Page 10 of Tyriq & Teaira
I don’t know how this nigga does it but he catches me every damn time I’m getting in my ride. I swear he’s locked in on me, but hell, he should be. I’m his top client and we’ve made some nice bread together.
Up until a few years ago, student-athletes could not make deals that earned them money. That shit was forfeited as soon as they signed on with a college sports team. Thankfully, right when I started CFU, shit changed. With some changes in NCAA rules and state laws, all NIL rights were given back to college athletes, and with Paxton, I made my first sponsorship deal six weeks after the change. A huge car dealership with multiple locations, Luxury is Powers, signed me on for a six-figure deal that included my Escalade. After that, more rolled in and I’m good, real good and so is my family, thanks to basketball.
“I know you don’t like to hear this but your socials are lacking.”
“Your guys run that shit. Post something,” I counter.
“We are doing our part but we need you to do yours. You won the game with the winning shot. Your team, the underdogs, made it to the championship. Your sponsors want to see their products in the mix. They are paying for this exposure. We need pictures. I can send somebody out this evening to take the pictures if I have to. I’m desperate here,” he pleads. Paxton already talks fast but when he’s stressed, he talks extra fast and it’s annoying as fuck.
“Man, slow down. That shit hurts my ears. You ain’t sending nobody tonight. It’s the day before a game and what do I do the night before a game?”
“Tyriq, they can be in and out.”
“Not tonight and why not, Paxton?” I ask, sounding annoyed as hell. Both of my agents know my routine. The night before any home game, I have dinner with my family. That hasn’t changed in four years and it fo’ sho’ was not changing the night before the championship game.
“Family dinner,” he finally utters.
“Right.”
“Well, can you at least send a few pictures with the Cadillac, one drinking the energy drink in the gym or something, and one at The Marketplace? In uniform is great but I’ll take anything. We need to post today.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Thanks and we’ll clean them up and handle the captions.”
“Bet.”
“Make sure we can see the logo on the drink,” he says. “They paid you a lot and want to see their investment. Send the pictures,” he says before ending the call and I sigh.
This shit, although a blessing, is stressful as fuck.All of it.I’ve been playing in the Final Four, doing all the shit Mick wants to increase my chances in the draft, and practicing and conditioning nonstop, pictures for social media has been the last thing on my damn mind. However, I’m going to get it done. I have to.
These sponsorships real shit changed my fucking life. Two years ago, I was able to build my mom her dream crib in Diamond Estates. She now has her own shit in the same neighborhood she used to work. She went from housekeeper to homeowner because of me and my ball.
Diamond Estates is where all the rich muthafuckas in Diamond Falls live. That neighborhood is like Disney World compared to where me and my moms grew up, D-Ville. They call that shit Meadow View Apartments now, because a few years back, the government came in and renovated. They upgraded the bathrooms, appliances, added fresh paint, replaced the tile and carpet, added alarm systems, and fixed the elevator that never used to work. It looks different and has a new name but it’s still Douglasville Projects, D-Ville, to everyone in Diamond Falls, including me.
My brothers, my gang, DP, came out of D-Ville and that’s where most of them still lay their head. It’s home. It’s where I discovered my love of basketball. If it wasn’t for my bruh Kassir, I don’t know where the fuck I’d be. He’s only about ten years older than me but that nigga has been more of a father figure to me than my own. Whichever muthafucka said blood’s thicker than water is full of shit. My mom’s husband ain’t shit to me butmotivation. I refuse to be anything like his bitch ass; I’m going to take care of mine, always.
Handling business, I shoot my sister, Quaysha, a text letting her know I’ll be a little late for the dinner then take my ass back into Arena House. As soon as I walk past the common area, Mav, one of my teammates, calls out to me.
“I thought you left,” he says.
“Agent called. I need to send some pics to him real quick.”
“We all can’t have them problems.”
“Nigga, yo’ time coming. You a freshman and you get almost as much playing time as I did my first year. Almost,” I clarify. “You gon’ be out here a minute?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I might need a photographer.”
“Bruh, I got you.”
“Bet. Let me go change.”
When I make it upstairs to my spot, I change into one of my practice uniforms and grab two bottles of Energized Sports and my ball. Mav is still in the common area when I make it back downstairs. He follows me into the gym. He takes a few pics of me on the weight bench, taking a post workout drink. We move to the common area and he stands over me and takes pictures while I place a grocery order in The Marketplace’s app. Finally, we head out to my ride and he snaps me in front of it and getting in.
“’Preciate that,” I tell him as we walk back into the building.
