Well… I got in the bed and turned off the lights with plans of calling it a night. But unfortunately, my body still hadn’t quite adjusted to my hometown time zone, sending me tossing and turning until I finally gave in to wasting time on my phone.
Turning down the brightness of my screen, I started on Instagram, scrolling the feed and giving a few “likes” before scrolling back up to the top to watch the stories. One of the rookies, Mikayla Newsome, had chronicled most of media day which included a video of me being silly during my solo shots followed by a scan of the court that showed… wait.
Starting the video from the beginning, I held my finger down on the screen to pause it when I saw Coach Sugar and Dre huddled up watching me. Naturally, I wondered what they were talking about, wondered if she was giving Dre the same kind of warning Kat had given me. But instead of giving it much thought, I let the video play on, smiling to myself when I discovered the next clip was of Mikayla gassing up our fine ass new assistant coach.
“Got Coach Leonard up in here on his GQ shit. I see you, boy!” she cheered, making Dre laugh that adorable rumbling chuckle of his as he replied, “You crazy, Mik,” before it jumped to the next clip of Dre and I on set during the mini-shoot we’d done together.
The caption read, “Current Nymphs Finest x Former Trojans Finest. I Stan.” And while I tried not to be bothered by it since it wasn’t exactly a lie, I was completely caught off-guard when I discovered the next clip was a selfie-style video of Mikayla explaining the footage of the two of us to her followers.
“So some of y’all hit my DMs asking about Selena and Coach Leonard. As far as I know, they are not a couple even though I’m hella ready to ‘ship ‘em after today. Guess y’all will just have to tune in this season to see what happens.”
The way she said it hinted at a possibility of it being at all true. And while that was enough for me to at least make plans of addressing her at practice about it the next day, the need to check her became immediate when I saw she’d shared a poll with the question, “Which ship name y’all rockin’ with? SeAndre or Delena?”
Instead of placing my vote for either so I could see the results, I replied to the post.
“OMG! Delete this!” - @SharpshooterSS
Glancing at the time at the top of my screen, I realized she probably wouldn’t see the request until the morning, giving the video plenty of time to make its rounds before she’d even be able to take it down. But to my surprise, the message was read only a few short moments later, Mikayla replying, “It’s good promo! And weren’t you the one yelling about anything for tickets sales earlier?”
“Yes. But starting rumors about me is where I draw the line.” - @SharpshooterSS
“Where YOU draw the line. But as for the rest of us who are still working to build their following and have an impact on this organization… ;)” - @MikkiNews
I don’t know why she thought a wink emoji would make me feel any better, but it didn’t. In fact, I was so annoyed that I sat up in bed to type out my reply.
“Don’t be surprised when you catch an “accidental” elbow to the gut tomorrow, little girl.” - @SharpshooterSS
My threat was supposed to be at least a little intimidating. But it was clear I had been way too nice to these new girls once I read her responses.
“That’s a bet ;)” - @MikkiNews
“Oh. And because I know you’re wondering, SeAndre is currently in the lead with 65% of the vote. Good night, Selena!” - @MikkiNews
“Definitely being too nice,” I whispered in the darkness, already thinking of another way I could torture her ass at practice as I went to watch her story again since I might’ve been a little obsessed with the footage of Dre and I. I mean, the clip was only a few seconds long, but it was still long enough for me to understand why everyone was speculating about our involvement.
We looked... like a pair. Or like we could be a pair, under different circumstances. But it was our current circumstances that had me not only clicking out of the app, but also out of my phone completely, forcing myself to sleep knowing that could never be.
I’d gone too far.
I was only supposed to be making a point to Mikayla that my threats weren’t baseless. But I hadn’t expected that the little extra “umph” I put in boxing her out to get a rebound during practice would have her fragile ass curled up in the fetal position with Coach Sugar and Ari huddled over her trying to figure out exactly what was wrong.
“My stomach,” she groaned breathlessly from the ground, making me feel a little bad for purposely knocking the wind out of her even though she deserved it for that shit she put on social media about me yesterday. And with that on my mind, that little bit of guilt I felt turned nonexistent as I left the court to go get some water.
Squirting a sip from the bottle into my mouth, I damn near choked when I saw Dre headed my way with a pleased smirk, looking way too fine in his casual coach gear of a cardinal red Nymphs dri-fit t-shirt and matching basketball shorts with a whistle hanging from his tattooed neck. I mean, he’d been around for the entire practice, so I shouldn’t have even been fazed by his presence. But I’d also been in the competitive zone which meant I hadn’t noticed him the way I did now that he was right in my face, grabbing a bottle for himself as he teased, “Didn’t read you to be the hazing type, Ms. Samuels.”
There was a hint of amusement in his tone like I’d done the shit for fun which wasn’t the case at all, something I clued him in on when I replied, “If you knew what she said about us, you’d haze her ass too.”
“About us?”
Turning his way to see his eyebrow piqued in confusion, I released a heavy sigh as I explained, “Yes, about us. As in me and you. DeAndre and Selena. Apparently we’re a topic of discussion around these parts.”
