One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2)

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One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2) Page 7

by Alexandra Warren


  Since the last thing I needed was for her nosy ass to start livestreaming this little interaction to her followers, I pulled back, Selena still giggling as she whined, “See. You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

  “Shouldn’t have been talkin’ shit,” I told her with a shrug, grabbing my bag to deboard the plane with Selena right behind me still joking around.

  “At least you’re a fine ass skeleton,” she squealed once she caught up with my strides towards baggage claim, surely so she could see the reaction on my face to what was, yet again, another wack ass compliment.

  Shaking my head with a grin, I didn’t even look her way to reply, “I’m done talkin’ to you, Selena.”

  “Awww. So you mad, huh?”

  Again, I shook my head. “Nah, we all about body positivity over this way. I love myself,” I told her, pulling up the hem of my t-shirt to do a slow rub of my abs that had Selena biting into her lip as she checked me out.

  In fact, she was staring so hard that she almost got ran over from behind by one of those airport golf carts, the loud honk it gave embarrassing the fuck out of her as she jumped out of the way then held up her hand to yell, “Sorry!”

  Now I was the one laughing at her, waiting until she returned to my side to tell her, “See. Karma for all that shit talkin’.”

  Snapping her head back, she gushed, “Wow. My life was in danger and that’s how you do me?”

  “Ain’t like I would’ve been able to stop it with my skeleton body anyway,” I replied with a shrug that had Selena right back on her teasing tangent as she wrapped herself around my arm and started singing, “Feelings. So deep in his feelings.”

  Honestly, with her being so close and our banter flowing so easily, I kind of forgot we had an audience until Kat stepped in front of us with her arms crossed to ask, “Dre, can I speak to you for a minute?”

  Even though we really weren’t doing anything wrong, Selena was still quick to remove herself from the situation, mouthing a, “Sorry,” with her exit towards where the rest of the team had congregated around the baggage carousel as I gave a casual, “What’s up?”

  Kat was wearing a smile, but her tone was still sharp when she asked, “Care to tell me what that was all about? Cause I’m pretty sure I made myself clear about you two staying away from each other.”

  I would’ve been lying if I didn’t admit, at least to myself, that her concerns were valid. My feelings for Selena were starting to show their ass no matter how deep I tried to bury them. But since the last thing I needed was for Kat to grow more suspicious before I even knew how Selena truly felt about me, I did my best to play it down.

  “She’s my player. We’re friends. It’s really not that deep.”

  Instead of accepting my response, Kat stepped closer to advise, “Look, Dre. I get it. Selena’s pretty, she’s charismatic, she’s all that and more. But part of keeping her focused on that championship is keeping her hungry, and I can’t have her getting full off your attention.”

  Something about her words didn’t sit right with me, a frown on my face when I asked, “Wait. So first it was a PR thing, and now it’s about a championship? I mean, you do realize I’m not the only nigga in Nashville, right? She could be getting “full” regardless of what you think we got goin’ on.”

  Shaking her head, she reasoned more to herself than me, “Nah. Now that we’re in season, I doubt she has the time to start something fresh. Then again, I have noticed something brewing between her and Kage, so maybe I need to check his little ass too.”

  To a regular person, it probably sounded crazy. But I knew some of these owners would do whatever to get that trophy and the clout that came with it, going as far as inserting themselves into the personal lives of their players if they knew it could have an effect on the outcome. And considering who Kat’s father was, and the fact that she’d watched him wheel and deal in the same position for over a decade with the Trojans, I wasn’t surprised that she’d inherited the gene.

  Still, that didn’t mean I was going to let her overregulate my moves with that shit, placing a hand to her shoulder to give a little advice of my own. “Do what you gotta do. But just know, I’m here to do my job and that’s all.”

  From the look in her eyes, I knew she wanted to believe me. But she didn’t back down from her position, smirking to suggest, “Well I’m gonna need you in the mirror repeating that shit like an affirmation every time you think about fuckin’ around with our shooting guard, okay?”

