by Mina Vaughn
And then I read the comments.
Never, ever read the comments.
“Thea, it’s what they do. And you’re one of a million victims. Don’t let it get you down.”
I ran my hands through my hair—my hair that was so frizzy and awful according to everyone in the world—and sniffled. “Easier said than done.”
And then Scarlett told me she needed to give me a good talking-to. I was supposed to go to her shop in an hour. But I didn’t want to move. I wanted to crawl into a hole.
“We have to win the national championship tomorrow, Thea.”
I sat up.
It wasn’t that I forgot about the game. Most of my day somehow revolved around it in one way or another. Practice, workout, seeing Callie in her Husky Pride gear twenty-four seven. It was just that I hadn’t really emotionally committed to it yet. I had other problems on my mind, other fish to fry than Notre Dame. And where was Keaton?
“We need your A game, Thea. You know this.”
I breathed in and out through my nose, clearing my mind. “I know.”
She put her hands on my shoulders. “Then cut the shit, woman! What the fuck do you care about some blogger guy who you’ve never met and never will? And those people commenting are probably slamming you because they know they’d never be as lucky or gorgeous or talented. Pull yourself together and focus on what matters.”
Blinking, I sat up and looked at Callie. “You know what? You’d be a good Domme.” I stood up, partially emboldened, and headed to see the best (and only) Domme I knew.
SCARLETT WAS DARK TODAY.
The black eye makeup she had put on made her look like a bandit, with long thick wings coming off her already smoky eyes. Her lips were black and shiny like the vinyl she wore. Her hair fell in long straight sheets down either side of her face and when I saw her expression, a chill ran down my spine.
“Back room, now.”
I marched my way to her innermost sanctum feeling like a child who was being sent to bed early with no dinner. Who was she to boss me around? I thought these things, but did not say them. She scared the crap out of me today and I was as emotionally fragile as it is.
I got into the room and there was just a cold metal chair in the center.
“Sit.”
I jutted my chin out but complied.
“Do you know why you are here?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her.
I clicked my tongue. “Gee, did I tie a knot poorly at some point? Use the wrong end of a riding crop?”
She hovered over me, looking down. “You’re being played and I won’t have it.” The last three words she pronounced staccato, punctuating each syllable.
“Is this because Keaton is a rock star?”
Scarlett sneered. “I thought you were smarter than to get involved with someone like that. A fucking playboy who has little regard for women and who treats the girls he dates like disposable party cups.”
I sat up straighter. “You’re telling me this now, once it’s public? Why didn’t you state your feelings when you actually met him? Why does it have to be now when the whole fucking world is against me?” The walls in here weren’t lined with instruments of pain, but she was already using the worst thing in her arsenal—she made me question my pride.
She bent over me. “That’s because I didn’t know who he was. So I googled him after people started talking about you two. And promptly wanted to flog you.”
“Because he’s famous?”
“Because he’s a womanizer! Because he stands for everything we do not. You and I are Amazons, Thea! We are fucking powerful women who are not to be trifled with. We make boys cry. We make them eat their shame for breakfast. How dare you take a philanderer like him into our circle?”
I stood, knocking the chair over. “He is not any of those things. And he’s not using me. I’m the one benefiting here. He’s taking me to Europe. I get to live a rockstar lifestyle this summer. Don’t you see?”
She squinted. “I see a little girl who doesn’t see the forest for the trees. Taking you to Europe, eh? You’ll be his little pet, who he parades around when it’s convenient and who he leaves in a hotel room when he wants to party.”
“I am his Domme.”
“You are his nineteen-year-old fuck toy.”
Anger took control of me and I raised my hand and slapped Scarlett open-handed across her cheek and mouth. My hand had shiny black lipstick and I wiped it on the metal chair.
“Keaton Lowe is mine. He is my property. He wears my collar. I choose to accompany him because I want to be near him. He pleasures me and I reward him for his good behavior. And I love him not because he’s a rock star, but in spite of that fact.”
