Page 44 of Scoring the Player
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.” I keep walking before he gets in my head and has me spilling my guts, or worse, doing halftime meditation.
“He’s got it bad for you, bro. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Who said that’s what I wanted?” I glare at him. “Not everyone gets to live a damn fairytale.”
Men like Salem don’t end up with men like me. They end up with warm and fuzzy-looking dudes like Lucien. Dudes who sleep soundly at night.
How do you even sleep next to someone like that—someone who’s so clearly won the genetic lottery? How do you wake up and not feel immediately depressed that the most beautiful thingyou’ll see that day is lying across from you, and everything will be downhill from there?
“Aww.” Sid slings his arm around my neck. “You want him to be your prince?”
“Fall outta tree.”
“You’d both rock the fuck outta tiaras, princess.”
I push him off me, stifling a grin.
When the game resumes, I step up.
Grabbing possession, I cut up Ezekiel, then Nikola, forcing Salem to leave Nick to defend me.
Yeah, yeah, forcing him to engage with me is an asshole move. I never said I wasn’t an asshole, though.
He’s at my back as I pivot left, shimmy right, then left again, testing his speed.
He’s quick, staying low. I fake another pivot, then spin fast, jump back, and get off the ball.
It tears through the air, bouncing off the rim before it sinks in.
“Mm,” I hum. “That’s in there deep.”
His eyes narrow as he races away.
Onyx lowers his shoulder to attack the rim. I swipe the ball before takeoff and then charge up court. Opting to skip the easy layup, I toss the ball over my shoulder, and Sid slams it in.
The crowd’s roar is short-lived as Salem feeds the ball to Cillian, who banks a half-court three.
“How’s your back?” Ezekiel goads Sid, who tries to free me up to drive to the rim. “Shit’s gotta hurt, carrying your bench.”
Backing away, Sid raises an eyebrow at me. “Have fun.”
“Word?” I hit a fake crossover, then pull back. The idiot bites, and I make him dance. “Tryna set me on fire to get warm?” I release the ball. It spins around the rim, then crashes through the net. “I’m too cold-blooded, dawg. Go home.”
The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the second quarter.
We’re up by eight points, so I know what’s coming next. The Lions have one of the sharpest coaches in the league, and she’s no doubt gonna assign their most ferocious player to guard me.
Perfect.
Salem
I know what Blue’s doing, but I don’t know why.
Third-quarter clock begins, and we double-team him. Johan sets a screen that traps Zyair, leaving me one-on-one with Blue. He holds me at bay with his elbow, keeping the ball out of reach. When his head tilts forward, fixing me with a rare unguarded stare, I look away, curbing the roil in my chest. Leaning in to force him toward the corner, he pushes back, holding his ground. I bear the spread of heat everywhere as he turns, looking for a pass, and his breath ghosts my neck.
I ignore the way his lips, those dark, sexy lips…
