Page 5 of The Assist
The White House, which is what it was dubbed because it’s white, it’s huge, and it was purchased by the university president. Our house is only a few blocks from campus and right across the street from Ray Fieldhouse, making it ideal to walk just about anywhere we need to go—not that we had to thanks to my gimp foot and handicap parking. The only perk of being injured.
The White House is nicer digs than anyone else has. Fuck, this house is nicer than the one I grew up in. The only place I’ve seen that’s nicer than this house is Joel’s parents’ estate. Estate as in it’s too fucking big to just be called a house.
But the pool is really why they’re all here. Well, that and the stocked fridge.
I swipe a cold water and head out to sit under the mister. Z grabs a protein drink and follows, taking a seat next to me off to the side and away from the pool hangers.
“Welcome home, roomies,” Nathan calls from the pool. He has a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a beer in hand. It’s barely noon. On a Monday.
I shake my head at him. I’m not pissed he’s drinking and smoking. I’m pissed he’s doing it in front of the young guys. He can handle himself. I’m not sure about the freshman.
I turn my attention to Z. “Getting in today?”
He grunts something in response. I’ve never seen Z get in the pool. We give him shit about it, but I honestly have no idea if he doesn’t like getting into the water because it’s usually filled with lots of people or because he can’t swim. I can’t imagine there’s anything he can’t do.
Quiet. Grunting. Out of the limelight. That pretty much sums up Z off the court. On the court, he’s a whole different person. People who have never seen him play assume all kinds of dumb shit about him solely based on his mammoth size, or as he would put it, a big, beautiful black man. The fact that he walks around wearing his headphones oblivious to the world and rarely speaks more than a word or two at a time also doesn’t help.
Once people see him play, though, it’s like seeing someone in their natural habitat. He’s smart, quick, and loud. Dude doesn’t shut up on the court.
Shaw tosses one of the ball honeys—Charlene? Charla? Carla?—into the air, and her high-pitch squeal makes me want to cover my ears. There’s a whole posse of girls standing in the shallow end, being careful to keep their hair and makeup water free. I wish I were a bigger asshole because I’d really like to go dunk the whole lot of them and watch the chaos that would ensue. Lucky for them, I only think this. Also, I’m not doing a lot of swimming these days with the boot and all, so I just sit back and admire the view. I’m annoyed, but I’m not blind.
So yeah, I’m a grumpy asshole. I haven’t always been, but getting injured senior year—the year I was supposed to take the team all the way. Yeah, that would make even the nicest guy go a little douchebag.
The rest of the team mills around, swimming, lounging, drinking, eating all our damn food.
I drain the water bottle and drum the plastic container on my leg.
Bored.
Restless.
Joel appears at my side and flings himself down, cracking a beer open in the process.
“Rookie is out of control. I can’t wait until you’re back. Freshman needs to be put in his place.”
My eyes go back to the freshman rookie who is front and center in the pool, tossing girls up and lavishing in the attention.
“Three more weeks. Fingers crossed.”
“Good because we’re screwed if we’re depending on Shaw to get us the ball. I know it’s supposed to be some big damn deal that he’s playing two sports, but shit just makes me nervous. Twice the risk of injury and half the amount of focus.”
I nod in agreement. “I’ll talk to him and to Mario. I’m sure the baseball team has the same concerns.”
“Wanna have a little fun with them?” Joel’s attention is focused on the pool and pure mischief coats his expression.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Remember my freshman year when you guys made us crash parties and run plays?”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest. Being a freshman sucked in so many ways. My rookie year, the upper classmen mostly just made us do things like carry their gym bags and act as water boys. Fuck, I’d been so glad to be a sophomore and for a new crop of guys to take the heat. Joel and his class had been an obnoxious batch of freshmen and we’d increased the torture to knock down their huge egos. Come to think of it, Joel’s class was a lot like this year’s rookies.
“You thinking of taking them out tonight?”
“Yeah, but I think we should elevate – take it to the next level.”
Shake my head. “We have practice in the morning, so don’t elevate it too much. Coach’ll kick our ass if we show up with a bunch of hungover rookies. Exhibition is coming up, and he’s chewing Tums like candy.”
“Live a little, Reynolds. It’s your senior year. We’re doing it up right.”
