by Sierra Hill
I’m not saying it’s been easy, because it hasn’t. Especially when it comes to all the jealous hoop hunnies (a term which Cade explained to me that I found horribly disgusting, but accurate). If I had a dollar for every stink-eye glare I get from them when I’m with Cade, then I’d be a very rich girl.
It amazes me how many women will make a play for Cade, even when it’s obvious that he’s with me. Either I’m completely invisible, or they think I’m replaceable, because they couldn’t care less that his attention is on me. These girls will stop at nothing to flirt with him, find a way to give him their number, or fawn over him like he’s a demi-god to be worshipped.
I’ve even noticed that some of his friends have been a little stand offish and cold to me. Not all, but a few. Cade merely suggested that they are probably concerned that he’ll lose focus going into season if he has a serious girlfriend. That makes some sense, I guess. Then there’s the other reason, which he claims is because they’re just jealous because he has the hottest girl on campus.
Yeah, right.
Today I’m in the library with my friend Micaela, or Mica as she goes by, who is my study partner in my program, finishing a project for our Nursing Theories class. I really like Mica. She’s a native of Arizona, grew up near Flagstaff and is part Hispanic. Although my skin is quite a bit lighter than hers, and my eyes are blue where hers are molasses brown, we actually could pass for sisters.
We’ve become close over the last two months, my only female friend outside of my co-workers. Once she warmed up to me (she’s extremely shy), she opened up quite a bit about her life, her family and her overbearing Mexican father, who is apparently trying to marry her off to some distant relative. I guess we all have our problems in life and families can be Numero Uno when it comes to life’s little dramas.
We’ve been busy reading and writing for the last hour, when Mica pipes up with a question out of the blue.
“So what’s it like dating Mr. Popularity?” Her smile is fragile, but curiously sweet. Mica has met Cade on a few occasions when he’s walked me to class or when we hang out in the cafeteria. But she’s never said much to him – and doesn’t really need to, because Cade is a Chatty Cathy.
I scoff. “Way more complicated than I realized it would be.”
Mica tilts her head in curiosity, her shiny dark hair falling over her bronzed shoulder.
“What do you mean? What could be so complicated about going out with a hot basketball stud like Cade Griffin?” And then she frowns, as if she realizes she’s said something that was inappropriate or divulged too much. “I mean…he’s just really hot.”
My laughter bubbles out and over as I watch Mica’s face turn beet red.
Dropping my highlighter in the crack of my open book, I settle back into the cushioned chair. We’re in a small alcove in the back of the library, two over-stuffed chairs and a small table between us. I think about her curiosity and what it looks like from Mica’s perspective, being an innocent observer of my situation.
She and I are a lot alike in our social status. Neither of us are in college to party or be part of the royal society. We’re here to improve our lives through academics. And sometimes that comes at a high price.
“Cade is definitely a Hottie McHotterson,” I giggle, remembering what he looked like stark naked the other night as we skinny dipped in the pool at his mom’s house.
He’d invited me over to meet and have dinner with his mom, but soon after dinner we found ourselves alone when she went over to John’s house next door. Both his childhood home and his incredible physique illuminated by pool lights impressed me silly.
“And believe it or not, Cade’s super sweet. I didn’t expect that from him. I guess I had it in my head that if you met one stuck-up, arrogant jock, you’ve met them all. But there’s more to him than that. Cade’s super smart, funny, fun to be around, and is very generous. I’m actually still pinching myself that I’m dating him. It’s kind of unreal.”
Her mouth opens and closes before she speaks again.
“I see how he looks at you, chica. It’s part hunger and awe because eres bonita.”
Thankfully, Spanish was my foreign language elective in high school, so I’m well aware she just called me beautiful, which is really sweet. But even more so, it’s that it’s nice to know she’s also observed the same thing I have with Cade. I was hopeful, but weary about his true feelings. And if she sees it in the way Cade looks at me, then maybe it is for real.
