Page 11 of Full Court Love
Good Lord. My mind is on a dangerous path. I’m very glad it’s dark in here because my cheeks are scarlet. For whatever reason, I got the sense that maybe Jordan was actually different. Which is classic. It’s what every girl who gets played is led to believe.
But truthfully, I did believe it.
The first time our eyes locked, I thought I sensed something real. Every time he looks at me, I feel like he’s actually seeing me, like he wants to see past the front I put up for everyone else. Plus, I’m almost certain I caught him checking me out.
But his comments cut a little too deep. Ugh, how does this guy already have the ability to hurt me? That proves that he’s dangerous. I need to keep him at arm’s length before he gets any closer and gains the power to decimate me. That isn’t an option–it can’t be.
I head to bed before the movie is over. I don’t need to see the reformed jock confess his love in the rain. It’s hitting too close to home at the moment. It can’t be me.
Tomorrow is game day, and I need to lock in.
Yet, I fall asleep imagining kissing Jordan in the rain, which isn’t a productive step in the quest to rid myself of this crush.
I wake up with a jolt from a dream that was fulfilling that exact fantasy. It has me feeling a little too warm.
The sun is just starting to peek through my curtains as I turn off my alarm and crawl out of bed. This is my game-day ritual–I head to the arena before anyone else is even awake. I like to calm my nerves by walking around the court in the silence. I imagine the fans and the pressure, and I attempt to feel every feeling that might arise during a game. That way, I’m prepared for anything.
I scan my ID card and shiver as I step into the warmth of the arena. The lights are off, the only glow coming from the jumbotron above the court.
It’s wildly peaceful.
I begin my walk, first around the court, then up into the stands. I grab a ball and dribble slowly, breathing deeply. Finally, I settle into a chair sitting courtside and soak it all in. After a few minutes, I hear footsteps.
I’ve been doing this for years and no one has ever intruded on this sacred ritual. Who else would even be awake right now?
I don’t have to wait too long to find out. Jordan comes walking out of the tunnel, looking like he just rolled out of bed. And dammit, he looks hot with messy hair and sweatpants. The sweatpants are just a little tight, and suddenly I’m very aware of how hard he must work in the weight room.
As much as it pains me, I’m not going to give him the time of day.
I stare straight forward until he takes a seat a few chairs down from me. Neither of us speaks, but I can feel him looking at me. After a long silence, I decide to acknowledge his presence. I want to lead him to believe I’m unbothered by his closeness, even if that’s the opposite of the truth.
I still don’t look at him when I speak.
“Welcome to my game-day tradition. I don’t recall inviting you.”
Weirdly, it feels easier to keep up the sarcastic banter than to try to actually talk to him. I don’t have a ton of practice just talking, especially when it comes to a guy who makes me about as nervous as the start of a game.
He runs his hands through his hair and leans back.
“Sorry for crashing the party. Full disclosure—I couldn’t sleep. I don’t normally come this early, but it felt like the logical place to work through my nerves. You being here is a definite bonus too.”
I’m quiet. It takes my tired, fuzzy brain a minute to process what he said. That was the first real thing he’s said tome. No sarcasm, no game. It was verging on vulnerable, and I don’t know how to respond. He breaks the tension.
“I’m sorry about my comment at the contest. I’ve been looking for you every day to apologize. I went too far, and I don’t want you to think that’s what I actually believe. You are super talented. I’m actually excited to watch you this afternoon.”
He stands up and stretches his arms above his head, revealing ab muscles I could only dream about. Then he meets my eye.
“Good luck today, Lu-Lu.”
He walks back toward the tunnel. I’m left in the silence, struggling to convince myself I don’t have a crush.
CHAPTER 6
JORDAN
Lucy was incredible today. She was poetry in motion. There’s a quote fromThe Officethat says basketball is like jazz, and if that’s true, Lucy is a master piano player. Or cello player. That was a terrible reference. I know nothing about jazz.
I do know she’s unreal at this sport, though. She had thirty points, the most of any player in an opening game in the school’s history. The women’s team won handily, while ours came down to the wire. I hit a couple of clutch free throws and otherwise played a solid game.