Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Let’s go tonight! I want you dunking and putting on a show for these dudes. Scare ’em right up front. Give them your goddamn cockiness, not me, you hear me? You’re never a shoo-in for a win. You have to work for every damn point, men.”

  “Yes, Coach,” chorused throughout the room.

  Then we were on the move again, through the locker room and out the tunnel, ready to hear our names called. I felt good; loose and pumped. I’d like to say hearing my name and all the cheering that followed didn’t do much for me. But it did.

  Midway through the first half, Coach gave me a break, benching me for some rest since we were up by twenty-five points. The beating we were putting on this cupcake team was insane. I’d gone hard for the first three minutes, putting up two dunks and serving up five assists. Then I’d banged a three from way downtown, and the bad guys missed on their offensive run.

  Alex snagged the rebound and threw a heated pass to Ashton for another three. The dude was fouled, smacked on the arm as he lofted the ball into the air. The shit sank right into the net, but he pulled an and-one foul.

  Of course, my man made his extra point from the line. From then on, it was easy. With sweat trickling down my back and over my arms, I passed with fury and dribbled with intensity. This was my house and the love of my life all wrapped up in one.

  I had loans from the bank counting on me going pro. My car was sold to me on borrowed money. My mom wanted a new place, even though she wouldn’t say anything. My dad wanted a star.

  There was a lot riding on this. It was a good thing I fucking loved being on the court.

  Seated on the bench, I swigged from my Gatorade bottle and looked toward Section 107.

  Gone. Cate was gone. Oh well, like I thought. We didn’t have much. Or did we?

  I stared for a beat or two and then my head was back in the game—games, actually. Because this was all I had.

  With a ball in my hand, I would do what I needed to.

  Wednesday, I tried to find Cate, but she wasn’t in any of her regular haunts. I leaned my chair back at Mean Beans and pretended to listen to Ashton, but I was on the lookout. I ducked when Ava’s friends popped in and eventually left, successfully avoiding chatting anyone up.

  I might have also traipsed by the women’s studies building, but nothing.

  I couldn’t spend all day on the hunt; we had practice and team meetings. It was the beginning of the season, ultimately the most important season of my career so far. This would be the one everyone was watching; my performance would be judged and graded. The rest of my life depended on this season.

  Thursday, I hit the weight room for some light lifting and stretching. Some Bush from the nineties blared over the plates clanking into the bars and the bars hitting the racks. I was in a wall sit stretching my legs when Mo squatted next to me.

  “What’s happening?” He turned his head toward me.

  “Living the dream, Mo.”

  Our thighs quivered and my forehead dripped onto the floor. I pushed my sweatband higher on my head, swiping the sweat with it.

  “You are, buddy, and don’t you fucking forget it.”

  He was right. I came from a trailer park. When that Catholic school gave me a scholarship in ninth grade, I didn’t know how much my life could change. Now I did.

  I glanced at Mo. “You’re right, man. I don’t know, feel like I’m floundering a bit. Shit, you got a kid on the way. Who’s going to be waiting for me when I’m making all this money next year?”

  I stood, straightening my legs and shaking out my quads.

  Mo snorted. “My man, you’re gonna buy your momma a house and make a good life. And shit, you’re gonna fuck a lot of women looking for the one.” He stood and smacked me in the side with the back of his hand. “Don’t let the rest of us down, especially the one with a fucking baby.”

  We didn’t talk anymore; Coach called us in to watch tape for the next day’s game. Sitting in the dark room, my mind wandering, I wondered if the Stealer might have stolen his last heart.

  Fucking Cate. She was cute, yeah, but smart and sexy too.

  And she was ignoring me.

  Blane

  Mid-December

  “Sonny B. here. Most of you are packing up and heading home for the winter break, but I’m staying right here in Hafton, and my girl, Miranda, and I are going to decorate our tree tonight. Have no fear! I’ll put a picture up on Twitter for all you jealous lovaaas.”

  “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” played in the background as Sonny made love to the mic.

