Page 6 of Scoring the Player
…or was it ten rebounds and eleven assists?
Dragging in a resistant breath, I unzip my pants and then piss, ignoring the knock on the door.
There was the lob I threw to Nick, who posted up for a fadeaway, and the one to Zeke for the dunk.
The doorknob rattles.
At least seven for Sid, who probably had as many for me.
I zip up and flush.
That’s nine assists right there.
Turning on the hot water, I push the soap dispenser three times until my palm is full.
Twenty seconds or…I roll out my neck, ignoring the warning as I rub the soap between my palms and fingers and then rinse. I start to reach for a towel when my hands freeze midair.
Twenty seconds, or Anaïs won’t survive surgery.
Grinding my teeth, I stab the soap dispenser again until my palms are full.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi…
I begin to rinse.
…three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi, seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Mississippi...
The knock, louder this time, rattles the door.
“Get lost.” There are like a hundred bathrooms here.Told Sid he should give out maps of their estate.
Where was I?Eight Mississippi or nine?
For fuck’s sake.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi, seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Mississippi, ten Mississippi, eleven Mississippi, twelve Mississippi, thirteen Mississippi, fourteen Mississippi, fifteen Mississippi?—
I grunt and focus as the voices get louder outside the door.
…sixteen Mississippi, seventeen Mississippi, eighteen Mississippi, nineteen Mississippi, twenty Mississippi.
My lungs expand as I yank the towel free and dry my hands. Ripping open the door, I shrink back from the sun and throw on my shades.
“You didn’t hear me knocking?” Nick asks.
“So?” I shrug as he slides by.
“Waddup?” Malik, Ty’s teammate on the Knights, says as I reach for the bourbon.
Nodding, I tilt the mouth of the bottle toward his cup.
“Whoa, easy.” He grins. “I tend to strip when I’m drunk.”
Eyeing his cup, I shift the bottle to refill my own, stopping when I think the amount is even with his.
“That was epic,” he says, facing the crowd. “Ty’s my boy, but goddamn, right?”
The scent of grilled beef has my brain snitching to my stomach that it wants me to finish the plate I started.