“Thanks, Mica. It just seems weird, though. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend…and definitely not a star athlete boyfriend. It hasn’t been easy finding time with him. We’re both busy. And I get a little paranoid when I can’t go with him to these parties, where I know…” I pause, questioning whether I should voice my insecurities that have popped up recently.
The kindness in her eyes tells me I can trust her with my inner most thoughts. “It’s just that there’s a lot of temptation for a guy like Cade. So many of these girls don’t care that he has a girlfriend and will do anything to get with him.”
There. I said it. Out loud.
Trust has got to be part of any relationship, as well as open communication. I’ve wanted to have the “talk” with Cade regarding exclusivity or monogamy on more than one occasion, but it kills me to broach the subject. But if I don’t, it will drive me crazy always wondering what he’s up to or who’s hanging around him when I’m not with him. Which is actually a lot. I only see him a few times a week as it is…and that time will shrink even more when he starts practices, which are in a few weeks.
“Are you worried he’ll cheat on you?”
I nod and give her a defeated shrug. “Maybe…no…yes…I don’t know. I’ve only been with one other guy and all I have to go by as examples are my mother’s douchewad exes. They all fucked around behind her back.”
Mica hums in agreement. “Maybe you should just come clean with him and ask. Clear your head of the question. And ease your mind of worry.”
It shouldn’t be a difficult thing to ask him, right? But how does one go about it? Is it just a casual statement, something like, “‘Hey, by the way…is this dick only for me? Or am I sharing it with anyone else?’”
Awkward.
Mica has a really good point, though. I can’t just let it fester inside because it will soon turn into an evil green-eyed monster and I don’t want to be that kind of girlfriend.
“You’re right. The next time I see him, I’ll just ask him. Just to set the record straight.” I nod with more self-assurance than I actually feel, but it gives me the confidence I need to address the elephant in the room.
Mica shifts uncomfortably in her chair and her brown eyes go round as saucers. It’s then that I realize Cade is behind me. And then I hear his voice, the timber of his baritone, smoky and sweet.
“Ask him what?”
Cade bends down next to my chair and places a kiss on my cheek, while I try to come up with a response, glancing at Mica for help.
“Hey Mica,” he smiles at her, his lush green eyes dancing with kindness. “You’re looking gorgeous today.” He gives a chin nod in her direction before turning to face me.
“And so is my girl. Damn hot.”
Cade wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me in. His mouth takes possession of mine, my lips parting to allow his tongue to slide in and ravage me. I hum in appreciation. And I think I hear Mica sigh.
Once he pulls back, I remain transfixed on him. My eyes can’t look away. Cade always looks good, but today he’s wearing a dark gray suit jacket and pants, a crisp white dress shirt underneath, the collar unbuttoned and no tie. His hair is styled and gelled, so the wavy curls remain in place and his face is free of his usual scruff.
“Hi Cade.” I hear Mica say, her voice soft and wispy, but I don’t look her way. I know she gets all tongue tied around Cade and his friends. Who wouldn’t? Especially if they look this fine all dressed up. His eyes flit between me and Mica, before landin
g on me again.
“So what’s up? What record are you talking about?”
I let out a nervous laugh.
“Nothing,” I wave my hand in dismissal, searching Mica’s face for help. “We were just discussing our class and need to ask Professor Dalton about our project.”
That seems plausible and I think Cade buys it since he doesn’t pursue it further. His formal attire, though, has me curious to know why he’s all gussied up. Grabbing the lapel of his jacket, I yank him toward me and cock my eyebrow, giving him a wry smile.
“What’s up with the fancy duds? You going out on a date with someone?” I catch Mica’s flustered gaze. Yeah, probably not the question I should be asking, but close enough. A little passive-aggressive, but it’s a start.
Cade grunts and stands up, causing both Mica’s and my heads to track his movement. Up. Up. Up. Geez, we both have to crane our necks to keep our eyes on his face.