  “You know who else is here over the break? The Hafton men’s and women’s basketball teams. That’s right, folks . . . I wonder if they get freaky together? Let’s hear your thoughts, Haftees, give me the 4-1-1. Call me or e-mail the station, and we’ll be back with any and all scoop. Oh, and give a nice hello to Johnny, our new intern, if you call.”

  “Grandma” finished and some Bob Marley-style steel band song played.

  “God, that guy’s taste in music is ass. I’d know he was white from a mile away.” Ashton tossed a foam ball against the wall over and over again. A constant whir and whack echoed throughout our apartment.

  “Hey! Enough with the white-boy jokes,” I said. “And dude, fucking cut that out with the ball or I’m getting a new roommate.”

  “It’s true,” Ashton said with a grin. “Present company excluded. You like good rap. I do worry when you start with the rock, but I know it’s hard to take shake that out of the Southern boy.” He took aim and zinged the ball my way.

  “Thank God. I was getting a headache from all the back and forth.” I snatched the ball before it slammed into my chest. “So, what’s got you all twisted in knots?”

  He hung his head. “Fucking Christmas is in two days, and I got no poontang.”

  “You’re vile, man.”

  “Hey, it’s the truth. My girl, Ava, went home, and you should be proud ’bout me hitting it with just one lady.”

  “You’re growing up.” I flashed him a wicked grin and lobbed the ball at his shiny bald head.

  “How ’bout you?”

  “Sonny’s leaving me alone, maybe since we’ve won every non-conf game, but he’s not mandating I stay celibate. So I guess I’ll go out looking. Wanna come?”

  “What? In your pickup?”

  “Yeah, we can be like, y’all looking for a good throw?”

  Ashton burst out laughing. “Dude, you been hung up on that intern ever since she went MIA. Don’t you fucking tease me. We’re not going on the prowl in your truck.”

  “Plus, you have Ava.” I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Exactly, white boy. Good thing you’re smart.”

  This time I laughed hard, and Ashton laughed with me a moment before giving me the eye.

  “So, what’s with Catie?” he asked, not giving up on it. “Where the hell did she go?”

  “Not a fucking clue. She left the radio station and hasn’t been back, according to Sonny, and I haven’t seen her around. She’s got a new phone number too.”

  “Ouch, cold dusted by the lady, huh?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Ash. Let’s play some NBA 2K,” I said just as Sonny came back on the air.

  “Okay, Haftees, let’s hear it. What the heck are you doing this Christmas, and don’t bother calling in if you’re heading to Aspen to chase some snow bunnies. We don’t want to talk to you.”

  “He’s a train wreck,” Ashton said, pulling out the game controller.

  “Sonny B. here. Who’s this?” Sonny’s radio voice echoed from the speakers.

  “Hey, Sonny, it’s Jules in Southern B! I wish you were still single, and I’d stay and decorate with you.”

  “Be still my beating heart. Miranda, are you listening to this? If so, cover your ears.” Sonny lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Me too, Jules. Me too.”

  Stupid Sonny.

  There was a click, and he went to another caller. “Sonny B. on the line, who’s
there?”

  “Hey, Sonny. I’m heading home, but I’m going to watch a ton of that new adult star, Ariel Stone. Have you seen her? She’s new on the scene, and fiiine.”

  “Now, really? Let’s keep this discussion PG here, buddy. But e-mail me. Don’t forget.”

  Click.

  “I’m going to roll another tune. This one goes out to my guys about to get busy with their conference games and winning us a ’ship.”

  Nelly’s “Air Force Ones” overtook the station, and Ashton clicked it off with his foot.

  “God, it’s enough of that ass. Who you want to be on the game?”

  “The Magic, of course.” They were my favorite team, and I had the game set to play all their superstars.

  “Bullshit, you and the fucking Magic. I’m going old school. Lakers.”

  A while later, as we began the second game of our virtual basketball war, Ashton said, “We should google that Ariel chick. Sounds like we both could use a release.”

  “I don’t do porn anymore,” I said without thinking, and then winced. Big mistake.

