Page 12 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

7

Becca

Am I flirting with Eli right now?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I woke up with a singular goal in mind. Show up and get this “basic training” shit over with as quickly as possible. Instead, I’m holding a basketball underneath a ten-foot hoop—which I only know because of the giant handwritten sign taped to it—trying to stop my stomach from flipping.

I have no clue why my reaction to him is so strong. I don’t want to react to him at all. But, good Lord, seeing him handle that ball in his gigantic hands makes me wonder how he could handle me. Which is an issue within itself because I don’t like to get handled. Ever.

I peek over my shoulder. Eli’s eyes are slits as he stalks toward me, and I cringe at how pissed he looks. Regardless of how I feel about him personally, I should probably rein it in so we can get through these lessons without killing each other. But damn, he makes it difficult.

I spin around, hugging the ball to my chest. “So, what are we learnin’ today, Coach?”

Eli stops in his tracks, the right side of his mouth lifting. “No need to call me Coach. Sir will work just fine.”

I roll my eyes. “In your dreams. It’s either Coach or asshole. Take your pick.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay, I laid out painter’s tape to signify the important areas of the court. We’ll start with the basics. You already know you’re holding a basketball.”

“Only because of your superb teachin’ skills.”

“Don’t you forget it.” He winks.

A tingle rushes through me. Shit.

He points to the net. “That’s the hoop. The goal is to get the ball into the hoop.”

“Fascinatin’, but I already know this. I used to kick Lee’s ass playin’ HORSE in y’all’s driveway.”

“Basketball is not like HORSE,” he scoffs. “It’s a team sport.”

I nod. “Okay. Well, how many players are on a team?”

He squats down in front of me, hands dangling between his thighs, pants pulling tight across his hips.

Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick.

I look. I can’t help it, he’s just hovering. Spread eagle. And he’s got big feet, so I really can’t be blamed for wanting to know if the saying holds true.

“It differs depending on the league. But in general, fifteen players on the roster. Thirteen of which dress for games. Ten players on the court, five from each team. The main goal is to score more points than your opponent.” He quirks a brow, standing back up. “You with me so far?”

My head bobs to his words, but my mind isn’t soaking in anything. Talk about an info dump.

Maybe I should take notes.

Holding up a finger, I run to my bag, grabbing the first notebook I can find. I rush back, plopping down with my legs crossed, and look up at him. His nostrils flare as he peers down at me. I shift in place, his gaze making me antsy. With the way he’s staring, you’d think I just dropped to my knees and offered to suck his dick. The thought brings a very much unwanted image to my mind, and even though I try to stop it, my pussy throbs.

The air grows thick as it crackles through the silence, and I don’t like the way it feels. I point my pen at him. “Don’t think ‘cause you’re lookin’ down on me this means you’re in a position of power. I just wanna be comfortable while I have to listen to that voice of yours drone on.”

He clears his throat and looks away. “Got it.”

“Okay, so five players on each side and the goal is to score.” I’m writing down feverishly, trying to hide the flush on my cheeks.

What just happened?

“How many points if they get it in the hoop?”

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