Offensive Rebound

by Mj Fields

  “They’re not all like him, Courtney,” he assures, squeezing my hand.

  “This has nothing to do with Brock,” I huff quietly. “He’s nothing to me.”

  He smirks. “Good to know.” He pulls out a chair between Rose and Walker. “Have a seat, lady baller.”

  “I’m not sure I wanna sit between these two after what I heard.”

  By no means was that a joke, but they both laugh.

  “We won’t mess with you,” Rose assures me.

  “Can’t handle a real woman, huh?” Christa says as she comes back out, all smiles and in my skimpiest two-piece.

  Several low whistles sound from around the table as she sits across from me.

  “Can’t fill the boobs like you can, but I think it looks okay.” She actually thrusts her boobs out.

  “Christa, my boobs aren’t up for discussion with the team,” I say sternly.

  “Your boobs have been discussed by the team already.” Anthony nods. “Off limits.”

  Gallinari elbows him.

  “No.” I stand up, pissed that I allowed myself to get caught up in the “fun” that is now at my expense. “This is my home. This is where I get to relax and not feel like I’m being scrutinized by the whole lot of you.”

  “They’re not Brock,” Trae says from behind me.

  “My tits are not the property of Brock Boeheim’s.” I immediately regret it when they all start chuckling. “And again, they aren’t up for discussion.”

  “But our extracurricular activities were discussed in great detail tonight,” Parker interjects.

  “He’s got a point.” One of the others laughs.

  “She’d prefer we not. Now, let’s do some shots.”

  I look back at Trae after he said that, and he winks. Then I look at Christa, who widens her eyes as if to tell me to relax. I feel pressured, but it’s probably more me than them.

  I take a deep breath and look at Trae. When he nods at the table, I turn around, force a smile, and say, “Shots, it is.”

  “Body shots,” Parker clarifies, looking at Christa.

  “Body shots, it is.” She smiles at him.

  And shots, it is, to the point that the whole outside is spinning.

  I stand up and hold myself up by the table. “Thank you for coming.”

  When I turn and nearly fall, Trae catches my elbow.

  “I’ll help you inside.”

  “Christa, can—”

  “Christa is busy,” he cuts me off as he helps me inside.

  “She’s not as experienced as them, and she’s drunk, and—”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ll get you all tucked in, and then go do the same for her,” he promises, walking me into my room.

  As soon as I lie down, I feel queasy. I try to sit up, but he stops me.

  “I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Just relax and—”

  “I’m gonna throw up,” I clarify.

  He scoops me up, and I cover my mouth.

  Inside the bathroom, I lean over the toilet and immediately start throwing up.

  “You okay?” he asks quietly, pulling my hair back as I sink to my knees.

  “I don’t do shots,” I tell him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I sit back.

  He releases my hair and walks to the sink where he fills a glass with water then hands it to me.

  “Thanks.” I start drinking it down.

  “Easy, Court.” He takes the glass from me. “What goes down might come up.”

  And it does.

  He pulls my hair back in a ponytail as I reach up to flush the toilet.

  When I try to sit back, he’s behind me. I try to sit forward, but he holds me in place, his legs stretched outside of mine.

  “Lean back. Relax for a couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t want them to see me like this. I don’t want them to know I can’t handle shots. Hell, they know I’m flopping with the arena. This will make them even happier.”

  “They won’t know. And, Court, none of them want you to fail.”

  “They all want me to,” I grumble.

  “No, sweet thing, they don’t.”

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “They hate me.”

  “You want it real, or for me to blow smoke up this pretty, little ass of yours?” he asks.

  “Real,” I say quietly.

  “Everyone wants a team; a place they belong. They want to feel a part of something and like they matter. Most of these guys come from shit. Played ball, instead of joining a gang. Now they’re making bank and sending it home, taking care of those who took care of them. They just want to be part of something.”

  I sigh. “A squad.”

  “Yeah, Court, a squad.” He pulls my hair to the side. “I get needing to be the boss, that you have something to prove, but so do they. Use it to your advantage.”

  “Like you’re using me to yours?”

  He sighs. “That certainly was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Was it?” he asks, and I can sense a smirk on his face.

  “Plan B,” I say on another sigh.

  “Ouch, that hurts.”

  “Well, it wasn’t the intention.” I lean forward and rest my head on my arm that is resting across the toilet seat.

  “Wasn’t my intention to like the spoiled, little rich bitch, either.” He chuckles.

  “Says the man who makes millions to play a game.”

  “Touché.”

  I look back at him and smile. He smiles back, and I swear my heart melts a little. Then my stomach turns and I’m back to throwing up.

  “If I die, Christa gets the team,” I groan as I sit back.

  He pulls me tight against him and wipes my mouth with a towel. “I’m pretty sure you’ll survive.”

  “Tell that to my stomach,” I moan, closing my eyes and leaning back into him fully as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “You should stay tonight,” I whisper as I begin to feel my body relax.