  “What?” Ashton threw his controller down and pounced on me. He had me pinned to the floor, his hand at my throat as he growled out, “You don’t do porn?”

  “Not anymore,” I gurgled. “Can you let me go?”

  “I’m outta here,” he said, and he scrambled off of me. “You might be fucking contagious. Don’t do porn, pfft.”

  Catie

  I handed the bar bouncer my brand-spanking-new fake ID, a little early Christmas present for myself. I’d gone home for two days for the holidays, and it had been forty hours too long. Thankfully, I couldn’t stay longer due to my new work demands.

  As soon as I’d entered my childhood home, my sisters were on me about my failures.

  “Thought you were going to be some big champion of women, Catie? And here you go getting the boot,” Grace had taunted me over the kitchen table.

  Cedes cornered me in the bathroom, slapping my bare butt with her towel as I dried off. “Good thing you were sent packing. You look like you’ve been hitting the scones.”

  “Shove off, Cedes,” I snarled. “And here I thought you were starting to be nice. You’re a bitch.”

  My mom spent the first day glaring at me, pinching my waist as she chastised me for wasting my dad’s money on a “foolish education.” She’d continued to offer up the prospect of working with Grace as some sort of solace.

  As usual, I ended up drowning my sorrows in rice pudding and cannoli at my dad’s restaurant while he ran around and filled the Christmas take-out orders.

  With my head low, I’d walked down the snow-covered path to a waiting taxi, where I slumped in the backseat the whole way to the bus station. As the bus carried me back to campus, across Pennsylvania and parts of Ohio, I glanced wistfully at farmhouses decorated for Christmas and wished for a new family.

  Now as I entered the Golden Goblet, a newish wine-and-beer bar at the edge of campus, I realized how much I yearned to be loved for myself.

  I brushed the snowflakes off my coat and set it behind my bar stool, one that had seen the imprint of my ass all too frequently over the last week. At first thought, a wine-and-beer place seemed like a weird fit on a college campus, but after I’d been there once, I got it. They sold beer by the case and wine by the jug. It was the kind of place big groups of fun-loving people went to get their buzz on and have a good time.

  I went by myself—mostly to relax—or to meet Sarina. She helped me with the ID and everything else I didn’t know jack about.

  It was New Year’s Eve, and the few other women I knew were home. Tess and I had stayed in touch since my life had imploded, but she’d gone to Shelby’s house for the holiday. They went on for fucking forever about skiing, bonfires, and hot rich guys before they left. Of course, the women from the women’s studies program had distanced themselves since Thanksgiving when my expulsion from the program became official.

  I hadn’t officially seen the guys since Thanksgiving either. Of course, I’d watched a few games from behind the scenes or on TV, but when I thought I saw a basketball player in the vicinity, I went the other way. Luckily, we were knee-deep in studying for finals right about then, and I was busy.

  Sort of.

  I discovered the Goblet allowed you to order wine by the glass at the bar the night I arrived back at school from Christmas, tired and bone cold off the bus. After that, I started coming regularly before going to work on my current project, which required being loose. Sarina and I met here every few days, and she’d fill me in on what I needed to know. It was quickly becoming a formidable bond between the two of us—two women from opposite ends of the social spectrum with nothing in common.

  Tonight, I ordered a prosecco; after all, it was New Year’s. When in Rome, and all that. Sarina was at a party. She’d invited me but I declined, offering to pick up a shift for her at the studio.

  Staring into the bubbly set before me, I smoothed my hair behind my ear. I’d straightened it using my new flat iron, and the lights above the bar were reflecting off its shine. I took out my new smartphone and checked my e-mails. There were a lot, so I scrolled down for a while.

  Sarina’s picture came up on the screen, her long blond curls waved around her face and neckline, her blue eyes cool and collected, her lips a shiny hot pink and puckered.

  SARINA: Hey, girl! Hope you have an awesome new year. You’re the best!

  I smiled. She thought I was the best, and I thought she was even better. What would Stanwick think about that?

