Page 29 of Full Court Love

I will ask him about his new job when he bugs me about something other than trying to mooch money out of local businesses. Again, thoughts I can’t voice to my dear mother.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll give him a ring when I get a minute. Anyway, I gotta get going, Mom, but thanks for the advice. Hopefully you’ll get to meet Lucy sometime. I think you’d really like her.”

“I’m sure I will love her. Let me know how it goes, sweetheart. I love you.”

The happiness in her voice is genuine now.

“Love you, Mom.”

Hanging up, I exhale and stretch my neck out like I’m preparing for a fight. Which I kind of am–the fight for Lucy’s heart. Thank the Lord my thoughts aren’t public because that was cheesy as hell. This girl has morphed my thoughts into pickup lines fromThe Bachelor.

My mind is buzzing. There are so many things I want to do for Lucy that I’d be willing to blow my bank account to make sure this goes perfectly. But something tells me that’s not what she would even want. Someday, I will take her to every fancy restaurant and show and wine tasting this side of the Mississippi–that’s something people do, right? Just like, go taste wine?

But tomorrow night, she’s getting back from a long roadtrip. She’s going to be drained. I could wait to do something until we can go the traditional route. Or I could make our first date a little more special.

I want to use it to prove to her that she’s not just another fling to me. I’m paying attention to every detail. Each time she tells me something new, I log it away because it all makes up the puzzle that is Lucy–and again, I’m very good at puzzles.

Now it’s time to put that information to the best use possible.

This date is going to be “Lucy Townes”-themed.

Which means I’m going to have to call in backup.

CHAPTER 13

LUCY

Ialways play better on the road. I’m not totally sure why. I’ve always hypothesized that it has something to do with the removal of the pressure I feel from playing in front of people I know. I don’t really care what a gym full of strangers thinks of me.

So, I play looser and freer.

And happier.

I definitely play better when I’m happy.

It also helps that we went 3-0 on this road trip. Those three wins against UCLA, USC, and Stanford catapulted us into the Top 25 in the nation. We’re playing well and gelling well as a team, despite the constant cloud of Sasha’s hatred toward me. Sometimes other people step into her line of fire, but mostly it’s just me.

Now that she knows Jordan and I are–well, whatever we are–she’s sunk her teeth into tearing him down with me. I gotta give it to her, she knows how to pick her spots. When I won Player of the Week and the whole team was congratulating me, she put on a fake sad face and said she’s glad Jordan’s poor performance last night didn’t rub off on me.

I stared at her for a few seconds before attempting tochange the subject. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. Sasha proceeded to tell everyone how Jordan’s bad shooting probably has something to do with his dad and the reason he left his previous school. For the next ten minutes, she aired his dirty laundry for everyone to hear.

It was a gross miscalculation on her part. Instead of people judging him, everybody just felt sorry for him, myself included. It made me feel a little bad for ghosting him this week. As I grab my bag from underneath the bus after pulling into the arena parking lot, I try to justify my course of action to myself. Which essentially means, I start having a silent argument with only me as the accused, accuser, judge, and jury on the walk to my car.

I needed Jordan to know I was serious about this. I refuse to waste my time. If he really wants something with me, it’s going to take more than extra tacos and walking to class. The only problem is, I didn’t say any of that.

I just left him with a drop-the-mic moment.

It was epic, if I do say so myself.

Though the communication certainly left something to be desired, and I’m really feeling guilty about that.

I’ve been hoping all week that he would read between the lines. That he would pick up on the unspoken call to action. What I failed to recognize until now is that the way I went about this was rather unfair. I want something from him and this potential relationship, but I didn’t articulate it. I just left him to guess.

At this point, either he figured it out or he gave up on me. I probably need to gear up to apologize for my terrible communication skills and bad relationship navigation in general. Or maybe this just means he isn’t the guy for me. Good grief, that notion is a downer. I toss my bag into the trunk and wave to a couple of my teammates. After being together nonstop for the last week, having the day off tomorrow is a godsend.

I plan to collapse into bed right when I get home, even though it’s only 6:00. I park on the street in front of our cute little house. The white picket fence enclosing our yard is chipping, and the grass needs to be mowed, but still, it’s the most picturesque little cottage to come home to.

Calling it the Boat makes it sound like a massive behemoth, but it is the furthest thing from it. It’s cozy, with wooden flower boxes and a small front porch with a rickety set of chairs we got at a garage sale. I couldn’t love this place more.