Page 47 of Off the Rim
"Shit, sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"It's cool," he says, moving aside to let me in the small room. He takes a swig of the sports drink he must have purchased from one of the machines.
"I'm getting ice," I say awkwardly. Not that he needs to know that information, but I keep rambling just to keep him in the same room. Playing things totally casual. Friendly. Definitely not like his dick and hand have made me come recently and it's all I can think about. "For my knee. It's a bit sore after tonight. Good game, huh? We really kicked Vandy's asses, although I thought they might catch up in the third quarter. Maybe we should do some more long drills to work on stamina. It seems like Coach is going to keep us out a lot more."
Me? Ramble? Never.
"Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Are you ready for tomorrow's game?"
"Definitely. Not sure I'm ready for after, though."
"What do you mean?"
"We're in Vegas," I say, like it's obvious. "The rest of the team is planning to go out." After a pause, I ask, "Are you going?"
"Definitely not," he says with a laugh. "They did the same thing last year, and all I heard about for weeks was how close Dustin Harris' face got to a stripper's vag. Not really my scene."
I bark out a laugh. "Yeah, mine either. Maybe we can talk them into doing something else."
"Maybe." There is no part of me that is the least bit convinced he'd go, anyway. It makes me want to go even less than I did before. "Right, well, goodnight. Elevate that knee," he says, vacating his spot against the entryway to head back to his room.
"Wait, Marcus. Can we talk about?—”
"Later," he says, cutting me off. "Maybe after the ACC Challenge game? Or after finals?" He has his normal stoic, expressionless face on, but I can see the restless way his fingers fiddle with the label of the drink bottle. He's uncomfortable, probably regrets what happened between us. Again.
"Everything okay?"
He walks away, gruffly answering over my shoulder. "Yeah, all good. Just a lot on my mind."
Me too, tough guy. Me too.
The arena echoes with the deafening roar of the crowd as BYU sinks another basket, putting us behind by two points. Sweat beads on my forehead and drips down my face as I assess the clock. My eyes cut to Marcus, who looks just as tired as I am, and he dips his chin in a nod, acknowledging my silent suggestion. There's barely any time on the clock, and it'll take a near miracleto pull it off, but neither of us is ready to give up just yet. Now is our chance to push and show just how unstoppable the two of us are.
"It's me and you, Princess," he says quietly as we sprint down the court, catching up to where BYU has possession.
If they score again, it's over.
With a burst of adrenaline, I bound over to the basket and jump up just as a player drives in for a layup. My height works to my advantage as I swat the ball. It ricochets off the backboard and almost hits the rim, but I snatch it from the air. Without a moment's hesitation, I pivot and launch the ball behind me, where I know Marcus will be in position. Like a blur, he streaks across the court, snatching the ball from the air not five feet in front of Jackson Montgomery, one of our junior guards. I feel a little bad for using Jackson as bait and making him think I'm passing him the ball, but Marcus and I have been working on this play for weeks. Marcus dribbles the ball down the court, weaving in and out of defenders. With a quick fake, he darts past two BYU players that each have several inches on him in height. Another player closes in, and he fires a no-look pass back at me as I sprint into position beyond the arc.
I make a clean catch and line up my shot, but I feel the pressure closing in on all sides as defenders rush towards me. Adjusting my grip, I prepare to shoot. In a moment that feels like slow motion, I let the ball fall, catch it midway to the floor, and then whip the ball around my back, passing to Marcus, who is now open at the three-point line. He takes the pass, releasing the shot in one fluid motion without a moment's hesitation. The buzzer blares as it arcs toward the net.
The entire arena falls silent, breaths held as the ball spins through the air, kissing the net with a satisfying swish.
The crowd erupts. Our teammates rush Marcus, picking him up and roaring as they jump up and down. I join the throng, as does Coach Burke and the rest of the staff, and we celebrate a win that almost didn't happen. Against all odds, we pulled off the win by a single point.
My arm locks around the back of Marcus' neck as I pull him in for a celebratory hug. "That's how it's fucking done!" I roar to the cheers of our teammates.
Later, after a team dinner where we nearly get kicked out of a restaurant because we're too rowdy celebrating, I find myself hovering around the vending area of the hotel. Everyone else left to go party. The coaches looked the other way after warning everyone about safety and being back at the hotel on time to leave for our flight the next morning. I'm pretty sure Burke and Weston headed to the closest casino. The whole floor is quiet.
I'm leaning against the wall playing on my phone for so long, the motion activated lights turn on. I tempt fate with a picture of a sports drink in my hand, posting it to my social media with a comment about being thirsty after an epic game. Marcus shows up not too long after I post it.
"I assumed you'd be out partying."
I straighten immediately, pushing myself to my full height. "Not really my thing anymore," I answer. "Good game today."
"Yeah," he breathes out as he makes a beeline for me. "Good game."
His mouth crashes to mine, the impact of his solid body knocking me hard against the wall. I groan into the kiss, greedily pulling him harder against my body.