  No lie, hearing it out loud made it hit a little different, thinking back on that pros and cons list I was supposed to make before I fell asleep on the plane. And since pissing off my boss was definitely a top con, I made a quick decision to fall back for now, softening her a little bit when I sweetly answered, “Sure thing, Katianna.”

  Her smirk remained for a beat longer than necessary before she moved onto something else. And when I finally did the same, it was only to catch the unreadable look on Selena’s face as she caught my eyes for a split second before rushing to pull them away.

  Seven

  The ball was in my hands, and I knew exactly what I was going to do with it.

  First, an inbounds pass to Mikayla at half court. Then, set up my defender to get checked with a back screen from Talia so that I could get in position for Mikayla’s pass back to me for a corner three-pointer to win the game.

  It was a simple play; one we had drilled repeatedly in practice and even walked through just earlier this morning for situations like this. And I was more than ready to make it happen, more than ready to accept yet another game ball for leading us to victory as I watched Mikayla blow past her defender to create enough space so that she could get a clean pass off to me.

  Except… it wasn’t a clean pass; the defender using every inch of her wingspan to catch just enough of the ball with her fingertips and deflect it in a way that had me scrambling to both secure the ball and get a shot up before the buzzer went off. And from there, it felt like everything was going in slow motion, the ball rotating through the air - and only ever touching air - as the other team secured it near the rim with time already expired to win the game.

  Watching our opponents celebrate surviving a close one on their home court came second to my personal scolding, trying to figure out how I’d missed so badly. I mean, sure I was drained from playing damn near the entire game because of how competitive it was from start to finish. But I lived for moments like this; I showed up for moments like this. And I’d shot well all game, making this fluke of an air ball even harder to understand.

  With a frustrated clap, I finally headed towards our bench, not at all soothed by the, “My fault” Mikayla expressed in reference to her sketchy pass, or the, “That’s alright, Sharpie” Coach Sugar offered with a pat to my shoulder, or the optimistic, “You’ll hit it next time” from Dre like he knew there’d be one. Even as we slapped hands with the other team, all I could think about was the shot.

  No rim.

  No net.

  No backboard.

  All air.

  Soaring close enough to the target for everyone to know it was a legitimate attempt, and I blew it.

  Fuck.

  When their head coach stopped me for a quick conversation, I was hardly present enough to catch any of her words, only nodding along until she gave me the customary back pat to signal she was done. And as I made my way towards the locker room, I threw a towel over my head and kept my eyes low, knowing any eye contact would turn into an autograph request I wasn’t in the mood to sign or a picture I didn’t want to take.

  Not today.

  Not after… that.

  What the fuck was that, Selena?

  As Coach Sugar gave her postgame remarks, the question played over and over again in my head, even after she expressed how proud she was of us for fighting to the end and putting ourselves in position to win.

  But we hadn’t won.

  There was no second-place winner in this shit; only a winner and a
loser. And because of me, our season’s record was no longer perfect, making the whole thing sting even more as we took the somber bus ride back to our hotel.

  When we pulled up, I realized a few of our diehard fans were standing outside to welcome us, sending me through another blitz of what was supposed to be encouraging words for the rest of the season that really only reminded me of my fuck-up. And the frustration of that followed me all the way to the room I was sharing with Talia who was already in the middle of a happy-go-lucky FaceTime call with her baby girl and partner back home like nothing had even happened.

  For her, I suppose that was accurate since she’d done her job on that final play by getting me open. But as the one who hadn’t delivered, this shit sucked. And I wasn’t sure what to do about it other than try to figure out what I’d done wrong.

  Grabbing my iPad, I pulled up the clip that was already making its rounds on the internet under the headline, “Connecticut Survives!” when it really should’ve been, “Selena Samuels Fails!” watching it intently for any obvious errors. But unfortunately, the more I ran it back, the worse I felt about it, peeking over at Talia who was too busy cooing into the screen to notice my self-pity.

