flies.

  “And I know that as much as you light up onscreen, there’s something sad in your eyes, and I hate it.” He steps as close as he can, cups my cheek, locking our eyes. “I saw it tonight and I hate it, Avery.”

  He flattens his other hand against the door, his arms making an intimate alcove I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.

  I don’t want to.

  He pulls back just enough to search my face. Surely he sees my bottom lip trapped between my teeth because I must resist yielding to the warm comfort of him.

  “I want to make it better, Ave,” he whispers, the cool mint of his breath breezing over my lips. “I just want to . . .”

  He scans my face, waiting for some sign from me that it’s okay. That the desire to kiss me so clearly telegraphed in his eyes is okay. I can’t find words to articulate that in this maelstrom of grief and desire and confusion, the only thing clear, the only thing that makes any sense right now, is for him to kiss me. So I don’t say a word. I just lean forward until our lips meet.

  6

  Decker

  Soft and fresh like petals.

  I’m a jock. Not a dumb one, but a jock nonetheless. I don’t describe a woman’s lips as soft and fresh or compare a kiss to flowers. Besides the few years I was married to Tara, if it opened its legs and said yes or please, I fucked it. I always rushed it. A man’s got needs, but I got in and I got out. This woman, this kiss, I have to savor. I’d be a fool not to. It’s a first kiss. I understand the difference now between the first time you kiss someone, and a first kiss. This is a discovery of tongues and lips and heat. An introduction of our souls, if that doesn’t sound too pussy-ish. It’s how I feel, though. Like as our lips brush back and forth, as our tongues tangle, as I taste her, mouthful by delicious mouthful, I’m learning her secrets. I’m telling her mine. My hand slides from the door to flatten into the warmth of her back through the silk blouse, bringing her incrementally closer. The air shifts and takes the shape of lust; assumes the form of want. The sound of her moaning, the slight lift and fall of her breasts against my chest, testifies that she feels it, too.

  The elevator dings, and our bodies go still even as we keep exchanging breaths and heartbeats through our clothes; even though my mouth is still poised above hers. I have her against the door, and every curve of her body is impressing itself on me, making sure I’ll never forget how right we fit together. I look over my shoulder toward the elevator. The doors open, but no one gets off. That interruption was enough to bring her back to her senses, though. God knows I can’t find mine.

  “Um . . . you should go,” she whispers, a muscle rippling along the smooth line of her jaw.

  I bend to breathe over her mouth, so she can taste our kisses lingering on my lips. “Or you could invite me in.”

  Her scent and the warmth of her body take my senses hostage. I smell her and want to kiss her again so badly it stings my taste buds. Her eyes already regret the last few moments I thought were so perfect. I can’t calm my emotions or my body that quickly.

  “You don’t want to come in, Deck.”

  “I assure you I do,” I tell her.

  A short laugh, deceptively light, breezes past her lips. She glances down to the floor and shakes her head.

  “I’d make the worst one-night stand ever,” she says.

  “One-night stand?” I take her chin in hand and lift, forcing her to look at me. “I’ve waited a long time for this path to be clear. No conflict of interest. No other people standing in our way. I don’t know exactly what I want, Avery, but it’s damn sure more than one night.”

  If anything, my assurance that it’s more than just physical, more than just a night to me, lights panic in her eyes.

  “Oh, that’s worse.” She frowns even as she sends a sad smile up at me. “I’m not anywhere near ready for something like that, Deck.”

  She’s not a tall woman, though the strength of her personality makes you forget that. I’ve easily got a foot or more and a hundred pounds on her. She tucks a shiny chunk of dark hair behind her shoulder, exposing the intricate whorl of her ear, the fine angle of her jaw. She acts tough. Hell, she is tough, but her fiancé died only a year ago. That would leave anyone kind of fragile. Of course, she’s not ready. Up this close, invading her space, past the outer wall, I see the vulnerability; the desolation and pain. It stabs me in the chest.

  “I get that,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m so sorry about him, Ave. About your fiancé.”

  She nods, the tumult churning inside evident on her face. The need to comfort her has my hand up, palming her cheek and my other hand at her waist, pulling her into me. After a hesitation, she surrenders to it. Her forehead drops to my chest, and a ragged breath shudders through her slim body. The air thickens with lingering grief. She doesn’t cry, but the dip of her shoulders, the tension of her body, broadcasts how difficult this still is. My hand traces a soothing path from between her shoulders to the small of her back, and I don’t say anything, but leave her to take any comfort she can from the human contact. After a few moments, she shifts.

/>   “Thanks, Deck,” she says softly, pulling back. My hand tightens at her waist, anchoring her to me, despite the gap between our bodies. She feels so good, I’m not ready to relinquish her.

  “I need to go.” She stares at the button on my shirt instead of at me.

  I’m about to refuse; to press the issue of the connection I know she feels, too, but there is just enough shadow in her dark eyes; trace amounts of the grief that brought us into each other’s arms in the first place, to change my mind. My hand drops, and she turns to unlock her apartment door.

  “I’ll see you on set Monday.” Her eyes meet mine cautiously like she thinks I might grab her.

  That could happen.

  “Sure.” I step back. “Should be a great show.”

  Once she’s safely inside, I board the elevator. She’s right. Tonight wasn’t the night. Based on what I learned about her fiancé, I can respect that. But after tasting her, not just her sweetness, but her tears, I know this is just clemency. She wants time. I can give her space, but I’m not giving up.

  7

  Avery

  Have yourself a merry little Christmas

  Let your heart be light

  From now on your troubles will be out of sight

  I wake up with Will’s favorite Christmas song in my head and my hand between my legs.

  Sad and horny. That’s what I am. I literally cannot remember the last time I had sex. I know it was with Will because I never cheated on him in the years we were together, but our sex life was so sporadic at the end, I can’t recall the last time we made love. I need to get drunk and I need to get laid. I’m hoping at least one of those will happen tonight at the SportsCo Christmas party, but it probably won’t be the latter. I told Decker the truth. I’d be an awful one-night stand, and if I were in the market for one, it wouldn’t be at my office Christmas party. I’ve never dated colleagues or athletes, and that’s pretty much the extent of tonight’s guest list. Will was into advertising. He could barely tell a touchdown from a homerun. I liked that he had nothing to do with sports or my career. I needed something separate from the frenetic pace of television and the crazy news cycle I’m always enslaved to.