“Soar above a bunch of shit we can crash right on into if something goes wrong? Nah, I’m good on that, lil’ baby,” I replied with a chuckle that wasn’t all that humorous since crashing into something was all I could really think about right now.
Well, that and the fact that Selena’s bun of braids was sitting adorably crooked on the top of her head when she cocked it to ask, “How is it even possible for you to have played in the league for years, played college for a year, and gone all the way overseas to hoop, but still be afraid of flying?”
Thinking of it that simply, of course it sounded silly. But unfortunately, the truth was a little more complicated than that; though I didn’t shy away from admitting, “Back then, I could pop a xannie and just sleep the whole way. But, for obvious reasons, that’s no longer an option.”
I could tell my explanation caught her a bit off-guard, but she didn’t jump to judgment, nodding along before pulling one of her AirPods from her ear and offering it to me.
“Here. Listen to this. I think it might make this whole flying thing a little easier for you.”
While I could appreciate her trying to help me out, my face still scrunched teasingly when I groaned, “Ew. I don’t know where your ears been.”
Making a smacking noise with the back of her teeth, she challenged, “Do you wanna have a smoother flight or not, negro?”
After a brief moment of deliberation, I accepted the earbud, holding it near my ear instead of sticking it in just to fuck with her. But that was enough for her press play on whatever it was she wanted me to listen to which turned out to be not at all what I was expecting.
“Selena, you know I got mad respect for you. But what the fuck is this honky tonk bullshit?” I asked, struggling to hold in my laugh as the flight attendant strolled past to check that we had our seatbelts fastened.
“The song is not even twenty seconds in, Dre,” she whined like what was beyond the intro was any better. And because it only got more and more country the longer she let it play, I really started laughing as I quietly acknowledged, “Got banjos in the background and shit…”
That made her press pause. “See. I try to be nice and help you through this, but you playin’.”
“Nah, you playin’. Tryna have a nigga out here on his yee-haw shit this Summer. Your Nashville upbringing is showin’ big time,” I teased with more laughter, making her roll her eyes as she pressed play to let the song finish. And once it was over, I handed her AirPod back as I concluded, “I mean, shorty can blow. I’ll give you that. But I don’t know if you’d ever catch me joining in on the line dance to this shit.”
Now she was the one giggling. “I can’t see you joining in on the line dance for anything, Dre.”
“Man, what? Ya’ boy will get low to the flo’ on the Cha-Cha slide.”
Like she was legitimately surprised to hear it, her eyebrow piqued when she asked, “Your old man knees really allow for that kinda activity?”
“Wowwww. You got jokes.”
“You tried to clown my girl Jayde’s EP. It’s only right I get you back,” she defended like I didn’t have my reasons. And really, I hadn’t even clowned the singer, just the old country song choice that Selena, for whatever reason, thought would calm me down.
“I guess the humor of it all did some good,” I decided in my head as I reminded Selena, “I said she can sing. It just ain’t my type of vibe, that’s all.”
“Okay, so what is your vibe then? I mean, being from St. Louis, who y’all got? Nelly and the St. Lunatics? Chingy?” she listed with a hint of sarcasm in her tone like she was trying to use the Midwest legends to clown me.
I wasn’t offended though since I knew they all had hits, an easy smile on my lips when I challenged, “Don’t act like they ain’t have your ass hittin’ the chickenhead back in the day.”
Smirking, she quickly replied, “I didn’t say that. Those are just the only artists I know from the area.”
“So the Sharpshooter was in her lil’ school dances fuckin’ it up, huh?” I teased, doing a mini-rendition of the dance in my seat that had Selena cracking up laughing before she corrected me.
“Nah, the Sharpshooter skipped school dances in favor of going to the gym.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” I commented, the slight frown on her face in response giving way to my explanation. “Because of your work ethic. I can tell it’s been in you for a long ass time by how hard you go.”
Even though it didn’t bring her smile back completely, she did nod along to agree with me before going into a little explanation of her own. “I graduated from high school early so that I could get to Lynstone and start training at a collegiate level. Then I didn’t walk in my graduation from Lynstone so that I could be present for my first training camp as a professional out in LA after I got drafted. I’ve dumped boyfriends, canceled vacations, and didn’t meet my youngest baby brother until he was like seven-months-old because of ‘how hard I go’. So really, my work ethic is… kinda problematic.”
Now I was the one doing a slow nod. “If you feel like you’ve missed out, I could see why you’d say that. But your work ethic is also what got you here, so maybe it was worth something.”
“All that hard work just to be sitting here on a plane with you. Oh yeah. Totally worth it,” she replied sarcastically with a half-hearted smile, peeking back out of the window before she added, “But, hey. We got you in the air without you having a panic attack. So I guess my job here is done.”
Once she mentioned it, I was honestly kind of shook that I hadn’t noticed we’d already taken off, so focused on her that nothing else going on really mattered. But considering this was one of the rare times we could be in each other’s faces without it seeming suspicious, I decided to take full advantage when I asked, “Does it have to be?”
