Page 43 of Lovetown, USA
She smiles at the crowd, waving and laughing as they cheer from the bleachers. She doesn’t speak though, just tosses the ball in the air before scrambling out of the way.
And the game is on.
I’ve never been much of a sports fan. I went to all of the games when I was at Grambling, but that was so I could see the bands play at halftime. I wasn’t actually watching the players. Football bores me.
Apparently, so does basketball. I’m more interested in scribbling notes than who’s scoring points. I make a note on the guys’ uniforms—white with tiny red hearts for Deacon’s team, and black with pink hearts for Trey’s. I shake my head as I sketch the design, annoyed at how far they’re taking this bullshit.
The cheerleaders look to be from the local high school, and they’re adorned in pink and white. “Love Wins” glitters across their chests as they jump and chant in perfect rhythm.
My eyes roll yet again.
Trey gets the ball, and I make the mistake of watching him closely. He’s fast. Focused. The way he moves…controlled, efficient, as if every muscle knows its job and clocked in for its shift. It kinda reminds me of his physicality in the bedroom.
That’s why staring at him was a mistake.
Memories flash on the screen in my mind. Him inside me. His tongue. His dick. His hands.
And now he’s successfully pulled me away from my notes. My eyes follow him up and down the court as he drives past two defenders, jumps, and sinks a shot like it’s nothing. As he jogs back, he glances over his shoulder, catches me staring, and winks.
My stomach does an inconvenient flip.
The crowd is irritatingly loud, stomping on the bleachers, chanting, booing bad calls, but I keep finding Trey in the noise. He steals the ball and goes for another shot, scores, and pumps his fist. While Deacon’s team scrambles to regroup, Trey glances at me again and gives me a smile. It’s like we’re sharing some private joke. Some intimate moment.
I like this, but at the same time, I don’t like it.
By the time halftime rolls around, the arena is alive with energy. I’m thinking about going to the concession stand when the lights dim. Whatever the halftime show is gonna be, I hope I enjoy it.
Two minutes later, I realize I won’t.
Because out waddles a little five-year-old “bride” in a fluffy white tutu, white lace gloves, and a plastic tiara. The “groom” is an equally tiny little boy wearing a tux with a red bow tie. They walk down a makeshift aisle while the announcer narrates it like it’s the royal wedding. People in the stands are smiling and crying. Phones are out.
This is horrifying.
I look around, searching for one reasonable person in this crowd, somebody who’s also thinking this shit is ridiculous and over the top. But there’s nobody. Everyone’s enamored.
This is hell.
Trey’s eyes find mine again through all the bullshit. He’s leaning on his knees, still catching his breath, smiling just a littlelike he knows I’m silently judging this whole spectacle. I look away as my pulse spikes. You’d thinkIwas the one out there sprinting up and down the court.
Thank goodness for small blessings—the kids don’t end the ceremony with a kiss. Instead, they fist bump, and the crowd goes wild while I throw up in my mouth. The lights come back up and the cheerleaders come out to do some jumping around at the center of the court.
I’ve seen enough. I’m gathering my shit when I hear Trey’s voice.
“Can I get a kiss for good luck?”
I look up, my eyebrow raised. “How do you know I’m not a jinx?”
He laughs. “Even if I lose, I still got to kiss you.”
My smile emerges victorious in the fight against my resting bitch face. I lean forward as Trey leans down and offers me his cheek. I plant a soft kiss on it, and of course, of fuckingcoursethe nosy ass love addicts in the vicinity say, “Awww,” like we just put on a show for their asses.
I gotta get the entire fuck out of this town.
I forget I was supposed to leave, instead becoming engrossed in the second half of this game. It’s faster, it seems. More aggressive. Every time Trey scores, his eyes find me. Sometimes he gives a little nod. A smirk. One time, he points, just barely, like I’m the one he’s playing for. By the time two minutes rolls around, the score is tied. Then Trey scores a three-pointer—yes, I know what that is—and puts his team ahead.
Then, they win.
The crowd goes wild as the buzzer sounds.