  “I think you need rest, Courtney.” He kisses my neck.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Crossing Lines

  TRAE

  HOW THE FUCK I MANAGED to do the right thing is beyond me. After the way she reacted, like she was hurt by my doing what was right, it fucked me hard. Hard enough that it shook me and made me realize I was probably doing the wrong thing.

  Regardless, I made sure everyone got home, and even pried apart Christa and Parker, who I’m sure were two minutes from fucking.

  Christa was pissed. I was pissed. Parker was real fucking pissed and said that, just because I couldn’t get Courtney in bed, that didn’t mean his game was lacking.

  I wake up feeling like the whole damn night was a waste, and when I look down at my dick, I know even it’s pissed at me.

  I look at the clock. Forty minutes until I need to be at the arena.

  I jump out of bed and bust my ass to get out the door.

  ***

  ON THE COURT, I WATCH the clock. It’s nine fourteen when Brock and the others join us. I look up at the bridge, but Courtney’s not looking down today. I know those fucking shots kicked her ass hard last night.

  Coach D stands in the middle of the circle, looking at all of us. “All right, men, last practice ‘til the Stallions hit Vegas for this exhibition game that Miss Cohen set up. Let’s show them what the 2016 Stallions got. You don’t want to do it for her, don’t. Do it for us.”

  “I have something to add.”

  I look up to see Courtney’s nose in the air, looking poised and not one bit hungover.

  “Shit,” Coach mumbles as he looks down.

  “For every minute you took from this team, being late to practice, you’ll spend it off the court at the exhibition game.”

  Brock and his crew grumble under their breaths.

  “And if you aren’t doing it for me, I don’t give a damn. But you better do it to keep this team alive.” She looks around at everyone. “Last year was a
joke. You may be okay with being the laughing stock of the NBA, but I’m not. I’m doing everything I can in hopes of buying out contracts, because this team should be a family and not at odds with each other. If you don’t want to be here, there are hundreds of others just as good as you who would be honored to be in your position.” Now she looks only at Coach. “And, Coach, when practice is over, I’d like to see you in my office.”

  “Courtney, you’re making a mistake!” Brock yells after her as she turns away.

  She turns back and looks at him blandly. “No, 2015 was my year for mistakes. 2016 isn’t.”

  When she turns on her heels and walks away, Christa tries to hide her smile as she follows, patting her back. Then Christa turns back and looks left of me, at Parker. He gives her a quick nod, and she gives him one in return.

  “Bitch needs to be put in check, Coach.” Brock points his finger toward her.

  “Is that what you were doing at her house the other night, trying to put her in check?”

  “You mind your own business,” he snarls at me.

  “I’m minding mine. And for the love of the game, I sure as fuck hope the rest of you get your shit together and do the same.”

  “I’m the goddamn Coach, Rhodes,” Coach D snaps at me.

  “Then step it up, old man.”

  “You watch yourself,” he snaps back at me.

  “I’ve been doing that for years, Coach.”

  He knows damn well what I’m talking about. The man was my coach. I once loved him for all he did for me, but when I was injured, he looked right on past me and kept his eye on the prize, the one man still standing who could boost his career. Brock.

  Didn’t blame him one bit. I was fucked and of no use to him. He was no different than my father or anyone else in my life, aside from my mom and brothers.

  I didn’t hold a grudge. Instead, I packed up and went home with enough money to get me through a couple years from product sponsorships Brock and I had from when we were heading to the Olympics.

  I had no intention of calling anyone out for wrongs done to me in the past...until I saw that shit doesn’t change.

  They are pushing Courtney hard and trying to get her out of here so they can buy up this team.

  I wouldn’t have said a damn thing, not my place, not until I met her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  New Panties

  COURTNEY

  “YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU, right?” Christa asks after we step into the elevator to go back to my office.

  “Of course I do,” I tell her.

  She looks down.

  “Is this about last night?”

  She shakes her head and smiles. “I don’t need Trae Rhodes or you to stop me from making what may or may not be a mistake with Parker.”

  “I didn’t stop you. I ended up throwing up and passing out.”

  I leave out the part about inviting Trae to stay the night. It’s embarrassing to have thought he was actually attracted to me when I was clearly part of a plan to piss off Brock. A show. I can’t even be angry about it since he was my plan B.

  “Trae did.”

  “I can’t control Trae Rhodes, any more than I could control Brock,” I tell her, leaning back against the wall of the glass elevator.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. That man looks at you like he is hungry.”

  I chuckle sarcastically. “So did Brock.”

  “Brock looked at you like he was hungry for something, but it wasn’t for you.”

  “And you can tell the difference how?” I snicker, though it’s not funny. I actually hope there’s an explanation.

  “Brock gave you a ring and a promise. He gave you words. Trae...He takes action. He didn’t invite them to your place last night for his amusement. And as soon as we walked outside, his eyes never left you, not once.”

  I shrug. “He wants to fuck me.”

  “And you want to fuck him, too.” She giggles.

  “He’s a nice-looking man. I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it. But I will never put myself in a position like I did with Brock.”

  “I haven’t seen him give you a ring, Court. And I don’t think he’s the type to step in and take over. As a matter of fact, he seems to have your back.”