Of course, if she wanted to relax, listen to her little country jams and be in her own world, I wasn’t going to bother her. But to be real, I just enjoyed talking to her, getting to know her. And thankfully that feeling seemed to be mutual according to the way Selena smiled before posing a question of her own.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you, DeAndre Leonard.”
“Well for starters, my real first name isn’t DeAndre.”
If it weren’t for her seatbelt, Selena would’ve hit her head on the flight attendant call button at that, a look of disbelief on her face when she squealed, “Excuse me, what?!”
With my hands, I urged, “Chill, chill. This is top secret information.”
“Clearly. I mean, I know a lot about you. Like, a lot a lot. And that’s not something I’ve ever come across in my Google searches.”
“Damn, Selena. Searches plural? You know you could’ve just asked me whatever you wanted to know, right?” I pressed, taking great pleasure in watching her get flustered about it even though I was teasing her.
“It was a long time ago! Before I knew you,” she defended, settling down to ask, “But anyway, what’s your real first name?”
“Jordan.”
I don’t know what she was expecting, but somehow the name on my birth certificate must not have been it considering the way her head snapped back when she repeated, “Jordan? Seriously?”
“Yeah, for real. Jordan DeAndre Leonard.”
Her confused expression remained. “So why do you go by DeAndre instead of Jordan?”
Releasing a short sigh, I explained, “I’ve always known I wanted to play ball on the biggest stage since I was a kid. But as far as basketball personas went, Jordan was already taken. So I decided to create my own with my middle name.”
I expected my explanation to relieve her confusion, but her eyes only seemed to tighten even more when she asked, “You really abandoned your first name because of Michael Jeffrey Jordan?”
Chuckling, I replied, “Abandoned is a strong word. And it ain’t all that uncommon. I mean, people rarely call Magic, Earvin. And they damn sure don’t call Steph, Wardell. Hell, Kareem conve
rted and made everybody forget he was first introduced to the basketball scene as Ferdinand.”
That was enough for her to nod as she finally agreed, “All valid points. But also know, you’ll forever be Jordan to me now.”
She said it with the most adorable smile that would’ve had me going along with plenty more things in that moment had she asked. It was a total contrast to the fierceness she expressed on the court and whenever she felt passionate about something, creating the perfect balance that had me tempted to go against my own rule of keeping to myself.
Actually, I was already a step beyond tempted, licking my lips to reply, “When we’re in private, I’ll allow it.”
Once the words flowed from my mouth, I knew I was putting myself at risk of causing trouble. But before I could cover with some bullshit explanation about her using it during our “private” shooting sessions, Selena bit down into her bottom lip and gushed, “Deal.”
It was an unexpected but appreciated response that I immediately stored in the back of my mind for later, making a quick decision to break some of the tension between us by changing the subject since a plane of mixed company wasn’t the place for that kind of conversation.
“Aight, I gave you somethin’ juicy. Now tell me about you.”
Releasing a little sigh of her own, she started, “Well… I told you I have a baby brother. He’s technically my half-brother; one of many new siblings that came as a result of my father remarrying right after I graduated high school.”
“So your parents are divorced?”
“Actually, my mother passed away when I was young,” she quietly explained, pursing her lips together to swallow down her emotions about it that had me feeling bad for even asking.
“Sorry to hear that.”
She only shrugged as she continued, “Yeah, so it was just me and my dad until he met… her. And now they have their own little family together.”
There was an edge to her tone that gave additional context, something I was sure to comment on when I inquired, “I take it you’re not all that happy about it?”
Again, she shrugged. “I’m happy he’s happy. But I’m not happy about what our relationship has turned into because of it. I mean, with the sudden loss of my mother and big brother, we became really tight out of necessity. We were all each other had, you know? But now, things are just… different.”
There was a lot to her response, but the only thing I could focus on was, “Wait. So you said you lost a brother too?”
With a wry smile, she replied, “Gained an angel, yeah. Him and my mom got into a really bad car accident on the way to one of his basketball practices. Neither of them were wearing their seatbelts.”
“Damn. Were you close with your brother? I mean, with y’all both being hoopers?”
Even though I knew nothing about him, somehow I could already envision him and Selena hooping in their driveway as kids, playing one-on-one until dinnertime or until the street lights came on. I could see Selena being invited into the competitive neighborhood hoop sessions thanks to her big brother’s clout, or hell, maybe even the other way around. And I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt losing what should’ve been a forever teammate, wondering if those were the kind of memories playing in her head when she finally answered, “I’d say we were as close as a preteen basketball fanatic could be to his doll-obsessed kindergarten sister. We didn’t always get along. But he was my protector, and I loved him for it.”
Taking a pause, she then continued, “Surprisingly enough, I didn’t really start playing basketball until after he passed. One of my father’s favorite things to do was to watch Scottie hoop. They’d talk about what blueblood college he was going to ball for, where he was going to play professionally, even what his first basketball shoe design would look like. But after the accident, my father became deeply depressed knowing none of that would ever be. So I thought maybe if I picked up a ball, he’d feel better.”