Scarlett fixed her hair and straightened, not bothering to wipe the black smear from her mouth. “Don’t come to me when he breaks your heart,” she said, voice cracking. “Don’t set foot in my shop once he’s done pretending he’s submissive and wants to go back to banging fifteen models a night on his tour bus. And don’t you dare raise your hand to me again unless I ask for it.” She smiled at that, and chuckled. “Not a bad bitch slap, I must say.”
I was disarmed by her change in attitude, but I wasn’t going to back down. “Why are you doing this, Scarlett?”
“Because I was like you once. Young and in love over my head. He wasn’t a rocker, but an actor. On Broadway. I was going to school in New York City to be a dancer and I had met him one night after one of his shows. He was the lead. Spectacular,” she said, and began to pace the room. “He introduced me to this world, and to power play. He kissed me and collared me. He held court over my life, making all my decisions, all the while fucking every actress in the city. He got me pregnant, then demanded I get unpregnant. And when he was done with me, when he had his fun with the young coed whom he’d introduced to a new world, all I was left with were these scars and a crop he had left behind at my apartment,” she continued, opening her top and exposing scar upon scar. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed before. “So yes, Thea, I’m leery of powerful and famous men around impressionable college girls.”
I breathed in deep, letting her story sink in. “I’m sorry, Scarlett.”
“Don’t be. It made me who I am today. The man-eater,” she snickered drily. “I made sure I’d never be in the passenger seat ever again. I drive my life now.”
I nodded. “And so do I. I know you care about me, Scarlett, but please believe me. I think Keaton has the best of intentions. I also think I have a good head on my shoulders. You don’t need to worry about me.”
She took a step closer. “Promise me this. Promise me that every decision you make is driven by what’s best for you. What you want for the long term. Subtract anything that’s temporary—cool clothes, things he may buy you, fancy events you may attend. Decide for yourself what’s best for your life. Your real, actual future. If you can still say that you’re happy with going to Europe with him, then fine. Go, and go with my blessing. Hell, nobody likes a good hot D/s relationship more than I do. But take care, okay? Watch over your heart, because I’ve read about him, Thea. He’s a heartbreaker.”
Without a word, I pulled Scarlett in for a hug. She gripped me tight. “Too much like me,” she whispered into my hair. “I want you to have it better, though. I want you to be a Domme because it’s in your personality, not because you hardened like I did.”
I stroked her hair and felt her exhale. “Trust me.”
“I trust you,” she breathed, “but not him.”
Nodding, I had nothing else to say. She didn’t know him like I did, and he had a bad reputation. No, the worst reputation. Nothing I could say could erase the things she had read about him.
“I’ll be there, you know,” she said, “for the game. I was at the Final Four one, too.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I had no idea you liked basketball. Aside from being the landlord, you know.”
She pulled away and grinned, wiping her eyes. “No, but I like you. And that’s rea
son enough.”
The locker room was as still and silent as death. We each sat in our stalls, focused, stoic. Some girls tapped their feet nervously; others checked their hair to make sure their ponytails or braids were in place. Donelle had headphones on and I watched her head bob to the beats. Coach hadn’t made his entrance yet, and we weren’t about to stir before he got us worked up.
Before heading to the arena, I admit I wasn’t in perfect form. A day had passed and I was still rattled by Scarlett’s tirade. True, she didn’t know Keaton the way I did, but I did worry about what she had to say. It was the unspoken fear in my heart. What if he hurt me? What if I ended up just another girl he sang to and won over?
And I hadn’t even heard from him today. He knew it was the national championship and yet I didn’t get a single congratulatory text or phone call. Keaton’s last discussion with me about the NDA was rushed and I didn’t even get to tell him about how I was feeling. How I had reservations about his devotion to me.
Callie offhandedly mentioned that even though Keaton hadn’t been reported as being seen with Nastia, he did unexpectedly cancel a show in LA. Were they holed up in a hotel room, reuniting? I wanted to vomit.