  She did give me an idea though, one I wasted no time acting on as I hopped up from my bed to tell her, “I’ll be back.” And after catching the nod she gave my way to let me know she’d heard me, I grabbed my phone and left the room to make a FaceTime call of my own, waiting patiently with my back against the hallway wall for my father to pick up.

  It rang for a while, to the point that I considered hanging up and going back to the room. But when the call finally connected, I was glad I hadn’t, an instant grin on my lips when I caught the view of my father’s chin because of the awkward way he had his phone positioned.

  Yeah, he was still getting used to the technology. But at least he was there to hear my sighed, “Daddy.”

  “Selena. How are you, dear?” he asked, doing his best to adjust the screen to a better spot now that he could see how off he was.

  But really, I just needed to hear his voice, needed to know he was there for me when I answered, “Not good. Did you see the game?”

  “I caught the first few minutes. But baby boy was having trouble going to sleep, and I ended up putting the both of us down,” he answered with a laugh that I wanted to join in on but struggled to since… he really didn’t watch my game?

  The answer to that question was clear when he followed up, “How’d you do?”

  Pushing out another sigh, I replied, “Uh… well. Overall, I had a good game. But in the end, I…”

  Before I could get to the most upsetting part, the part I had really called to talk about, he cut me off. “Gotdamnit. Your brother is up and crying again. I think he’s coming down with somethin’. Let me go check on him, and I’ll give you a call back, okay?”

  It shouldn’t have been a big deal for him to call me back. Surely my needs weren’t as urgent as the baby’s, and my whining about the game could wait. But I also couldn’t shake the disappointment of him rushing me off the phone. And maybe it was just my emotionally-vulnerable state, but admittedly I was upset when I told him, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later,” before ending the call without saying anything more.

  Releasing another sigh, I rested against the wall with my eyes closed, squeezing my phone in my hand as I thought about who else I could rant to about the game. All of my teammates were out of the question since, well, they’d experienced the shit firsthand and were probably still mad at me for it. Ari would’ve been a no-brainer if she hadn’t already texted me a note of support followed by a good night text that marked her as unavailable. And as far as my friends outside of the game went, I knew they wouldn’t understand, leaving me with one last option.

  Instead of making any assumptions, I opted to send him a text and was grateful for his almost immediate response.

  “Hey. You around to chat?” - Selena

  “Yeah. Room 1738.” - Dre

  Thankfully we were on the same floor, making it a quick trip to the other end of the long hallway that I put the hood of my jacket on for just in case some nosy folks - mainly Mikayla - were lurking around. And after a single knock, Dre pulled the door open, notably shirtless, moving to the side to let me past as he announced, “Excuse the mess. Tryna fit in my studies when I can.”

  “Your studies? You’re back in school?” I asked once I saw the assortment of random papers, pens and highlighters, a textbook, and a laptop in the middle of his bed.

  Shrugging, he plopped down onto the mattress and started straightening up while answering, “Just part-time, all online. Somethin’ light.”

  He might’ve been playing humble about it, but I was too impressed to do the same when I pulled my hood down to tell him, “Still incredibly commendable, Dre. Especially while in-season.”

  “And because that was actually a decent compliment coming from you, I’ll take it,” he replied with a smile, patting the cleared space next to him as an invitation for me to take a seat.

  Because I knew my intentions, I didn’t hesitate to accept, not expecting to get goosebumps from his freshly-showered scent and the up-close view of the tattoos he was covered in. And when he asked, “What’s on your mind?” in some especially sultry tone, I considered a different answer for a split second, doing my best to shake it off so that I could get to what I’d really come here for.

  Pulling up the clip on my phone, I started, “Okay, so I’ve watched this final play back like a thousand times, and I can’t see where I went so wrong. My mechanics were on point. The defender had just barely recovered from Talia’s pick, so it wasn’t like she was really in my way. And yeah, Mikayla’s pass got tipped, but I still caught the ball.”

