Hooped (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series #1)

by Claire Adams

  “Well, I need to head to the Library,” Alexis said finally, gathering up her tray. Everyone started to wander away one by one and for a little while I was left on my own. I was torn between wishing that Kelly was there so I could talk to her more about the real situation and hoping that I wouldn’t see Kelly for a long time. I was so torn; none of my friends had had an actual personal interaction with Devon from what I knew. Everything they had told me was little more than a rumor, or what they heard about from different people on campus.

  Had Devon just been manipulating me? I had to think that if he were going to do the sort of thing that they had accused him of, he would have convinced me to go back to the dorms, instead of letting me spend the night. I just couldn’t reconcile the way he had acted with the way that everyone said he was. It didn’t make any sense.

  Then, too, I had to think that they sounded like the kind of rumors that would come up around a guy who slept around a lot, the kind of guy who had become a legend even among a bunch of partying, wild guys. Every single one of the guys on my high school football team had had several of the same rumors spread about them—and I knew for a fact that a bunch of the guys on the team had been in committed, monogamous relationships all through high school without cheating. But there was always that kind of rough and wild reputation that jocks tended to get.

  On the other hand, so many of the rumors about Devon that they’d told me were so specific. What was the real story about Haley and Mackenzie? Had he really tried to egg them on when they fought over him? I couldn’t quite blame him if he had actually enjoyed having girls fight over him; it would be hard not to get at least a little thrill out of it. But it was a totally different thing to enjoy it, versus to actually encourage girls to fight over him. To try and egg them on and manipulate them into fighting over him.

  It seemed to me like if Kelly had been warning me, she might have been sugarcoating things, if what the other girls said they knew about him was true. But at the same time I couldn’t even believe that anyone at all could be the way that they said Devon was. Sure, guys manipulated girls into having sex with them; it wasn’t good, but it was a thing that happened. But I couldn’t think that any guy, no matter how dedicated he was to sleeping around, would go so far as to target and manipulate someone so heavily and actually be successful. If everyone but me knew Devon was like that, how would he still be getting laid?

  And at the bottom of it, I had just to believe that in spite of what they had said, my situation with Devon had been different. I would know—I would feel it—if he had manipulated me. I had made the decision to sleep with him all on my own. And it wasn’t like he’d stopped caring about me once I’d agreed to have sex with him. He had figured out on his own that I was a virgin, and he’d been so kind to me, so gentle, reminding me again and again that I could tell him to stop any time. It just didn’t make any sense. I put away my dishes and went back to the dorm, trying to decide whether or not I was still going to the game. It was a difficult decision. I still wanted to see the game, but I didn’t know how to feel about Devon.

  I decided that I could enjoy watching him play and that I could go to the game just for the sake of the game, and maybe see if I could talk to him afterward. I would know what to think once I saw how he reacted to me. If he pretended like I didn’t exist or that he’d never met me, then my friends would be right; if he actually spoke to me afterward, I would have some hope. Besides which, I couldn’t see any point in wasting the money I had already spent on tickets.

  Chapter Eight

  I spent more time than I want to admit getting ready for the game. Before I had ever met Devon, I’d been able just to throw on an outfit and head over to the game, if it was on campus. If it was an away game, I’d pile into a car and head over to whatever school with a group of people, or I’d skip it if no one was going. But now that I had not only met Devon, but had had sex with him—and might actually see him after the game—there were a lot more things to think about.

  I wanted to look at least as good as I had the night before, but I didn’t want to look like I was dressing up for the game. I didn’t want to look like those desperate girls who threw themselves at the players; I had seen them before, and even if I didn’t credit Devon with half of the rumors that my friends had told me about him, it was easy to see how members of the team would get laid whenever they wanted.

  I changed my clothes three or four times, deciding against one skirt and then another, against jeans and then against a dress. I swapped the shirt that I had paired with one of the skirts with the shirt I had put with the pair of jeans and finally decided that it was good enough. I wouldn’t be jumping up and down crazily; I would be cheering, and while I wanted to look cute, I also wanted to be comfortable. I wore a pair of high-tops and put my hair into two braids on either side of my head instead of wearing it down. I tied off the braids with ribbons in the school colors and decided that I’d wear a little bit of makeup.

  I felt my heart beating faster as I made my way across campus; I didn’t know if I would know anyone at the game, but I felt like anyone who saw me would know—would be able to see it on my face—that I had had sex with Devon. I told myself that I just wanted to watch the game and watch Devon play and that I wasn’t even going to think about what I’d heard about him while I was watching the game. I would just focus on the team as a whole. I wouldn’t worry about anything. I was just going to enjoy it.

  A few times I considered running back to the dorms and changing into a pair of jeans. I knew I was overthinking things, but I figured that after losing my virginity, even if I had done it casually, I was entitled to overthink things a little bit. I wasn’t sure how exactly I was going to approach Devon after the game; I didn’t want to make a giant scene or embarrass myself. I wasn’t even sure, as I walked to the arena, whether or not I was going to even try and talk to Devon after the game.