  I can’t argue that, so I don’t.

  She stands beside me as the door opens. “I’m not asking you for permission, because you’re not my mother, and like you’ve said a hundred times, this can end soon, so I’m going to live it up while I can. Parker, that man is beautiful, and I like the way he looks at me.”

  I sigh. “Him, or the fact that the whores—”

  “Honeys. They’re honeys now,” she scolds as we walk by the empty desk that was vacated this morning when I fired the prick behind it. I would have done it sooner, but I had no clue until yesterday how to make sure he couldn’t take along his ability to log-in to the teams’ information, as old and outdated as it is. My files aren’t accessible to anyone, though. It was all Christa’s idea to keep my plans to myself until she got here to be at my back.

  “Right, okay. So, Parker’s package being considered prime has nothing to do with it?”

  “They said it can be measured by the pound, Court. Do you have any idea what that means?” I swear, I see tears in her eyes.

  “No.” I almost laugh. “I have no clue.”

  “Penises are ounces, Court, not pounds. I googled it.”

  Now I do laugh. “You did not!”

  She giggles. “I did. I so did.”

  “We have to appear professional. Broken hearts make us weak.”

  “I don’t care about my heart. I just wanna be pounded by Parker.”

  I roll my eyes as we walk into the conference room. “Oh, dear Lord, Christa.”

  “I’m not asking for his prime package. I’ll be discreet. But I’m gonna let Parker wreck something, and it won’t be my heart.” She says it like it’s Gospel, and I know there will be no changing her mind.

  “Fine. Just keep it between you two. I don’t want him to know I’m aware of your pounding.”

  “By the pound,” she whispers.

  “Fine, but you don’t get a day off because your pussy got pounded.”

  “I’ll shove an ice pack in my granny panties if I have to. My pussy pounding will be a non-issue; scout’s honor.”

  “Fine, you win, but if you still have granny panties, we need to do some shopping.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go.” She grabs her coat off the chair next to mine at the conference table.

  “I have to meet with Coach D, then we can go.”

  “You gonna tear him up?”

  “I’m gonna tell him to play by my rules, or it’s time to retire.”

  “Will that cost you?”

  I nod. “Monetarily, yes. But what I will gain is knowing my team sees me as a leader who doesn’t just make idle threats.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and I look at my watch.

  She shakes her head at me as she walks by.

  “What? You think I’m wrong?”

  She holds up a finger, telling me to give her a minute.

  When the mail carrier wheels in a cartful of boxes, she grins.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  She thanks the carrier, and then he leaves.

  Ignoring my question, she says, “First, I don’t think you’re wrong, but you never look at your watch when we’re together. I hear the timer go off on your alarm every time you’re on the phone, and then you quickly make an excuse to end the conversation. Twelve minutes, Court. You give people twelve minutes, and then you’re done.”

  “Not to you, and not if it’s important,” I defend myself. Then I shake my head as I look at my dad’s watch, the one I wear now.

  Christa may be right about my little issue with time. I was always aware of how much time I got to spend with my Dad, and now I am sadly aware of how much time I wasted on those who don’t matter.

  The seconds between twelve minu
tes, or a quarter in a basketball game, were my favorites with him. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I would have begged for the twelve minutes of his time.

  She laughs. “You almost did.”

  “Habit.” I shrug. “Not everyone deserves more than twelve minutes of my time. I think it’s very generous.”

  She sighs as she points at the boxes. “New uniforms.”

  “You didn’t,” I exclaim, hoping she’s joking. She never consulted me on the final choice.

  “I did. You said I could.” She grabs a letter opener and starts to slick open the tape.

  “But what if I don’t like them,” I say, terrified I’m right.

  She pulls out a jersey. “I did my research. Home whites for home games, with black lettering and a thin red line around it. Black for away games. We’ll look badass, Court. Look at the stallion.” She points at the front of the jersey. “He has that ‘don’t fuck with me’ look and less...long-haired, ‘I’m a pretty pony’ vibe going for him.”

  “But everything has the stallion on it. All the merchandise—everything. Including the center court circle.” I am nervous because she entirely changed the original stallion.

  She smiles. “Time for a change.”

  Admittedly, they do look more badass, but it’s going to be a pain getting everything changed in time for opening day.

  She holds up number 23 and smiles. “I bet he’d last more than twelve minutes.” She laughs. “And your new friends, the honeys, will think you’re even cooler if you can give them details.”

  “Oh, my God, Christa! They’re your friends, not mine.”

  “They will be our friends. Hello...ladies’ night brings in the men. Men have balls; honeys like balls. Marketing genius!”

  We both bust up laughing. Of course that’s when Coach D arrives.

  Shit.

  Christa looks at him, and then smiles at me. “I’ll be at my desk.”

  I nod and smile back as she walks out.

  “New receptionist?” Coach D asks as he sits down at the conference room table.

  “Yeah. Out with the old, in with the new. Jeffery needed to go. He was very rude and disrespectful.”

  “He’s been here since the beginning, Courtney.”

  I look at the open box. “Well, out with the old, in with the new.”