Page 66 of Courtside

Sage grinned, lowering down into a defensive stance as she saw Patrick checking the ball in.

As soon as the ball was in play, David moved forward, ducking his shoulder as he tried to get past her. But Sage anticipated the move, leaning her chest heavily into him and forcing him to adjust his path to go behind her.

She pulled back from him enough to see the ball, which was currently on the opposite wing, but she kept one hand planted on David’s chest.

He wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without her knowing.

“Handsy,” he muttered, hooking his arm around her back to try to get the angle to move closer to the ball.

Whatever hesitation Sage had felt before stepping on the court was gone, replaced by instincts and muscle memories that were so much a part of her that she’d almost forgotten they were there.

She hung back for a second, just enough time for Horty, David’s teammate, to think the pass was there. But as soon as the ball left his hands, Sage darted into the path of the pass, stealing the ball.

Immediately her head was on a swivel, and she caught the flash of black out of the corner of her eye. She hesitated for a second, already hearing the shout of disapproval if she made a risky pass.

But there was no one watching her, right? This practice wasn’t about her. None of the coaches gave a shit how she played. Fuck, they weren’t evenhercoaches.

Her hesitation had cost her the first opening, but already another idea had taken form.

She could feel David’s body pressed against hers, a position that, in any other context, would have been inherently sexual. But that was the last thing on her mind as she turned to face the basket, keeping the ball tucked against her hip.

She ignored David’s face that hovered inches from hers, instead watching the rise and fall of his chest. Her eyes darted up to the basket over his shoulder, and she saw the exact second his weight shifted forward.

She faked the shot, selling it with a deep knee bend and a tilt of her chin.

David lunged forward, and easily, like she’d never spent a day away from the game, Sage ducked under him and took a hard dribble toward the basket. And when Jenks’ man came to stop her, she made the easy dish pass across the lane to her teammate, who finished with an open lay-up.

“Let’s go!” Jenks shouted, coming toward Sage with both hands raised.

She was probably smiling like a fool as she returned the high fives, but she was so overwhelmingly happy at that moment that she forgot to hold herself back.

No one in the gym could possibly know how monumental what had just happened was. She felt a wave of relief that her return to basketball, a moment that had been building in her imagination for the past five years, had gone unnoticed. Anticlimactic, even.

And the game went on. Her team was beaten a few plays later, and so they went back and forth, with no team showing any particular dominance over the others. It was competitive, sure, but there was laughter and teasing and everything Sage associated with a team who genuinely enjoyed spending time together.

And by the time they wrapped up and the guys headed to shower off before their team dinner, Sage was drenched in sweat, exhausted, and happier than she’d been in a long time.

* * *

After five days of practices, team dinners, a failed attempt to get the guys to do a gingerbread house decorating competition, Daisy making a few appearances at team gatherings, a yoga class that had completely kicked her in the ass, and way too many hours spent in the company of men, Sage bowed out of that night’s team dinner, which Monty and his roommates were hosting at their house. She’d made sure they were all stocked with groceries on the team card, and then escaped to The Grove to see Maggie.

“Sage!” Maggie called out as soon as she sat at one of the stools. Luckily, on a Monday evening, the bar was pretty quiet. “The usual?”

“Please,” Sage replied, tugging at the floral print blouse she’d pulled out of her closet. For some reason she’d gotten it into her head that she wanted to wear something other than sweats and a t-shirt.

Sage accepted the margarita the bartender slid across the wood toward her. “How have you been?”

Maggie looked surprised at the question, but the surprise quickly faded into a grateful smile. “Really good, honestly. Men are still idiots, but other than that I’m great.”

Sage laughed. “How so?”

“There’s a guy I’ve been with off and on for a while, and while I’d like for it to be a bit more on, he keeps pullin’ away.” Maggie frowned down at the bar, picking at a spot on the wood with one of her red painted nails. “I’m too old to put up with someone who isn’t willin’ to share their life with me. If I’m puttin’ myself out there, then the least he can do is meet me halfway. And since he’s proven to be an asshole who wants to hide me away like a dirty secret, I’m going to break it off.” She wrinkled her nose at Sage. “And I hate breakin’ up with people.”

Sage took a long drink of her margarita, grateful for the burn of the jalapeño infused tequila. “So what would it look like if you were going to stay?” She winced, afraid that her voice betrayed the dull pain that tightened in her chest.

Maggie considered her question for a moment, like maybe she was trying to piece together the odd phrasing or understand what it was that Sage wanted to know.

“Keep in mind that I am in no way an authority on relationships of any kind,” Maggie started. “But the way that I see it, we’ve only got so many hours to be alive on this earth. Regardless of what happens after, at some point we’re all going to die.”

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