Page 13 of Half-Court Heat
Chapter
Five
Ireadjusted the strap of my duffle bag where it dug into my shoulder. The neighborhood coffee shop was already crowded, making me regret coming straight from a workout with Jazz to my coffee date with Eva. I could feel the sweat cooling under my hoodie; I hoped I didn’t smell too badly like body odor and IcyHot.
The line was long enough to give me time to rehearse Eva’s coffee order, which was—like most things Eva did—slightly extra but oddly endearing. Iced oat milk latte, blonde roast, half shot of vanilla, one pump caramel, light ice, extra espresso. I double-checked my notes app like I was studying for a final exam.
A barista with a long blonde ponytail awaited me at the front of the line. Her septum was pierced and her forearms were peppered with just enough tattoos that I knew she wouldn’t mess up Eva’s drink order. When our eyes met, her features morphed from disinterested to curious. She gave me a long, hard look that indicated she might recognize me, but couldn’t place from where.
I was probably imagining it all, but ever since photos from our tropical getaway had popped up online, I found myself a little nervous to step outside. I didn’t imagine paparazzi lurkingaround every corner, but I’d become more attuned to my surroundings and the people around me.
Being a professional basketball player brought with it a certain level of celebrity, but typically nothing that required a security detail. Eva, however, was much more than a basketball player. Through branding deals and modeling, she’d become one of the most recognizable women on the planet, regardless if anyone knew anything about sports. Until Mexico, I hadn’t really realized that dating her meant an elevated level of notoriety for myself as well.
I averted my eyes while I recited Eva’s drink order and requested a regular coffee for myself. I kept my eyes downcast, mostly out of embarrassment that the staff would have to make Eva’s overly complicated concoction, but partly to conceal my face from the cashier’s aggressive stare.
The barista grabbed a cardboard cup and black marker. “Name for the order?”
“Alex,” I said quickly. Not a lie, but not the full truth either.
I paid for the drinks, mindful to leave a generous trip for the hassle of Eva’s coffee order, and stepped down the line to hover near the drink pick-up area.
I pulled out my phone to keep me company and discovered a missed message from Jazz.
Same time, same place tomorrow?
Yeah, I’m down.
Cool. Tell Monty she’s more than welcome to come, too.
Being away from Boston and the Shamrocks’ practice facilities meant I was on my own for off-season training. IfI’d stayed, I would have had access to the weight room, practice court, and PT staff. Luckily, my best friend and former college teammate, Jasmine Rivers, had grown up in Chicago. We planned to work out together at her old high school gym, partly to stay sharp, partly to have a built-in excuse to hang out. Chicago’s new practice facilities were still under construction, so their entire team—Eva included—would be training independently until the new season started in May.
A good portion of pro players went abroad during the off season to play in Europe, Asia, or Australia. The foreign leagues often paid more, keeping the dream alive of being a full-time athlete. But the landscape was shifting. More players were landing lucrative endorsement deals that kept them stateside. With more eyes on the league and its financial growth, there was hope for a new collective bargaining agreement that would guarantee livable wages and bring the women’s game closer to the men’s in terms of respect, resources, and security.
Jazz had gotten an offer to play in China during the off-season, but she’d turned it down. The money was hard to pass up, but the timeline for a rookie in the pro league was brutal. We’d finished our senior college season in early April. The draft was barely a week later, and training camp for our rookie year had started in May. For all intents and purposes, Jazz, Eva, and I had been playing competitive basketball nonstop for over a year. Taking time off felt less like a luxury and more like a necessity—to avoid burnout, to stay healthy, to just breathe.
Unlike most players, Eva didn’t need to play overseas to supplement her income. Her net worth was pushing eight figures, and her career had only just begun. I’d received a few offers myself, but with my wrist finally back to 100 percent, it didn’t seem smart to risk re-injury. An off-season setback could jeopardize my second year. I’d already had a shortened rookie season; I didn’t need to test fate again.
Oh, I see how it is. Only want to hang if I bring my girlfriend.
The barista’s voice pulled my attention away from my phone: “Order for Alex.”
I grabbed our drinks, ignoring the slight twitch in the barista’s expression like she was just about to place me, and found an empty table in the corner.
My phone lit up with another new text.
I’m only looking out for your best interests.
How is that exactly?
I know you’ll push yourself even harder if wifey is watching.
I set down my drink so I could text with both hands.
Are you accusing me of slacking today??
I glanced up when I spotted movement in my peripheral. Eva had slipped into the coffee shop through a side entrance, no doubt to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself—although as an over six foot tall gorgeous Black woman, I couldn’t imagine there being a time when all eyes weren’t on her.
I stood before she reached the table, knowing she liked the chivalrous gesture.