I didn’t think it was possible. But now that I knew where her love for the game came from, I respected her commitment to the craft even more. I mean, not only did she play to help her father be able to feel again, but she played to honor her brother’s memory, to see his dreams through. And that was commendable on so many levels, something that was hard to find the words to express when I replied, “Wow. That’s…”
“Deep as hell for someone who was like five or six at the time?” she interrupted with a little chuckle. “Yeah, it’s crazy. But it became our thing. Everything he wanted for Scottie, all the energy he was putting into making Scottie’s hoop dreams come true, he invested in me. And that’s how I became the basketball lunatic I am today.”
“The basketball superstar you are today,” I corrected, falling a little more in like with her signature smile when she served it and agreed, “Yeah, that too.”
“Sorry for being all in your business. I’m sure that’s not easy to talk about.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. “No, it’s not. And I rarely, I mean rarely, get this personal. But… it felt good to get that out. So thank you.”
Knowing she’d opened up a little more than she normally would lowkey had me feeling special, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze as I told her, “Anytime, Selena.”
“SeSa. That’s what my mother used to call me. Another fun fact for your Selena Samuels file,” she offered with a smile that had me cheesing too.
“Country-music listening, chickenhead-champion, Selena “SeSa” Samuels. Wait. SeSa, because Se-lena and…”
“Ding, ding, ding. You got it. So brilliant,” she gushed sarcastically, making me drop her hand with a playful side eye as I groaned, “I see your compliment game is still trash.”
Smirking, she replied, “I stroke three-pointers, not egos.”
“Shit, you barely do that,” I teased, dodging her little jab to my arm as I held up my hands to tell her, “I’m playin’, I’m playin’. Your Sharpshooter nickname is beyond fitting. But you know I’m bouta play that SeSa shit out now, right?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. I mean, what’s the point of knowing top secret info like that if you aren’t gonna use it to tease me, Jordan?” she asked so effortlessly that I almost forgot no one called me that shit anymore.
But because I’d already warned her about keeping that on the low, I now had an excuse to get a little more into her personal space to whisper, “Shhh. You way too loud, SeSa.”
Scrunching closer to the window to create some space between us, she giggled, “You’re so annoying.”
“You like it.”
She didn’t confirm or deny my claim, only smirked as she dramatically slipped her AirPod back into her ear to signal our conversation was over. And I thought I’d be good with that until I started digging into my bag for my own headphones and couldn’t find them.
Shit.
The panic of not having something to keep me occupied for the rest of the flight quickly started to settle in and my search became even more urgent, Selena taking notice enough to tease, “You know… you could always listen to more Jayde with me.”
“Nah, I left my cowboy boots at home,” I replied as I continued digging, only making her giggle again before she explained, “It’s not all country, Dre. The other half is like, 2000’s R&B. I know you can get with that.”
That was enough for me to give her offer some consideration, mainly off the strength of trying to understand how a project with both genres even made sense. And as I checked a few last spots in my bag - and came up empty-handed - I acknowledged, “That’s quite the combination.”
“What can I say? Her voice sounds bomb no matter what she’s singing.”
Now that it seemed like I didn’t have much of a choice if I planned on surviving this thing, I accepted the AirPod she had dangling my way, wiping it clean on my sweatshirt before putting it in my ear. Then I closed my eyes in an attempt to force myself to sleep; though all I saw on the other side of my eyelids were visions of Selena’
s pretty ass.
That smile, those braids, that… fire.
She was everything I wanted and everything I couldn’t have all at once, knowing getting myself involved with her meant putting the rest of my world in jeopardy. I mean, this job was still pretty new, and the one request I had from my boss was to leave Selena alone. But here she was anyway, and here I was, relishing in what felt like a real friendship ripe with the potential for something greater; something worth the risk.
Honestly, that was the wildest part of it all. The fact that I was finally on the rebound both personally and professionally but was willing to put that in danger for a chance with her. Then again, what was the worst that could happen?
Since I had nothing but time to really think this whole thing through, I decided to start weighing the pros and cons. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing until I heard Selena say, “Dre. Dre, we’re here.”
My eyes were slow to open, first squinting against the cabin lights that had been turned back on and then to the people around us who were all already busy with their phones now that we’d apparently landed.
Stretching in my seat as much as I could, I groaned, “Damn. I don’t even remember fallin’ asleep.”
“One minute you were humming along to one of Jayde’s covers and the next you were out cold tryna cuddle up on me,” Selena replied with a teasing smirk that made it hard for me to tell if she was being truthful or not.
Either way, I had no problem doing a little teasing of my own when I told her, “You should’ve let me. I’ve heard I’m good at it.”
The reaction I expected wasn’t the reaction I received, a slight frown on Selena’s face as she asked, “I… who told you that? Someone who wanted your money? Cause I imagine cuddling with you being similar to cuddling with one of those science class skeletons.”
Because it was a good joke, we both started laughing as I moved to tickle her and playfully growled, “You got me fucked up.”
From the way she was practically wheezing, I knew her being ticklish as hell was another fact for me to add to my file on her; airy laughs that only encouraged me to keep going until I heard Mikayla say, “Geez. Get a room, you two.”
One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2) Page 6