  The arena was packed with people; as I got closer to it, I could see the crowds coming in from the parking lot, merged with other crowds heading for the entrances from the campus side, just like me. Even if I didn’t have an ulterior motive for going to the game, it would be exciting just to see it. I knew that it would be absolutely packed with people inside—cheering for our team, mostly. My heart beat faster in my chest as I got in line for the entrance.

  As the line crawled forward, I tried to stop myself from thinking about Devon and found it impossible; between the people in line with me, holding signs for Devon, and my own experiences—both with him and with my friends talking about him—my mind was absolutely full of him. I chewed on my bottom lip, feeling impatient, wanting nothing more than to get inside, find my seat in the arena, and watch the pre-game show.

  The line inched forward, and I found myself getting more and more anxious to get inside. I looked around and saw people in jerseys, their faces painted, with signs. I wasn’t sure whether I would stand out more with or without similar loud, bright signs of my fandom; but even though I loved watching basketball, I was never the kind to paint my face or carry a sign. I just wanted to watch the game and cheer for my team.

  I tried to decide whether it would be easier or harder with my friends with me. They’d probably tease me all night about being into Devon if they came along, but I at least would have someone to talk to other than bland smalltalk. I fidgeted, trying not to mangle my ticket as I waited to get to the gate.

  Finally, I made it through the gate and into the arena proper, looking around until I found my seat. It wasn’t one of the best ones; those were reserved for the newspapers, the friends and family of the team, and alumni. But overall my seat wasn’t terrible. I could see the court just fine, and that was the important thing. I looked around me; the seats were already packed, and more and more people were streaming in, finding their spots. I was starting to get excited purely by the game itself—starting to get into the simmering, electric atmosphere. The cheerleaders were on the sidelines, doing routines, getting everyone pumped, and the band wa
s playing—both bands.

  The other team took the court and began warming up, and I watched eagerly; I wanted to see how good they were. I wished that I’d looked up the stats for the players before I’d left the dorms. The other team looked fairly fit, and from what I had heard about Valley State, they were good; not as good as our team, but they were more cohesive. Our team mostly depended on Devon; he was the shooting guard, with fairly decent defensive skills on top of his ability to score points. Valley State, from what I could recall—and from what I could see of their warm-up—was more team-oriented, with no real stars.

  Our team came out onto the court, and I felt my heart beating faster as everyone cheered; the cheers got even louder as Devon appeared in his warm-ups, bouncing around, looking utterly focused. I smiled to myself in spite of the anxious way I felt, unable to quite take my eyes off of him. He was laughing and talking with the rest of the team, watching the Valley State players as they went through their drills. A shriek of excitement rippled through the crowd on my side of the arena as the team ventured out onto the court proper, taking one end of the court to do their own drills.

  I stood, not even caring whether anyone could see me or not, fascinated by watching the way our team performed. Anyone could see that even without Devon, our team was good; with Devon, it was practically unbeatable. They passed the ball back and forth, moving on their designated side of the court like a well-oiled machine. I compared and contrasted the two teams mentally, wondering how prepared each coach was. If I were a coach, I thought, I’d keep my team focused on blocking Devon and getting in the way of Miles, one of the other secondary stars of the team. Miles wasn’t quite the scorer that Devon was, but he was great at assists and steals—definitely someone to watch out for. On the other team, it was hard to know whom to target specifically; their team-oriented play, with players switching positions easily, made it less than easy to pick someone out from the crowd. The players were versatile, which was a good thing—but none of them were quite as good at scoring as Devon was. It would be an interesting game, for sure.

  I settled into my seat as the announcers started winding down on the pregame action, taking a deep breath. The players left the court, and the crowd stood again as someone took the center of the court to sing the national anthem. I looked at the sidelines and spotted Devon. It was as if I couldn’t miss him now that I’d met him; I’d never be able just to watch the game without watching him in particular. If he did turn out to be the awful person that Kelly and the rest of my friends claimed he was, I’d have to find another team to follow. I didn’t think that I could actually watch one of our games without wanting us to lose just to spite Devon—assuming that he was the person that everyone said he was.

  The whole crowd held its breath at tip-off. The other team snatched the ball, but then Miles got in fast, executing an expert steal. I couldn’t sit still. I stood up with everyone else, cheering madly, watching as the team flowed across the court. Devon got the ball, and I nearly screamed as he scored the first point in the first thirty seconds, a two-point shot.

  The game settled in, and I realized—along with everyone else—that if I kept cheering at full force, I’d have no energy for the second half of the game. For the first quarter, our team dominated; Devon landed five shots easily, in rapid succession, putting us quickly ahead. Valley state managed two shots, but they were still six points behind us. I found myself wrapped up in the game itself, watching the ball as it traveled from one end of the court to the other, jumping up with everyone else around me and sitting down when it was too much to take.

