Page 38 of Full Court Love
It’s also enough that I have a savings account for the first time in my life, and I’m shoveling as much money as possible into it. The best part is that all of it has been done without huge media attention, so my dad hasn’t caught wind of it–yet.
I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.
Right now, I’m more concerned with crossing the floor of this place without being bombarded for picture and autograph requests. Not from me, of course. From Lucy. Every eye in here is locked in on her.
To her credit, she’s taking it all in stride. Literally. She’s smiling and gliding through here, fully aware that all the whispers are about her and me and the two of us being together. When we finally find our table, I pull out her chair and before she sits, she whispers into my ear.
“Are you okay? That was a lot of eyeballs and a lot of muttering behind hands. It’s like a frickin’ farm show.”
I choke out a laugh. First of all, I have absolutely no idea what a farm show is, but of course this born-and-raised Nebraska girl would reference it. Second of all, the fact that she’s worried about me says everything about her.
I’m not the one under the public microscope all the time. I mean, I get my fair share. I’m an athlete here, so people knowwho I am. But she istheathlete here. The one who is going to play in the WNBA and probably get deals with Nike and Gatorade. She’s the one people have followed since her youth, the one little girls dress up as for Halloween. But she’s worried about me.
I sit across from her and smile.
“Yes, I’m great. Look at you. Everyone here is probably wondering how this schmuck landed a date with you.”
She actually snorts in response.
“Ahh, yes. No one could believe that a humble schmuck who looks like a model could land a date. Don’t get me wrong, I love humility. But plain stupidity and denial of objective fact is a huge turnoff.”
“Hmm. Okay, fair enough. And what would constitute a turn-on?”
She bites her lip, and the rosiness in her cheeks gets a little darker. “Walked right into that one. Okay, let me think…”
It’s quiet for a minute and then she begins her list of turn-ons, which she very matter of factly tells me includes but is not limited to: random gifts of flowers, me shirtless on a horse, love letters, me shirtless on a bike, wearing my sweatshirts, me shirtless on a goat, kissing in the rain, and me shirtless on any animal or vehicle.
We are both struggling to maintain our composure by the end of her rant as we snort with laughter into our water glasses. She then asks me what my turn-ons are, and I told her that pretty much anything and everything she does is a turn-on for me. Which is true.
“Well, that’s adorable. But what about me attempting to shave a cat? Or wearing a bald cap while doing an interpretive dance? Are those really turn-ons?”
I pretend to give it some real thought. “It would depend on the type of cat and the music for the dance.”
She shakes her head. “Lies. But I appreciate the effort, so you still pass.”
The rest of the evening continues like this. The conversation flows so easily, with serious topics flowing into laughter that brings tears to our eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much in my life. I was known as being a serious kid and a notoriously locked-in athlete, but tonight, I’m a new person.
Every once in a while, I just sit and watch Lucy while she prattles on, and my heart feels like it’s growing. Is it possible to have the Grinch gene? Where your heart actually triples in size? I should ask Lucy because it’s definitely the type of question she would put careful consideration into answering.
Watching her face light up when she laughs or has a new idea is like looking at the sunrise. Her thoughtfulness blows me away, and her empathy for every person or situation we discuss is unmatched.
As the waitress–who has already taken a picture with Lucy–brings us our dessert of creme brulee, I’m convinced nothing could put a damper on tonight. And Lucy doesn’t even know I have a surprise planned after this.
I ask the waitress for the check, and she informs me it’s already been taken care of by a fan. Lucy and I look at each other and then around the restaurant in an attempt to locate our mysterious patron. We don’t have to look for long.
There’s a couple walking toward us who looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place them. I look at Lucy, but her face has dropped. She’s gone slightly pale, and I’ve only ever seen her have this type of reaction to one other person.
Like a perfectly timed dance number, that person steps out from behind the couple.
Sasha.
So, Sasha’s parents paid for our meal.
The only person who looks more uncomfortable than Lucy is Sasha herself. Actually, she just looks pissed off. It’s no secret that this act of generosity wasn’t her idea.
Mr. Pierson is exactly what you’d expect from a major donor who owns just about every car dealership within ahundred miles. He’s tall enough to match my eyeline, round in the middle, and he has the cheesy smile of a salesman. He greets me like we are old friends.
“Mr. Mitchell, I’m Jason Pierson of Pierson Automotive. My wife and I have absolutely loved watching you play this year. And of course, little Lucy-Lu, it’s so good to see you. Of course we are huge fans of yours.”