Page 46 of Loving the Legend
“Sid, Liam from ESPN, thirty-seven points posted, including the game-winning buzzer beater. What deciding factor do you attribute to tonight’s win?”
He opens his mouth but covers it as he tilts away from the mic and sneezes.
“Thanks,” he says as he's handed a tissue. “Pardon me.” He leans back, eyes shuddering closed, and sneezes again. He shakes his head, then tilts forward toward the mic. “Everyone locked in.” He scans the paper in front of him. “Justin banked a triple-double, and Kevin and Kristian scored over eighteen points a piece. We defended the ball well. We’ve been working hard to reduce our unforced turnovers, and it showed tonight.”
“What do you think of the Knights’ performance?” a reporter asks.
“I think they moved the ball, made big plays. It was a close game.”
“Sid, Rachel fromSports Broadcast,great game. Much has been written about your face off against the Knights’ rookie, Ty Washington. How do you feel about the endless comparisons of his game against your rookie performance?”
Ugh. Enough with this shit already.
“Look, I think we’re two different players with completely different styles. That being said, a rookie who consistently banks over thirty points per game—I mean, tonight alone, he banked thirty-five points, twelve rebounds, and ten assists—you can’t love the game and not get excited about those stats. He’s tenacious, bold, and calm under pressure. When you love to compete at a high level, players like Ty keep the game interesting.” He grins. “I had fun tonight.”
I smile reluctantly. How’d he memorize my stats that fast?
“Sid, over here, what’s your mindset heading on the road to face off against Toronto?”
“We know what we need to do and have full faith that we’ll make our best effort to improve both our offense and— ”
A call from the last person I expected to hear from interrupts the video. I wipe my face, pat down my hair, then freeze.What am I doing?He can’t see me.
I crunch up to a sitting position and accept the call. “This a prank?”
“Why would this be a prank?” Sid asks. If midnight had a voice, it would sound like his. Husky, dark, mysterious.
I clear my throat. “Calling to gloat? I half expected you to be out celebrating.”
“Nah, winning’s a normal occurrence for us.”
I picture the cocky smirk on his face and see red. “Fuck off. Let me hit you back the day after nev—”
“Wait—” He chuckles. “What are you up to? I knew you’d be up.”
I huff out a breath. “Popped melatonin hours ago, but no luck.”
“Come over.”
“What?” I scoff. “For what?”
“Why not? You don’t fly out until tomorrow, and I don’t leave for Toronto until later in the afternoon.”
Why not?
Why not!
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve been suppressing the urge to punch something since leaving the court where I lost to you, jackass. Maybe because I’m trying to shake the feeling that someone pulled my shorts down in front of twenty thousand people. I keep telling myself that this game was like any other, but it wasn’t—not really. The media morphed it into a spectaclewhen I just wanted to ball—and win. Maybe because the invitation is causing my stomach to rearrange itself.
I scrub my hand over my face.
“You still there?”
“Unfortunately,” I grumble, and the fucker chuckles.
I shake my head, already regretting what I’m about to say next.
“Text me your address.” I hang up.