  In the second quarter, Valley State started to work on catching up, executing quick steals and going on the defense to keep our team from scoring more points. If they could outlast us, then they could make up the point deficit in the second half. Devon managed to score two more baskets, but the onward press had slowed down, and both teams were jockeying for position. A groan went through the crowd as one of the players on our side went down; the refs didn’t rule it a foul, since he had tripped, but it was still a minor shockwave through the stands at the harsh crash of the player onto the floor of the court. He limped off into the sidelines, replaced by a fresh player. He wasn’t the only one to be cycled out; it seemed like everyone except for Miles and Devon managed to get put in and taken out as our team tried to get farther ahead in points, tried to break through the tough defense.

  By halftime, we were still ahead, but it was clear that Valley State was pushing to get the advantage. I watched as the players left the court, heading into the lockers to rest for a little while, get some water in them, and talk about the second half of the game—and how they were going to get an indisputable win. The cheerleaders went into their routines, but I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention to them. I was wondering what Devon was doing specifically in the locker; I pictured him in my mind, huddled in the locker, drinking water and Gatorade, listening to the coach as he caught his breath. They didn’t dare take him out in the second half—Devon was the key, he was the most aggressive scorer on the team. I thought that if I were the coach, I’d put some more defense-oriented players on the court alongside Devon, and just work on keeping Valley State from scoring any points at all as much as possible. If Devon and Miles could make a few more baskets, and hold onto the lead they already had, they would be in great shape. It wouldn’t be a high-scoring game, but it was just important to win after all.

  The teams came back out, and I watched to try and figure out what each team’s strategy was going to be. Devon and Miles took the court once more, and I saw that the coach had put in some of the most aggressive offense players at the same time. I smiled to myself; they were going to try and just score as many times as humanly possible in the third quarter, create a lead that Valley State could never possibly hope to catch up to—that was clear. I wondered how Valley was going to counter that strategy.

  The game resumed, and I was on my feet once more, cheering, watching Devon. One of the other players stole the ball right before Valley State’s forward could get his shot; he passed to Miles, who passed to Devon. But before Devon could make his shot, Valley State stole the ball back. I listened to the cheers ebbing and flowing around me, as the ball moved from one end of the court to the other, all of the players throwing their entire being into the act.

  After the jockeying for position, Devon broke through the Valley State team play, scoring a three-point shot; Miles stole the ball and got it to him again, and Devon landed a two-point basket, putting us even more comfortably ahead. I screamed my head off, beyond even caring about Devon as a person I had had sex with—I was completely wrapped up in the game itself, in the excitement of it all. The third quarter ended with us twelve points ahead of Valley State, and we were all fairly sure that there was little that Valley could do to keep us from winning.

  The fourth quarter came, and it was clear to everyone that Valley was desperate for the win. They pressed the offense, and to my relief, our team’s coach put out more defensive players, giving Devon a break on the sidelines. I was too busy watching him to pay attention to the game for a few minutes—he was dripping with sweat, his curly hair plastered down onto his skull. I had to admit to myself that he looked even better in his jersey than he had the night before in regular clothes. He was definitely in great shape—and I blushed to myself, remembering the sight of him naked.

  Valley State scored three baskets, but our team came out ahead, scoring another three before the end of the game. Everyone on my side of the arena was screaming, cheering, and jumping up and down—me included. Nobody wanted the game to be over, and as the team celebrated on the court, everyone celebrated with them except for the Valley State fans; they began to filter out of the arena almost immediately.

  The adrenaline was still flowing through my veins, making my heart pound, and I watched as Devon and the other players ran around, basking in the cheers, enjoying themselves. I knew that it would probably be a while before the coach could convince th
em to go back to the lockers, and I had to admit that I didn’t want the night to be over either. I wanted to stay right where I was, cheering until I was hoarse, jumping up and down with everyone else. I didn’t even mind the fact that there were dozens of girls in the stands right with me, calling out Devon’s name, trying to get his attention. For the moment, everything was right with the world, and I was more than happy to be there.

  Chapter Nine

  After a while, even the most aggressive of the fans were starting to get tired; it was a Saturday, so there were plenty of parties to adjourn to. I had to think that there was probably a party going on in at least one of the frats or the sororities—maybe even Phi Kappa itself. I looked around, trying to spot anyone I recognized from the party the night before; but people were moving around too much for me to be able actually to identify anyone.

  I wished again that at least one of my friends had been able to make it to the game with me; none of them really knew very much about basketball, but it would have been great to have someone to cheer with, someone to talk to. On the other hand, I was glad to be by myself; I didn’t want anyone who would notice I was paying special attention to Devon as he played.

  Everyone began to wander out of the arena, and I sat down, a little torn as to what to do with myself. I wanted to talk to Devon—I knew that. But I didn’t know how I should go about doing it. I tried to tell myself that there would probably be dozens of girls waiting for him, that it would be difficult to get his attention. But then, I thought, he had singled me out the night before; he had been so good to me.

  I wanted to know exactly what our relationship was. I wanted to know whether I had just been some kind of one-night stand for Devon, or if his attention to me had been something legitimate. I remembered everything my friends had told me about him, but I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not to credit what they had said. The only fair way to decide how to feel about Devon was to talk to him, but the thought of it made me nervous.