“We have this stupid press conference and team interviews with the media tonight. Since we’re getting closer to Midnight Madness-”
I cut him off. “Midnight Madness? What’s that?”
Cade shakes his head and smacks his forehead with his palm in exasperation. When he lifts his hand, his nose is scrunched up in distaste.
“The one girl I fall for and she knows nothing about basketball.” Mica snickers and bites down on her bottom lip to presumably keep from tittering with laughter. Yeah, I too, noticed his particular choice of words and I can’t hold back my grin.
“Midnight Madness is the first official basketball team practice with the coaching staff. It’s held every year around the fifteenth of October on campuses across the country. It’s actually a pretty big deal and it gets a lot of media attention. It’s also open to the public. So if you two want to come, you know, watch me play, I’ll make sure you get tickets.”
I have to admit, I’ve never been to a basketball game or even watched one, for that matter. In high school Phys Ed, we had to learn to dribble a ball, and that’s about the extent of my knowledge. I know absolutely nothing about the game, except the things Cade has shared with me about offense and defensive plays and the positions of a team. I know he’s a shooting guard, but don’t remember anyone else’s role.
The prospect of watching Cade out on the court, playing hard and showing off his skills, does have some appeal. Mica looks unsure, her doe eyes cast downward, when I speak up for both of us.
“Well, if I’m not working that night, and if Mica wants to tag along with me, I’d love to go. Sounds fun!”
By the way Cade reacts, you’d think I’d just handed Cade a million dollar check from the Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes. His eyes light up with the biggest, dopiest smile across his face and he pumps his fist in the air.
“Yes! That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He leans down and kisses me loudly on my forehead, leaving a big old wet mark I wipe off with the back of my hand.
“Cade, hold on…I don’t want you to get your hopes up. You know I might have to work. And Mica might be busy that night, too.”
Now his smile fades a little and he looks crestfallen like I’ve just kicked his new litter of puppies. I’m such a shit girlfriend. I always have to rain on his parade with my real-life problems.
“Okay. I understand.” And then he smiles broadly again. “But I’ll cross my fingers and hope for the best.”
That’s what I’ve come to admire about Cade Griffin. He has this positive outlook that never seems to dull or fade. There’s been something bothering him, though, recently. There are times I think he wants to tell me something, but whatever it is, he doesn’t say. Whatever it is, he does an admirable job of pushing it away and not letting it get him down.
I wish I could say the same thing. I’m normally a glass half-full kind of girl, myself. But lately, it seems there’s something going on that I can’t quite put my finger on. I can feel it brewing and percolating, like coffee in an old-fashioned coffee pot on the stove. Ever-so-slowly, the temperature rises, the liquid heating within the pot to its boiling point, while the atmosphere around it remains the same, until the hot liquid soon bubbles and roils in its container, spilling over the edge of the smooth surface.
Perhaps I’m being paranoid. You can’t blame me. I’ve only ever seen disaster - when all good things come to an angry, heartbreaking conclusion. Whether it’s my mother’s elated moods shifting suddenly to sullen or manic. Or her so-called perfect boyfriends revealing their true natures. Or our lives coming unhinged and uprooted for something bigger and better elsewhere.
I’ve learned to live in fear of attachments, avoiding them at all costs. Believe me, it’s not what I want. I do want to build friendships that I can rely upon. And open myself up to a man who can prove to be trustworthy. One who treats me with respect, and love, and courtesy. A man who is honest and has integrity, who doesn’t just tell me things I want to hear.
A guy who will ruin me – in a good way – for any future men to come.
So planning ahead to future events with Cade and Mica, even one as innocuous as a team practice, is big for me. It gives me hope where hope has never resided. It’s setting an expectation of something worthy to come on the calendar in my heart.
And it scares the shit out of me.
16
Cade
I’m a pretty affable guy. It’s just my nature. Definitely a characteristic I got from my mother, because my dad is a serious asshole.
