Page 40 of Scoring the Player
“Chill.” He stretches his arms over his head, then stills as his eyes widen at the snow-covered window.
“Yeah, six to eight inches expected by morning,” I inform him.
“Whoa. Mind if I stay the night and head home in the morning?”
“All good.” Simba jumps up as I rise. “You know where everything is.”
I head upstairs to change, Simba on my heels.
When I come back down, Josiah joins me in the kitchen as I finish heating up chili.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, burrowing into my hoodie I left on the couch.
I slide him over a bowl. “How’s grad school?”
“Mmm.” His bangs fall forward as he breathes in the chili’s aroma. “You spoil me.” He slides onto a stool.
I blow on my spoon as I lean against the counter. “Have you asked for accommodations?”
He shrugs. “Everyone has ADHD. I don’t need special treatment. I didn’t need it for undergrad.”
I blow out steam as I swallow a spoonful of chili. “I have a teammate”—I take a sip of water—“who struggles with SPD. You know what that is?”
He nods. “Sensory Processing Disorder.”
“Instead of handshakes or butt slaps, he prefers non-touch praise. Head nods, thumbs up, y’know that sorta thing?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles as he chews.
“And when he’s really amped, we hit a special two-step shuffle we made up together instead of a bear hug. He wears noise-canceling headphones before and after the game, and weknow to give him space when his ears are covered. No one gives him shit when he skips nights out after a game.”
“And you all are okay with it?”
“Yeah. He’s our boy, and we want to make sure he’s good.Andwe need him to be able to do his job when it’s game time. You get where I’m going?”
“Yep,” he says, pausing to lick the spoon.
“Ain’t no shame in getting the support you need. We all want you to graduate.”
He sighs. “I knooow.”
“Good.” I smirk at Simba, who’s circling the kitchen for fallen scraps.
“Okay, but all day I’ve been waiting to hear what happened with Arnaz.”
I stiffen, lowering my bowl to the counter. “He, uh, doesn’t date.”
He drops his spoon into the bowl. “He turned you down?”
“Yep.” I refill his bowl and slide it back over. “Thanked me for the cake. Even offered to pay for it.”
“Noo.”
“Yep.”
“Eeek.” His chin sinks into my hoodie. “I’m sorry.”
Yeah, me too.