  When the clip started playing for a second time, Dre pressed paused and pointed to where I was positioned on the screen. “Selena, look where you shot it from.”

  “The three-point line. Exactly where I was supposed to be,” I replied, not understanding his point until he pressed again.

  “No. Really look where you shot it from,” he repeated, my eyes squinted as he gave a full explanation. “Deep corner, damn near behind the hoop. Easily the hardest place to shoot from on the court, especially off-balance like you were when you landed after saving Mikayla’s pass from going out of bounds.”

  He had a point, though I struggled to completely agree. “So it was a tough shot. That’s still not an excuse for a fuckin’ air ball.”

  “Can’t make ‘em all, lil’ baby,” he offered with a shrug that didn’t exactly make me feel any better.

  Well… his presence in general was somehow making me feel better, but not his words, a slight frown on my face when I told him, “I thought you’d have better advice than this.”

  For whatever reason, that made him chuckle as he stood up to reply, “I’ve played the game. I know how it goes. And yeah, those are the ones you wish you can get back, but… it happens, Selena. To all of us.”

  “In all that I’ve watched, I don’t ever remember it happening to you,” I challenged, watching as he rested against the edge of the dresser with a distant look that I wondered about until he quietly responded.

  “Eleventh-grade. Class 5 state championship game. Wide-open fastbreak.”

  “Oh no…” I sighed, already feeling bad for bringing it up as he crossed his arms over his bare chest to explain, “Oh yeah. We were down one, whole crowd on their feet. I got a steal for a fastbreak and choked on the dunk that would’ve won us the state title for a third year in a row.”

  “Dre…” was all I could say, trying to imagine how his teen-self dealt with such a disappointing moment. Though when he rejoined me on the bed wearing a smirk, it seemed as if the whole thing was funny to him now; especially once he chuckled to say, “I know, right? Why didn’t I just lay it up? How could I miss that? I dunked a solid four times in the game before that moment, so how did I trick-off the most important one? I had all those same
questions. But the reality is, it happens. Shit happens.”

  “And that we both suck. Thanks for the show of solidarity,” I told him teasingly, feeling a lot better about it now that I wasn’t so… alone.

  Not situationally, not emotionally, not physically. He was here with me in all of it, bumping his shoulder into mine when he groaned, “Of everything your goofy ass could’ve gotten outta that story…”

  Giggling, I grabbed his hand to tell him, “No, seriously though. Thanks for that perspective. I’ve played a lot of games. I’ve missed plenty of shots. But never like that. Never for the game.”

  “And now you’re in elite company because of it. Welcome to the club, Ms. Samuels,” Dre offered, leaning my way to press a kiss against my forehead that made my cheeks flush warm. Then he bent a little lower to plant a soft kiss against the tip of my nose, my heart racing with anticipation of the inevitable next stop in his pattern that he unfortunately opted out of in favor of asking, “You feel better now?”

  Because he was still so close, I only nodded my head “yes”, watching his lips curl into a grin when he replied, “Good. Cause I ain’t want you to think I was tryna take advantage of you when I did this.”

  In what felt like one long blink, Dre’s lips were on mine, kissing me so gently it was borderline infuriating since how could something so sweet and tender possibly have me feeling so hot?

  When he cupped his hand against my chin, I understood. Dre had a lowkey sex appeal about him, a presence that didn’t require him to do a bunch of extra shit to prove himself. He just delivered. He knew what he was doing. And when he slipped his tongue between my lips, I was giddy to receive his confidence, moaning as his hand gravitated towards the nape of my neck to pull me in even closer for a kiss I couldn’t get enough of; for a moment I didn’t want to end.

  It did have to end, though. No matter how badly I wanted this kiss to carry into something more, I couldn’t let it, Kat’s message about keeping things professional playing in the back of my head as I pushed away with a groaned, “Mm. I should probably go. Let you get back to your studies.”

 

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