Page 19 of Before I Loved You

If I shoot, he blocks.

If I fall to the ground, it’s because the son of a bitch shoved me while no one was looking.

Yeah, the whole co-captain thing is going really well.

And I’ve just about had enough of his fucking attitude.

His eyes narrow in on me like a rabid dog, watching every move I make. Anticipating every play and every step I take.

But it’s not going to work this time.

I subtly move my body toward the right without shifting my feet, my eyes focusing on Glen, who is completely covered and unavailable for assistance. But Greyson doesn’t know this because Greyson only has his beady eyes plastered on me. So, as I shift the ball in front of me, appearing as though I’m about to dribble to my right side, I fake him out, pivoting on my left foot, bypassing him with a not-so-gentle elbow nudge.

Taking Greyson by surprise, he doesn’t react fast enough as I dribble from the arc to the basket, dunking the ball in the hoop.

Victory has never tasted so sweet.

“That was a fucking foul,” Greyson bites out, advancing toward me.

“Excuse me?” I place my hands on my hips, my chest rising steadily from each huff of air I release, my lungs burning from the over-exertion of hustling on the court nonstop for hours.

My teammates watch, not saying a word.

“You pushed me,” Greyson accuses. “So that basket doesn’t count.”

“Oh, you mean like what you’ve been doing to me all night,” I challenge, cocking my head to the side.

Greyson gets right up in my face, or at least as close as he can, seeing that he’s half a foot shorter than me. “You better watch yourself.”

“Are you threatening me?” My brows furrow as I step into his space, bumping into his chest.

“I’m simply warning you to—”

The piercing ring of a whistle blows nearby, causing us both to whip our heads to the side and take a step away from each other.

“Paul.” Coach Rivers motions for me to join him on the sidelines.

Before heading his way, I look down at Greyson, narrowing my eyes. “We have a whole season to get through together. So calm the fuck down.”

Just as I turn, Greyson ensures he has the last word. “Too bad your daddy’s not here to see you riding his name.”

I clench my fists at my side.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Glen, who mouths, He’s not worth it. And he’s right. I know he is. Greyson’s egging me on, trying to do anything he can to provoke me into losing my shit in front of the coach. Bringing up my dad was a low blow. But I refuse to be a pawn in Greyson’s game, giving him what he wants, so I walk away with my head held high before I give myself a chance to let his words soak into my skin.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” I swipe at the sweat dripping down my temple.

A tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair stands beside him, smiling, as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Yes, Paul, this is Peter Green.” Coach shifts his stance, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “He’s a scout for the Boston Celtics and wanted to introduce himself to you before he left.”

Holy shit.

Peter sticks his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I respond, happily taking his hand.

“I remember watching your dad play like it was yesterday.” His smile falters as he says, “I was really sorry to hear about what happened to him. Terrible tragedy.”

---