But I had the national championships to win, and I had to man up. I had to become the Domme I was training to be. Strong, self-assured, and who made decisions that befitted her and nobody else. And there was nothing else that would suit me more than winning tonight. So I laced up my sneakers and headed to my destiny.
Finally, after minutes of silence, Coach Dunks walked in. His face was passive, body language guarded.
“You know why you’re all here,” he said, eyes scanning the room, reading our faces.
We nodded.
“You’re here because you’re qualified. You have the skill set to go up against this vetted, dynamic team. You have the talent on the roster to take them down a notch. All you need now is to pull the trigger.”
We started to look up, to make eye contact with each other. There was fire there, burning behind each and every pair of eyes. It matched mine, and I felt my confidence grow. We were a team, and we could do this.
Dunks smiled broadly. He felt it. He turned his glance to me and nodded.
“I got some special strategies today,” he explained, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. “Thanks to Thea. You all owe her a thank-you—she did some extra research on this team, stats I didn’t even know existed, and I’m fairly certain it’s going to be what makes this game for us.”
The girls looked at me and a few smiled. A few nodded. But all of them looked at me with more respect than I had got all season with my Rookie-of-the-Year skills. They appreciated my mind as well as my layups.
“Thanks, Thea,” Donelle said. A strong fondness for the team spread through me and I knew that from here on out, I’d be on a much more even playing field . . . err, court.
Before I knew it, it was time to head out onto the court. Tonight was big—I mean, national TV big. The arena was beyond packed, and I could swear as I walked out onto the brightly lit parquet that I saw fans practically hanging from the rafters. It was a sea of blue and white. Husky Pride. I wanted so badly to make them proud. I knew my family would be here tonight, and of course I wanted to show off for them, too.
I looked up into the crowd where they usually sat and gave a wave. They were talking to someone very animatedly. My dad was hugging the guy. I trotted with the team, completely distracted by my parents’ odd antics. Once we got into the lineup for the national anthem, I finally got a good look at who my parents were talking to.
Keaton. He waved, blew me a kiss, and wrapped his arm around my mom.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
My rock star boyfriend canceled a concert in LA to sit with my parents at the title game. He did care. I was special to him.
A gust of calm blew through me, a mere whisper in my mind, but I knew I’d be able to get through the game. My mind was finally at ease.
I adjusted my headband and we lined up for the tip-off. Donelle was our center and she won the ball easily. I was always in awe of the way she commanded the court, and for a second I thought maybe she’d be a good Domme, too. Without a second of hesitation, she passed it to me. The moment the ball touched my hands, my body felt electrified. I drove myself down the court, propelling myself and the ball toward the net. One of Notre Dame’s girls was riding me hard, but I pivoted around her and easily put the ball in the hoop.
Ding, two points.
The first half continued in the same vein. The girls trusted me much more to travel with the ball instead of just handling layups and rebounds. Which was great because of the maps I had in my mind of who would be going where. It was like the lanes just opened up for me, giving me free rein to just dominate the court the way I’d dominate Keaton.
Keaton, who was here and schmoozing with my parents. That man. He wore a ridiculous Husky hat with dark sunglasses and a long-sleeve shirt that hid his tattoos. He had grown a bit more stubble and honestly I don’t think even his biggest fan would have recognized him. But I wasn’t a fan, I was his owner, and I’d know my Baby Blue anywhere.
I sat on the bench and wiped the sweat from my brow and neck. Callie passed me a bottle of water and I gulped down a lusty squirt. Glancing back into the crowd, I marveled at the ease with which Keaton had charmed my parents. I could see them chatting, smiling, and I think I may have caught my dad giving him a fist bump.
But I had to keep my head in the game. Keaton was part of the reason I got here, but I couldn’t focus on him right now.