Instead of being surprised like I expected him to be, he released a sigh of his own. “Yeah, I already heard it from Kat. I don’t know why people love making shit up.”
“Of course he’d heard it from Kat,” I thought, using the corner hem of my practice jersey to wipe the sweat off my nose as I ranted, “Me neither. I mean, two fine mothafuckas get in close proximity of each other, and…”
“Wait. Two fine mothafuckas?” he interrupted with another smirk, making me tense up since I’d definitely let that one slip.
It wasn’t a lie, though. And because of that, I didn’t back down when I shrugged to reply, “I mean, I know I’m fine. And you aren’t exactly ugly.”
For whatever reason, that made him laugh. “Nah, you called me a fine mothafucka. That’s a title reserved for the especially handsome, Selena. Not for some ol’ regular, casually attractive nigga.”
I hated how right he was, hated how non-regular his attractiveness was now that he had rebounded from those awful mugshots I last remembered him by. In those, I could tell the drugs had started to take a toll on his body, with his already lanky frame appearing even thinner than normal and his eyes partially sunken in. But now, he looked… healthy, and happy, and good enough to have me blushing the longer he stared at me waiting for a response.
“Stop looking at me like that before you get us in trouble,” I told him in a tone that was so obviously flirtatious it made me sick as I turned to see Mikayla finally getting up from the ground under her own power.
Thank God.
With a nod, Dre turned to watch the same scene I was as he agreed, “You right. Especially since I should be reprimanding your ass for that cheapshot you just gave Mikayla.”
“She’ll be aight,” I told him with another shrug, putting my water bottle down so I could head back onto the court until I realized what he had insinuated; that he already had the authority to punish me.
“Do you really think you have that kinda power around here? Cause uh… nah, bruh. You gotta earn your stripes just like the rest of us,” I told him with a laugh, finally making my move back towards the court until he called after me.
“In that case, I’ll see you after practice.”
Wait, what?
Turning back his way, I frowned. “You’ll see me after practice for what?”
I expected to see at least a hint of the playfulness he’d had about him before. But there was none, not a single ounce when he glared at me and replied, “For the one-hundred three-pointers you owe yourself. Your shooting percentage from behind the arc was trash overseas, and we can’t have that carrying over into our season.”
A flurry of feelings rushed over me as I played his words back in my head. I mean, my instincts were to be offended since he’d put me and “trash” in the same phrase. And of course I wanted to be annoyed since staying after to shoot extra shots meant more stress on my body when I was supposed to be taking it easy as I recovered from the overseas season. But the fact that he’d done his homework to even know I had struggled from behind the arc meant something. The fact that he was volunteering his time to put in extra work with me meant something. The fact that he’d referred to it as “our season” like his investment in our team was genuine meant something.
For those reasons, it was hard for me to really be upset about his request. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to put a little stank on it when I tightened my eyes and agreed, “Fine. I’ll be there.”
Four
The Victory Lap album blared from the practice court’s speakers as I watched Selena rest with her hands on her thighs working to catch her breath, somehow looking even finer than usual now that she was dripping in sweat from her first three rounds of twenty three-point shots. After the first round, she’d decided to ditch her practice jersey, leaving her in just a sports bra and her practice shorts which only made it harder for me to ignore just how fuckin’ attractive she was. But because she was also working her ass off, I did my best to at least put it in the back of my mind when I finally asked, “You ready to go again?”
We were past the halfway mark, but I could tell the extra work was starting to take a toll on her by how tired she was. And because of that exhaustion, she only nodded in response to my question, wiping her sweaty hands on her shorts and then getting them in position to catch the basketball as I passed it her way to begin round four.
Unfortunately, it only took a few shots for me to realize we were hustling backwards since, by this point, her legs and arms were so weak that she was barely hitting the rim. So after securing the rebound, I kept the ball to myself instead of passing it her way for another shot.
“Aight, aight. We can shut it down.”
“But I’m not done,” she whined, a frown on her face like she couldn’t believe I was really cutting her off.
I wasn’t fazed, though. In fact, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit as I reminded her, “Selena, you just bricked five in a row, and that was after a break. Let’s not burn you out.”
Instead of taking my advice, she snapped, “I said I’m not done, Dre.”
I knew what was in her best interest, but I also knew it was in my best interest not to argue with her, releasing a heavy sigh as I launched the ball back her way fully expecting her to repeat the same poor performance she’d just put on. But to my surprise, she was completely locked in, hitting seventy-percent of her remaining shots and ending on an all-net make that had an, “I told you so,” smirk etched on her face.
Since we weren’t in competition with each other by any means, I smirked myself as I acknowledged, “Counting just those last fifteen, that was the best you’ve shot all day.”
“Told you I wasn’t done. Now come on. Let me knock these last twenty out,” she urged, moving to the next spot and getting her hands ready for the final round. And this time, I wasn’t as surprised when she breezed through them with a confident expression on her face, shooting a solid sixteen-for-twenty and ending on another make that had her hyped as she celebrated with the perfectly-timed lyrics, “Dedication. Hard work plus patience.”
