One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2)

by Alexandra Warren

  It did feel too fuckin’ good. And I was enthusiastic about letting him know that with every stroke, gripping into his back, and his shoulders, and his ass, and basically anything I could get my hands on while he continued to imprint himself on my inner walls. But when he slowed it down and paired his careful strokes with deep tongue kisses, I assumed he was trying to imprint himself on my entire being, my toes curling as he sexed me with unspoken feelings like this was about much more than just making me feel better about the game.

  Nah, Dre was trying to tell me something.

  Exactly what that was, I wasn’t sure. But because of the way our souls had tied in such a short period of time, I felt it in my gut, I felt it in my heart, I just… felt it. And I felt him, using intimacy to pour into me in ways he’d never done before.

  It was intense, and a little overwhelming. But it also felt so good that I didn’t want him to stop, tears reaching my ducts as my nerves were flooded with the static of my approaching orgasm. And with his special knowledge of my body, Dre did exactly what he had to do to send me over the moon, sexing me through it to get his own that he just barely pulled out of me in time to release all over my clit.

  He was still grunting with aftershocks when I teased, “Looks like your pull-out game needs a little work.”

  “Practice makes perfect, right?” he fired back with the sexiest smirk, planting a kiss on my cheek before leaving the bed to go clean himself up. And while I planned to follow him to the bathroom so I could do the same, the heavy desire for a quick catnap came first, feeling grateful that Dre knew to return with a warm towel so that he could wipe up his mess and kiss me goodnight.

  Sixteen

  With only fifteen games following All-Star weekend, it felt like the season was flying by. And honestly, with how well everything was finally going in my world, I wished it would slow the hell down. I mean, the Nymphs were thriving, my relationship with Selena was blossoming on a daily, I’d successfully finished my online course. Even my mother was making good progress in her rehabilitation program, calling every so often to check-in which was something we’d never done.

  It was nice, though.

  Different, but appreciated since it kept me from worrying about her even if the worrying was mostly subconscious. And not only that, but it allowed me to focus even more on my own shit, my emotional tank full enough to really experience everything that came with falling in love with Selena Samuels.

  Yeah, that shit was happening whether I wanted it to or not. But she made it so damn easy and fun that I would’ve been a fool not to welcome the feeling with open arms, a smile on my face as I watched her warm up for our home game against Seattle.

  They were the top team in the Western Conference, making tonight’s game something like a tone-setter for the playoffs coming up. And even though the only way we’d actually play against them was if - when - we both advanced to the finals, it was still important that we let them know they didn’t want no smoke with us in a best-of-five situation.

  We were coming for it all.

  Before I’d accepted the job, I honestly wasn’t sure how easy that “we” would come, wasn’t sure if it would ever feel quite natural, didn’t know if I’d ever feel apart. But over the course of the season, I’d not only grown to respect how hard these women worked and the high level at which they competed, but I’d also grown connected to the other coaches and players as people, feeling like I’d gained a gang of sisters who I’d ride for in a heartbeat.

  Well… all except for one; that one deserving of much more than just familial loyalty. And with every day that passed, I did my best to show her that, letting my actions speak for me in ways words wouldn’t do any justice.

  She felt it though. And not only did she feel it, she knew just how to reciprocate it.

  Even now as I sat on the bench at the opposite end of the court, she found a moment to peek over her shoulder to shoot me a smile, turning back around just as quickly to catch a pass from one of the trainers who was walking her through her pregame drills. And considering how laser-focused she was maneuvering through those, I knew we were in for an entertaining game, feeling excited about it as a heavy presence filled the seat next to mine.

  There were only a handful of people I held in high regard and the person with the presence easily sat at the top of the list, his energy speaking for him long before he even said a word. And when he did, I was completely tuned in, ready to receive whatever message he came to deliver that turned out to be much simpler than I expected.

  ”I’m proud of you, Dre.”

  Coming from Mr. Philip Lloyd - patriarch of the Lloyd family who owned the Tennessee Trojans and the man who, with his daughter Katianna, had taken a chance on me - those words felt like the ultimate gold star, a grin on my lips as I turned his way to say, “I appreciate that, sir.”

  Nodding, he continued, “A lot of men in your position would’ve frowned down on an opportunity like this, thinking they were too good for the WNBA. But you? You’ve taken it and ran with it. You’ve made this assistant coaching position your own. And that not only speaks to your character, but also your knowledge of the game since this is clearly panning out to be a special season for the Nymphs.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more with his sentiment about this season feeling special, giving praise where it was due when I replied, “I wish I could take credit, but Katianna assembled a very talented squad.”

  With a wave of his hand, he teased, “Ah, I’ll let you brag on your girl Selena later,” catching me off-guard since I didn’t even know he knew about that. Then again, with Katianna being his daughter, I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d tattled on us; though it didn’t seem like Mr. Lloyd cared either way as he continued, “Anyway. I was hoping we could make some time to discuss your future with the Trojans.”

  “You mean the Nymphs?”

