Page 3 of The Pump Fake

“It’ll seem like you’re putting yourself out there, but that you value your privacy. And as crazy as it sounds, athletes—especially women—who have a partner do better with the fans. Let alone the men who are in charge.”

This is absolutely ridiculous. Why would being with someone make me seem more appealing? This is like the whole ‘you need to smile more’ fiasco my junior year in college.

I’m standing against the wall holding a drink while listening to one of my teammates talk. “Tonight’s game was killer. I can’t believe we won.”

“Yeah, that last shot was a miracle,” I respond when one of the frat brothers approaches us.

“Hey, ladies. How are you on this fine night?” he asks us, with a huge shit-eating grin which I’m sure he thinks is attractive. I don’t have time for this crap, so I stay quiet, moving my attention away from him, letting my teammate take this one.

I’m not really paying attention to them, but I can hear her giggling. I guess his smile works on some people, just not me. I haven’t ever met anyone who has made me want to lose myself and not focus on basketball. Maybe once I get to the WNBA, I’ll relax and feel more like finding someone, but doubt fills me.

Surveying the room, I look for any reason to get away. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll see someone else I know and can escape. I don’t really want to witness them making out or anything else that could happen. A tap on my shoulder tells me I might not be getting away though. I close my eyes for a beat and hope it’s my teammate wanting to get out of here.

Looking over my shoulder, I’m not so lucky. That same frat boy is staring at me as if he wants to eat me up. My teammate is standing next to him, scowling at me. I can tell she’s angry, but she’s trying to hold back. What the hell could’ve happened?

“Has anyone ever told you that if you that you’re fucking sexy? But you know what would make you even sexier? Smiling more.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare at him. At five foot eleven, I’m not short so we were pretty close to eye level. “What the hell did you just say?”

That’s when my teammate pipes up, “He said you would be more attractive if you smiled more.” A cruel smile comes over her face and I just know that whatever she says next I’m really not going to like. “I have to say I agree with him,” she says as she rubs her hand up and down his forearm.

My jaw drops because one, I thought we were friends, and two, we’re teammates and she just humiliated me in front ofeveryone. She’s putting moves on this guy, like I was trying to get with him or something. No. I’m not doing this.

Shaking off the surprise of what she just said, I narrow my eyes at both of them. “I don’t give a fuck what either of you think.” Then I zero in on my teammate sneering, “And if you concentrated more on basketball than douche bags, maybe you would actually make a shot every once in a while.”

Not waiting for any response, I push off the wall and leave the party. That was the moment I started distancing myself from my team and concentrating on more of what I could do for my game instead.

The memory from college makes a lightbulb go off in my head, because even though I distanced myself from my team, I had put effort in with those who were fans of the game, helping my reputation while I was in college.

“Counteroffer, what if I do a few fan events and I’ll try to be warmer with my teammates?”

“That would be great, but you’re not exactly trending well with fans either right now.” I can just imagine him wincing at having to tell me all of this. One thing I know about Cliff is that he doesn’t like to deliver bad news.

“What do you mean I’m not trending well with fans? And if that’s the case, getting out in front of fans would be good then, right?” I ask him, shocked.

“Well, you’re not one to spend time with fans usually. And with the rumors from your teammates and other people you’ve worked with in the industry about you being cold and not wanting to socialize outside of the court…the fans of the team find you…lacking,” he says, trying to soften his voice as if that’s going to stop the blow from hitting me.

“That’s low, Cliff,” I mutter, trying to hold back the emotion in my voice.

I don’t want him to know how much that hurts me. Knowing that other people in the industry don’t like you is one thing—I set it up like that. But for fans to find me lacking hurts more than I want to admit.

“I’m sorry. Let’s get dinner tonight at your favorite place and we’ll go over our options. I really think this is the best choice. It’s only for a few months.”

“Fine, I’ll meet you for dinner, but I’m not saying yes,” I inform him.

“Thanks, Jade,” he softly answers.

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend,” I sass back to him.

He lets out a sigh while mumbling, “I know.”

Hanging up the phone, I try to push his words out of my mind while I get ready for practice. Who cares if the team things I’m frigid? I help them win. Why can’t it be about how we play? This image shit is stupid. The people who I’m close with know the real me. It’s just that my circle of people is tiny. Like super small. Other than Cliff, it’s really only my family.

Ever since that moment in college when my own teammate turned her back on me, it’s been really hard for me to open up.

I take a deep breath. Today I’ll try a little harder, and maybe I can get out of this stupid plan Cliff has in mind.

Grabbing my keys and duffel bag, I head to my car. It’s time to get my head into practice mode and not worry about this nonsense. That’s for future Jade to deal with.

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