  CATIE: Have fun, lady! I’ll see you this week? Happy NYE!

  SARINA: See you tomorrow!

  I sipped my drink slowly and thought about my next stop. In a million years, I could have never imagined spending a day in my life doing what I was doing. Yet here I was, doing it on New Year’s Eve. My dad would have a fit, my sisters would never stop talking about it, and Blane . . . he would be disgusted.

  Or not. I didn’t know.

  Sadly, I’d lost a portion of my financial aid when I was dismissed from my major. A component of my aid package was based on the intrinsic value I brought to Hafton’s women’s studies program. The monies were derived from a fund, earmarked by the benefactor for the sole purpose of crafting women leaders.

  Luckily, my mind continued to form a plan that started with Mean Beans and ended during my trip to the adult store. My original plan was to find part-time work and seek revenge on Stanwick. Little did I know the two concepts would merge and begin to sustain me in this journey.

  Hafton was on a trimester calendar, and when the first trimester ended, I left campus for a studio apartment. It brought a little bit of a savings for my dad when it came to room and board, and it provided me with the privacy I required. And craved.

  Sitting at the bar, deep in thought as I made mental notes for the book I was writing, I didn’t hear someone slide in next to me.

  “Hey.”

  Frowning, I swiveled toward the voice. “Mo, how are you?”

  The large guy planted on a stool to my left took me by surprise, especially as he sat there in a black leather sports coat, his dark eyes focused on me.

  “I’m good. We play tomorrow, so I have to head out soon, but I brought my lady out for a New Year’s beverage . . . forgetting she couldn’t drink because she’s knocked up. I’m an idiot like that.”

  He tipped his head to the back of the bar where a stunning mixed-race woman sat sipping on a glass of club soda. Her hair was down, wavy and wild, and her cleavage practically burst out of a black halter top. She certainly didn’t look prego to me, but what the hell did I know?

  “I’m sure you’re having fun anyway,” I responded, swallowing a lump of regret.

  I’d only talked to Maurice once before at the team party back in November, and he seemed nice enough. But that wasn’t my scene anymore. Actually, it had never been my scene. I’d only hung out with cool college athletes once.

  Mo studied me. “So, w
hat’s the story? My man says you dropped off the face of the earth, and here you are toasting the New Year by yourself?”

  “I’m doing some soul searching, finding my own way, figuring shit out—pardon my language. Blane didn’t need all that baggage. He’s got a life of grandeur ahead.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Catie.” Mo patted my shoulder and stood up. “I have to get back to my lady. Happy New Year.”

  “Same to you.”

  I tossed a twenty on the bar and got up. It was time for me to do what I needed to do.

  With my bag tucked under my shoulder, I entered the warehouse. “Hey, Frank,” I hollered as I headed toward the back, my boots clunking on the cement floor.

  “Hey, girl. Thanks for coming in tonight, Ari.”

  “No problem.”

  Seated in the back, I slipped out of my coat and oversized sweatshirt, leaving me in only a sheer T-shirt as the script called for. I quickly pulled my hair in a bun on top of my head and fitted my wavy red wig on top. I’d curled it the night before. Sometimes I wore it straight and glossy, but tonight I was doing a coed type of scene, and I felt wild hair was best.

  “I’ll be ready in fifteen,” I called out, swiping on some red lipstick before grabbing my fake eyelashes out of the case.

  Grace had no idea what she was actually recommending them for when I called her for advice; she was so excited I wanted faux eyelashes. Sarina had explained they were a must in the industry.

  My sisters had also been flat-out excited when I said I was heading back to school early from the holidays. Apparently, my presence stressed Mom out, which spoiled the holiday for my sisters. Bitches. I could only imagine what they’d say if any of them found out why I’d hurried back to school.

  “Hey, Ari,” I heard from toward the door.

  “Hey, Ricky,” I called back. Tricky Ricky, my partner for the night.

  That’s right, I was now a full-fledged member of the porn world—Ariel Stone in the flesh. In only a few short weeks, I’d been dubbed Queen of the Titty Fuck.