But when you’re bombarded with cameras in your face, microphones nearly reaching down to your tonsils, and bright lights and flashes blinding your eyes, it takes all your willpower to keep calm and paste on a cheesy grin. Press conferences are the worst. I know that sounds whiny and unappreciative of the notoriety, but a Kardashian, I am not.
I love the game of basketball. I enjoy pushing myself to be better. The buzzer-beater shots that make your soul soar. The claps on the back from your teammates and coaches when you’ve achieved a triple-double in a game. Or even the solidarity with your team when you’ve lost a tough game against a stronger opponent. It’s the moments on and off the court that build character, strength and mental toughness.
Sitting in front of photographers and sports news crews is one of my least favorite things to do. I loved it at one point – when I first started. It was pretty fucking awesome to see my name, my picture and glowing reviews about my playing skills in the news. Inevitably, though, I started getting asked questions about the draft – would I declare my interest? When would I declare? Would I finish school before getting drafted? Where would I be picked to go?
The problem with those questions is that I’ve always had to stretch the truth about my decision. Unlike most players from the time they’re in grade school, I’ve never wanted to go pro or play in the NBA. It’s just not my life’s ambition. My goal, and the last four years of my life, has been dedicated to pursuing an education in the biomedical engineering field. After I graduate with my undergrad, I’ll start my Master’s program, hopefully landing me a position where I can someday invent a therapeutic medical device to aid in life-sustainment.
That’s way more meaningful than basketball.
My friends, and even dad, think I’m out of my mind not to go pro. But listen – only a small majority of players have more than a three-year shelf life. I’d likely make the league minimum, struggle to get court time, potentially deal with injuries, and have to travel an insane amount of the year. I’m sure it would be fun as hell. For a time. Until it isn’t.
In the meantime, I’m stuck here – with my team and coaching staff – answering stupid, inane questions about stats, potential chances at a title, and our toughest competitors.
I’ve just answered a question related to how we, the team, help with the new recruits and incoming freshman, when Ethan Drummond from AGC Sports Network throws out a question that stuns and flattens me. I’m sure it looks like I’ve just seen a ghost.
“So, Cade…Coach Welby just spoke about i
ntegrity and how he requires his players to be role models for the new team members…” Okay, where the hell is this guy going with this?
“In light of your recent arrest, court hearing, and probation, Griff, tell us how can you be looked up to as a respectable leader?”
Oh shit. This is not good.
My mouth dries up and a lump of anxiety bubbles up in my throat as I look down the table with a plea to Coach Welby. The expression on his face is stern, but impenetrable. I have no idea what’s going on in his head but I’m sure the shock and fear of the question the reporter just posed is registered all over my face. I blink and swallow as I try to gain my composure.
“Um…” I stutter. I’m seriously at a loss for words.
And then Coach Welby pipes in.
“As you very well know, Mr. Drummond. Kincaid Griffin has been a leader on this team since he started with ASU. His academic successes are currently unmatched, he’s been recognized nationally for his athletic skills, honored for his volunteerism, and revered by his past and current team members. He’s a leader in every way, on and off the court. Whatever you’ve read or dug up about his personal life has no merit or relevance to the skills he lends to this team.”
Coach Welby’s voice is grim and vibrates like an earthquake aftershock through the room. Cameras flash in the back and my eyes dart nervously at all the faces sitting in front of me. Their fingers type furiously at keyboards and keypads, some reporters still using old fashioned pencil and paper. They all observe one thing – Coach’s response brooks no argument.
Yet, the reporter continues to push, prying for a juicy response.
“So what you’re saying, Coach Welby, is that you condone the stunt Cade Griffin pulled by getting arrested for public intoxication, indecent exposure and an underage DUI?” The entire room lights up in whispers, gasps and a flutter of activity.
Drummond continues, a dog on a bone. Smirking like he’s about to receive an award for his investigative reporting.