“What you know about that Nipsey Hussle?” I asked over my shoulder on my way to the sideline, plopping down on one of the bench seats as Selena made her way over to do the same.
Sitting with a seat in between us instead of taking the one next to me, she used a towel to pat her face dry as she answered, “I know enough for my heart to ache every time I think about him being gone.”
With a nod, I agreed, “Yeah, I feel that. Good shit on that last round, though.”
“I don’t like being counted out, Dre. Don’t let it happen again,” she scolded, only making me chuckle once more.
“Nah, I will let it happen again cause it seems to be just the fire you need to push through when you get tired.”
Instead of agreeing, she only shook her head with a playful grin on her lips that didn’t exactly match the, “I really don’t like you,” coming out of them.
Shrugging, I slouched back in my seat and reminded her, “Established that from day one. Anything else you need to get off your chest?”
“There is this one thing…” she trailed, gnawing into her lip in a way that already had me intrigued as I sat back up to address it.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked, not at all expecting the question that she turned my way to respond with; the question I’d heard endlessly.
“What happened to you, Dre? I mean, really. What happened?”
There was a legitimate look of concern on her face that, for whatever reason, had me feeling less cagey than usual about the whole thing. And even though I really didn’t owe her an explanation, I decided to give her the truth anyway, biting down on the inside of my cheek before I answered, “My grandmother passed.”
“I’m assuming you two were really close?”
“Extremely. She basically raised me since my mom was in and out, and I never knew my dad,” I shared, glancing out towards the court instead of looking at her when I continued, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was bullshittin’ before that happened. Just on some typical young nigga who just came into some money shit. But, that’s what really sent me spiraling. Pulling my phone out after we’d just won the championship and finding a bunch of missed calls from the hospital trying to get in touch with me. By the time I called back, she was already gone.”
Speaking the shit out loud had my throat tight as I bit down on my cheek once again, Selena moving to take the seat next to me and putting a gentle hand against my forearm to say, “I’m so sorry, Dre.”
“Yeah, I was too. Feeling like I could’ve done more, or like I should’ve left her in better care, or… something. Anything than letting my moms look after her,” I sighed, remembering how angry I felt when I learned my mom had been using the money I’d been giving her to cover my grandmother’s needs on her own habits.
In hindsight, it might not have been the wisest decision to put her in control of the finances since my mom was known to be flaky as hell. But the truth was, “I just… I thought I could trust her, you know. Thought she was different. But she wasn’t, and my grandma suffered because of it. My grandma died because of it.”
“Dre, I’m so…” Selena started before I turned back her way to cut her off.
“Nah, no need to keep apologizing. I’ve made peace with it for the most part. At least that aspect of it. The rest of it was on me, and rebuilding from that is something I’m still working on daily.”
“You’re talking about the drug problem?” she asked, her words making me tense up since a huge part of my daily work was truly forgiving myself for ever going down that path to begin with.
I mean, a little weed here and there was no biggie. But allowing much harder shit to take over, destroy, my life like I hadn’t been a witness to what it had done to my mother?
It didn’t make sense. Then again, with genetics and circumstances considered, it did make sense. Especially when I thought of how it all came about, something I tried to explain to Selena when I answered, “More so the pain and anxiety I tried to cover up by using. After that stuff with my grandmother and mom, I became paranoid, like I couldn’t really trust anybody. And to mask that, I used “pr
escription pain killers” to the point of getting myself kicked out of the league in my fuckin’ prime. Then when I came back from my failed attempt at hooping overseas, I realized that paranoia wasn’t for nothin’ since the niggas I thought were my friends turned out to be just as grimy which only made me even more paranoid. It was like everybody I knew became the enemy overnight, and the only way to block that out was to keep experimenting with shit I had no business even touching to begin with.”
Thinking back on that time in my life, it was honestly a blessing that I’d even recovered since things were beyond bad. My health wasn’t in good shape, my pockets were thin, I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for. But when Selena asked, “What saved you?” my energy changed instantly, the turning point being something I’d never forget and bringing a half-hearted smile to my lips.
“Honestly? The Lloyds,” I shared, watching her eyebrow pique in surprise as I explained, “I’d always had a pretty good relationship with Mr. Lloyd. And one day, he hit me up on some random shit just to see how I was holding up and could immediately tell I wasn’t doing too well. He showed up to my grandma’s old crib back in St. Louis where I was hiding out at the time wanting to help but knew there was nothing he could really do until I was ready to accept it. So he left me to make a decision that somehow turned into all of this.”
After my arrest for drug possession and subsequent banning from the league when I tested positive for the same drug, I wasn’t expecting to ever be welcomed back onto these grounds; back into this city. But I was eternally grateful for Mr. Lloyd not only having a hand in my recovery, but also making my dream of coaching come true even if me being added to the staff made no sense to Selena.
Or maybe it did make sense to her, an astonished look on her face when she gushed, “Wow, Dre. I had no idea.”
One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2) Page 4