  Shaking his head, he put a heavy hand to my shoulder to reply, “I said it right the first time, Dre.” And he must’ve noticed the confusion on my face since he knew to explain, “Putting you with the Nymphs was really more of a test to see how serious you were about coaching, to see how committed you’d be as the season went on, to… really make sure you were taking better care of yourself. And now that that’s proven, I have a spot on the Trojans staff with your name on it.”

  “Wow. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “A smart man would say yes based off the pay raise alone,” he suggested with a chuckle. “But I understand if the decision is a little more complicated than that now.”

  As if to put extra meaning behind his words, he gave a little nod towards the court where Selena was just finishing up her drills, dabbing at the sweat she’d worked up with the hem of her warm-up shirt before moving to sign a few pregame autographs for the fans who had arrived extra early. And after granting a few pictures too, she made her way over to us, skipping past me to greet Mr. Lloyd with an extremely casual, “Hey Phil.”

  No one I knew had ever gotten away with calling him Phil, something he was typically firm about with anyone he came across. But of course Selena had special privileges that had Mr. Lloyd standing up from his chair to give her both a shoulder hug and a cheek kiss before asking, “You’re gonna put those pacific northwesterners to shame tonight, right?”

  “Wouldn’t have shown up today if that wasn’t in the plans,” she replied sharply, her grin from earlier replaced with a scowl that told us both she was very serious about what she’d just said.

  Mr. Lloyd was digging the energy, acknowledging so when he wagged his finger and commented, “See. I need someone like you on the Trojans. Like that one movie, Juwanna Mann, but the other way around.”

  The idea made me chuckle. But because Selena was already in the zone, she hardly even flinched as she told him, “You have plenty me’s, Phil. Just gotta have the right coach to know what to do with them.”

  With a raised eyebrow, Mr. Lloyd challenged, “Are you saying Coach Kirkwood doesn’t have the jui
ce?”

  “I’m sayin’ Niko, Kage, and Zeb are way too solid of a core for the Trojans to have lost in the playoffs even if no one really expected them to be there in the first place. But hey, what do I know?” she told him with a passive-aggressive smirk, excusing herself to head to the locker room and leaving Mr. Lloyd with something to think about according to the inquisitive look on his face.

  He didn’t speak on it though, instead choosing to comment, “I can tell you have your hands full with that one, young man.”

  “In the best way possible,” I told him with a proud smile, happy to have my hands overflowing with everything Selena. And when I finally joined her in the locker room for Sugar’s pregame rundown, I couldn’t stop myself from watching her even though she was paying me no mind, completely tuned into what Coach was saying before Mikayla took over to hype everyone up in a way only she could.

  By the time she was finished, I was convinced the squad would’ve ran through the wall if the locker room door wasn’t already opened for them. Well… everyone except for Selena who stayed back so that we could share what had become something like our pregame ritual - a special handshake with way too many parts and two quick kisses; one to her forehead and the second on her lips.

  Other than general basketball stuff, that was often the only real communication we’d have before any game since Selena was a stickler about her routine. And tonight was no different, Selena jogging to catch up to her teammates before they entered the court to a chorus of much-deserved cheers from the crowd.

  It was honestly fascinating to see just how much support they had, especially when compared to some of the other teams around the league who often struggled to fill up even the smallest of arenas to no fault of their own. But here, things were different. The fandom was dynamic, the energy was electric. And when The Golden Geras - the senior citizen dance team that the Nymphs and Trojans shared - came out to perform before tip-off, it only turned the knob up on the electricity that was already fueling the crowd which, in turn, fueled our squad who jumped out to an early twelve to two lead with Selena scoring six of the twelve.

  Yeah, lil’ baby was in her bag tonight. And I couldn’t have been prouder as I watched her do exactly what she’d planned to do in putting the pacific northwesterners to shame, splashing back-to-back shots from three-point land that brought her personal point total to twelve in less than four minutes and forced Seattle to call a timeout so they could regroup.

  That only fired Selena up even more, pounding her chest as her teammates crowded around her with hi-fives and shoulder bumps that I enjoyed from a distance since getting too close to her in a moment like this would’ve only been a distraction. But when I saw Selena staring out into the crowd with a rare mid-game grin compared to her typical stoic look, I couldn’t help following her line of vision, quickly realizing the reason for her turn-up was beyond just setting the tone for the playoffs.

  Mr. Samuels was there. And not only was he there, he was wiping tears from his eyes and pointing to the ceiling while Selena gnawed on her lip like she was holding back her own emotions as she rubbed the heart tattoo dedicated to her mother and brother on the back of her shoulder.

  It was a special moment even if no one else caught it. And I made a mental note to ask her about it later, the buzzer signaling the end of the timeout locking her right back in for the rest of the first quarter that got a little more competitive. Still, the Nymphs remained in control of the tempo, maintaining the lead into halftime that only gave them more confidence going into the second half. But Seattle wasn’t going down without a fight, stunning the crowd to silence when they tied the game in the third quarter and reminded everyone why they were the top team in the West.

  Since her quick start, Selena had gone a little cold from behind the arc, only adding a few free throws and a lay-up to her point total for the game. But on defense, she’d turned into a pest, putting all of her energy into getting much-needed stops that allowed our offense to flourish with easy fastbreak points and gave us a comfortable lead going into the final minutes of the game.

