Page 15 of Hard Ball

This season is a big one for me, and I tend to only focus on work when I’m stressed. Coming off an MVP win last year, our coach has been on my ass about producing the same kind of numbers, and if I don’t, there could be consequences. Do I think I can do it? Of course, but being told I have to or else, makes me want to throw something against the wall.

I take a swig of my beer and find myself slowly relaxing into my seat, looking around the arena. The one thing I love about basketball is that the arena is almost as entertaining as the game itself. There are so many things to keep your attention other than the game itself, even if for me, the game is the best part.

“Anderson, chick at your twelve is checking you out!” King says, motioning across the court. My eyes land on a very beautiful woman whose eyes are directly on mine. Her long blonde hair is expertly made to look effortless; her skin is tanned even though it’s not summer yet and I watch as her perfectly manicured fingers wave at me from across the way. King nudges me and groans something along the lines of “lucky bastard,” but all I can seem to do is compare her to Harper. From her hair down to her nails, everything about them is different and for the first time in a very long time, I’m not interested.

Why can’t I get the image of Harper out of my head? I’ve spent the better part of the day trying to forget the way she felt against me, how her blush makes her look so fucking innocent and how her sexy ass looked in those yoga pants.

“Anderson, you realize there’s a game going on in front of you, right?” Will motions to the court as I take another sip of my beer. “This girl really has you in knots, doesn’t she?”

I just shrug, because I don’t even know the answer to the question.

“Come on, man. You barely looked at the girl who was eye-fucking you over there” —he points to the now empty seat— “and your mind isn’t even here tonight. I bet you’ve been thinking about her all night, haven’t you?”

I look away, saying nothing.

“Are you afraid to talk about her?”

“Who are we talking about?” King asks, invading my personal space as he leans over and speaks to Will.

“The mystery girl that has Anderson all fucked up.”

“Are you talking about the chick from the bar?”

I try to keep my face impassive because let’s be honest, King knowing anything about my personal life is never a good idea.

“It is!” he screams. “Holy shit. That girl really did a number on you.”

“Fuck off,” I grunt, trying to watch the game and ignore my teammates as they bombard me with questions I don’t want to answer.

“Did she reject you too?” King asks, and when I don’t answer, he takes that as a yes. “She did, didn’t she!”

“Did she really?” Will asks and again I just shrug because what else am I going to say? I really liked this girl and tried all my usual moves and so far she’s been immune? My rep would be destroyed. “Wow, has that ever happened to you?”

“No, it hasn’t, and she hasn’t rejected me outright. I still have a shot.” I don’t really know if my words are true, but I’m hoping if I say them out loud, they’ll come true.

“Sure you do,” King says mockingly. “If I didn’t have a shot, you sure as fuck don’t.”

I roll my eyes, accustomed to the size of King’s ego and letting it roll off my shoulders.

“I’m getting food, you want anything?” he asks as he gets out of his seat and makes his way into the aisle. When Will and I both shake our heads, he shrugs, making his way toward the concession stands.

“Well, hello there, boys,” a female voice purrs from the seat King just vacated.

When my eyes track up her body and land on her face, I realize it’s the girl from across the court, the one that was eye-fucking me, thinking it would get her somewhere.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks as she sits down, not bothering to wait for an answer.

“Would it matter if I said no?” I ask, looking at Will to save me, wanting to get this girl as far away from me as possible.

When you play a professional sport, there are obviously hookups. I’ve dabbled once in a while, but after years and years of practice, you can pretty much spot a crazy from a mile away. And I can tell that this chick next to me is going to cause me nothing but grief if I don’t nip this in the bud.

Will just shrugs his shoulders, pretty much telling me that I’m on my own as I glare in his direction, hoping one day karma will allow me to repay him for this.

“So…” she starts, crossing her legs suggestively. “I saw you staring at me earlier and I thought I would come over and introduce myself. I’m Angela.” She holds out her hand and I wonder if there’s a polite way to tell someone to fuck off. She eyes me expectantly and I realize that I haven’t moved or spoken in a while, so I hold out my hand to hers.

“I’m Jo—”

“You’re Josh Anderson,” she interrupts, confirming my suspicions that this girl will only be trouble down the road. “I recognized you right away. I’m a huge fan.”

---