As the second half drew closer, it brought a bit of an unpleasant surprise—the Notre Dame coach completely mixed up the roster. He was playing girls in new positions and it was throwing me off completely. The patterns I had seen in my head were nothing, now that their team was running around willy-nilly. Granted, they weren’t as good in these new positions, but I couldn’t anticipate their moves anymore.
We trudged into the locker room, tied up at the half. And not the way I like. Coach started to offer a few pointers, but looked flustered. I thought about the new arrangement of the roster and what the patterns could become. Shifting around the players in my head, new schemes began to appear in my mind. I had to share them with the team.
“Coach?” I asked. Suddenly, all the eyes were on me again.
He nodded in my direction.
“Clearly they saw we were onto their plays and they shifted players around. But,” I said, trying to sound as modest as I could, “I think I figured out the new ones.”
Coach tuned in as I rattled off a few ideas. He scribbled madly, and the team leaned in as we discussed our strategy.
The beginning of the second half was fast and fierce. We rematched Notre Dame stride for stride and quickly upset their mix-’em-up strategy. Finally, we tied it up again. The renewed energy from our strategic victory bled into every aspect of the game—shots were crisper, turnarounds were quicker, and the three-pointers were falling like rain.
The crowd was worked to a frenzy. Husky fans were cheering, chanting, and I even saw Keaton wearing one of those silly foam hands, waving it around like a lunatic. Even in his hat and glasses, he still looked like a total hunk. I was stunned that nobody had discovered him in the crowd.
The buzzer was seconds from sounding and they were up by two. With every moment that ticked by, another opportunity was wasted. I couldn’t let us lose—I had to grab this game and give it a good, hard spank.
The ball sailed through the air between two Notre Dame players, intending to pass it up the court and keep it from our end. The distance between my arm and the ball seemed impossible, but I made it happen. My confidence bridged the distance. I swiped the ball out of the air, pivoted on one foot, and as the buzzer rang, I shot for three.
Time slowed and the crowd stopped, breathless, as the ball made its way in a perfect arc toward the hoop. Here it was, Thea, do or die.
And as I watched the ball make it
s graceful swoop through the net, I knew I had done it.
The scoreboard clicked up three points, and we had won.
“Pops! Pops! Pops!” the crowd shouted, chanting my name in victory. Keaton’s elated face beamed down at me as I saw him begin to make his way down to the court along with my family.
Before I knew it, the confetti was raining on our heads as Gatorade was splashing over Dunks’s. We cheered, we hugged, all sweat and confetti and energy-drink sticky. The team surged together, vibrating in joy as one mass of winners. The surge of happiness and satisfaction and euphoria I felt was beyond words—this is what I had always dreamed of. This moment, this team, that final second where I put the ball through the hoop just as the buzzer rang out.
The national championship. We won it.
The after-party was one of the best nights of my life, hands down.
All the players’ friends and family joined us in celebration as we surged together on the parquet floor, hugging and high-fiving. I felt my mother’s arms wrap around me, my dad’s reassuring hand on my shoulder, and a minute later, Keaton’s hot lips on my mouth.
“So proud of you,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “I thought you’d be performing tonight.”
He pouted. “I couldn’t miss this. Not ever. I faked a kidney stone to get here,” he joked, arching his back and feigning a look of pain.
Coach called everyone to him. He had a stunned look on his face. “Everyone,” he said, shaking his head, “a very generous Husky fan has kindly rented out a restaurant for us tonight.”
The team looked around at each other, then at me and Keaton. He didn’t make a sound.
“So if everyone will follow us to Grill Ninety-Eight over on Plymouth Street, we’re being treated to a buffet with a DJ and open bar!”
The team cheered and whooped and we celebrated anew.
I got in my parents’ car and so did Keaton. The four of us couldn’t stop talking during the five-minute ride to the restaurant. My dad kept complimenting me on my layups, my mom yammered about how fast I had become, and Keaton just kept recapping his favorite moves of the night.