  Because we didn’t want to run the risk of anyone getting hurt with the playoffs on the horizon, we took the starters out one by one, including Selena who received a standing ovation for her efforts in leading the charge. But as she made her way down the bench giving hi-fives to the rest of the team, I couldn’t help noticing how winded she seemed; something that was unusual for her, especially at this point in the season when she should’ve been in her best physical shape.

  “You good, lil’ baby?” I asked once she plopped down in the seat next to mine on the bench, watching her chest heave as she leaned against the back of the chair as if to open herself up to receive more air.

  “I’m fine,” she breathed heavily before taking a long drag from the water bottle one of the trainers had given her, still blowing hard out of her nose after she swallowed it down.

  Skeptically, I pressed, “You sure? You seem a little gassed.”

  “I said I’m fine,” she repeated with a bit of an attitude that told me something was up. But because the game wasn’t quite over yet, I didn’t push her on it, waiting for the final buzzer to sound so we could shake hands with the other team.

  Of course, that was only the beginning of Selena’s postgame obligations. There was the courtside interview, the time spent signing more autographs, the motivational speech from Sugar in the locker room, the press conference. And because she had family in attendance, she had to spend a little time with them too before finally making her way back around to me.

  Not that I was complaining.

  It was just the reality of being with someone in high demand, though I seemed to be the only one to notice the smile on her lips wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. And once we were alone, I wasted no time getting to the bottom of it, my eyebrow piqued when I asked, “What’s up with you, SeSa?”

  I figured using her nickname would cue her in on the fact that my concern was legit. But for whatever reason, she still got a little defensive anyway, frowning as she questioned, “What are you talkin’ about, Dre?”

  “Your energy. Something seems… I don’t know. Off,” I explained, watching her body language closely to see if it would tell me what I had a feeling her mouth wouldn’t.

  She played it cool though, only shrugging as she reasoned, “That game took a lot out of me.”

  “Because your father was there?”

  “No, because I played hard,” she defended, something I agreed with even though I knew there had to be more to the story since her playing hard wasn’t anything new.

  “I’ll give you that. But I’ve also never seen you so exhausted.”

  With a chuckle, she groaned, “Damn. A girl can’t get a little winded every once in a while? Those Seattle girls were quick, and I’m not exactly getting any younger.”

  “You’re not even five years outta college, Selena,” I reminded her with a little chuckle of my own, catching her smirk before she offered a rebuttal.

  “But I also play year-round which means I’m essentially putting double the miles on my body. I think that shit is starting to catch up with me.”

  Even though I was still feeling a little skeptical, her explanation made reasonable enough sense for me to reply, “Well at least you’ll get a little bit of extra time off to rest with these first and second-round byes in the playoffs.”

  It was a unique format that the WNBA followed with the top two teams getting a ticket straight to the semi-finals instead of having to play in each round, giving us a bit of an advantage that Selena was already relishing in when she replied, “And I’ll need every bit of it, including one of those special massages you give. You know, the one that comes with the side of dick.”

  Wrapping her in a hug, I told her, “We can make that happen, as long as you assure me you’re really as fine as you’re claiming to be.”

  “Don’t I look it?” she asked playfully, making me roll my eyes as I groaned, “You know what I
mean.”

  Pressing her hands into my chest, she pleaded, “I’m fine, Dre. Really. Just extra tired. But I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” she nodded. “Now let’s get outta here before I have to bust your ass on the court again.”

  Shaking my head, I kept my arm wrapped around her shoulder as I teased, “Nah, you ain’t got the range today, lil’ baby. I need it to be fair and square when I run you off the court.”

  “That’ll never happen, but I appreciate your… mmph.”

  The pained expression on her face that followed her grunt made my concern from earlier return, watching as she held her side and groaned, “It’s just a little cramp,” before moving from under my arm so that she could stretch it out. But as she continued to wince through the pain even after it became a bit more tolerable, I knew one thing was for certain.

  My news about the job offer with the Trojans was going on the backburner until I figured out what was really going on with her.

  Seventeen

  Something wasn’t right.

  I’d had my extra time off to rest. I felt fine going through my normal, pregame routine. I’d even played less minutes tonight thanks to our first playoff game turning into a blowout victory. But as I sat in the locker room listening to Sugar’s postgame speech about this win only being the beginning, I still felt tired as hell like I’d played every minute of a game that had gone into triple overtime, my heart pounding like it hadn’t been in a resting state for at least a half hour now.

  Maybe my nerves just hadn’t settled yet.

  There was something about high stakes games that always made me more anxious than normal, even going back to my days of playing AAU ball as a teenager. But I had never experienced anxiety to the point of nausea, literally gagging when I caught a whiff of Mikayla’s shoes the second she removed them.

  “Gotdamn, Mik. I know those rookie checks aren’t much, but I’m sure you can afford to replace those stinky ass sneakers,” I whispered, covering my nose as Mikayla picked them up to take a sniff for herself. And I was surprised that she didn’t pass out because of it, only frowning as she brushed me off to catch the end of Sugar’s speech that encouraged us to rest up before our next game in less than forty-eight hours.