One
Bentley
Today is the day.The first game of the season, and if all goes well, I’ll be appearing on the court as an Austin Rattler. This moment is what I’ve been working my entire life toward. Being a starter for Hilltown University can never compare to today. Being picked up by a professional team out of college is slim, but I was able to lead my team to win huge national championships. That brought the attention of professional teams. Even better, I was signed on by the one in my city. It’s a win no matter what way you look at it.
A groan comes from the other side of my bed. Shit. I totally forgot she was here. This is why I never let the women I bring home stay overnight. Hell, I probably should have gotten a room for the night. The only reason she’s in my bed is because I’m a basketball player. She’s chasing her way to fame. My teammates warned me about girls like her, but there’s no reason for me to be worried. No, I don’t do relationships. A bit of fun here and there is fine. There’s zero chance of me putting a ring on anyone’s finger. Not after my dad bailed on my mom. Bailed on me and Gabby. I’ve seen what relationships do to those they leave behind. I refuse to let that happen to me. The single life works out wonderfully for me.
“What time is it?” Mary, or is it Marnie, says from beneath the comforter. Her voice is gravelly and sleepy.
“Almost nine,” I say. “We should probably get you home.”
She throws the comforter down, breasts exposed, and I remember why I brought her home last night. “Seriously,” she asks. “You’re just going to send me on my merry little way.”
I slide out of bed, grab my boxers from the floor, and push my legs through them. “I have things I need to do today.” Like get some practice rounds in before the game tonight. I want Coach to know that I’m capable of starting. That I’m more than just a bench rider.
“Then what was the point of bringing me over?”
“Look.” I do my best to keep my eyes on her face and not let myself be tempted by her gorgeous body. “We both wanted the same thing last night. You said you weren’t looking for a relationship, and neither am I. What exactly were you expecting?”
“Breakfast would have been nice,” she grumbles as she throws the rest of the blanket off of her. She storms to the bathroom and seconds later I hear water running.
All right then, I guess she’s going to take a shower before she leaves. She rode with me in my car, and with her attitude, I think it’d be best if I’m not the person to take her home. Thank God Uber and Lyft exist. Otherwise, I’d be dealing with her angry grumbles.
I grab my phone off the dresser and head toward the bathroom. My knuckles tap lightly on the door three times and there’s no response. I crack the door open just enough for her to hear me. “Hey,” damn it, I forgot to ask what her name is. I need to create a note in my phone so I’ll have a way to check without sounding like a complete asshole. “What’s your address? I will get you a ride home.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she deadpans. “I already have a ride.” Her voice is ice in the steamy bathroom and I know she won’t be someone I see again. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t run my name through the mud. It won’t matter, though. She knew exactly what last night was about, even if she wants to act like it was supposed to be so much more.
“Um, okay.” Uncertainty about what I’m supposed to respond with flows through me. I’m not one that gets flustered easily. I’ve always had to be a grownup. My mom may have wanted me to stay little, but that’s not possible when she worked so much and me and my sister were left at home to fend for ourselves most days. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Mary/Marnie wants breakfast and maybe if I have something ready for her ride home, she’ll be in a better mood. Food makes me happy, and I assume it does for everyone else. I walk down the stairs and the blank walls on either side make me wish I had pictures I could hang there. Something to make it seem less sterile. Mom’s house is full of pictures and mementos. There’s barely a square inch that isn’t covered with mine or my sister’s smiling faces, or awards and medals we’ve won. I could put up some shots the photographers at Hilltown took during my last season there, but that may appear a bit pretentious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a badass on the court, otherwise I wouldn’t be playing professionally. But…I don’t want to come home and see pictures of myself. Even I would get sick of that.
The kitchen is filled with sunshine as I round the corner to see what I might have to feed my overnight guest. Floor to ceiling windows take up one wall, and I squint my eyes waiting for them to adjust. Living here is an upgrade from the shitty apartment I lived in with a few of my teammates in college. It's weird being on my own and I’m not sure how I feel about it. The privacy is nice, but other than that? It can get lonely. Hence the pissed off woman in my shower. I really need to figure out her name before she’s even more furious and tries to come up with something for blackmail.
I pull the fridge door open, and there’s nothing in there. I'm not sure why I expected a plethora of food for the taking. If I don't grab food with my teammates, I'm usually at my mom's eating her food. I’m a horrible cook and if I didn’t have to keep my performance up on the court, I’d live off of frozen food. Ah, I should check the freezer, I’m bound to have some frozen breakfast in there.
I yank the door open and there are exactly two breakfast burritos on the top shelf. It’s probably not what she wanted when she said breakfast would be nice, but it’s better than nothing. Throwing them in the microwave, I lean against the counter. This has to win me some brownie points. At least enough that she won’t be too pissed about essentially being thrown out.
The microwave beeps and I pull out some paper plates while the food cools down. As I’m setting the food on the plates, I hear the click clack of her heels tapping down the stairs. She must be done with her shower. She’s definitely taking her sweet time coming down the stairs. There’s no noise for a few seconds, as if she’s determining what her exit strategy should be, but then her heels pick up the beat and she’s standing a few feet in front of the stairs wearing her clothes from last night.
Picking up one plate, I hold it out as an offering. Like I’m a good pup that’s done a great deed. “I made breakfast.”
She scrunches up her nose in disgust. “That’s what you call breakfast?” She shakes her head and walks toward the front door. “My ride's here. I would say it’s been fun but…” She lets the sentence trail off.
“Marnie, wait.” Yes, that’s her name. She didn’t recoil at the sound of it, so I must have gotten it right. “You can take it with you.”
“I’m good," she calls over her shoulder. She’s out of the house before I make it to her.
Well, I guess that takes care of that problem. I hope to hell she didn’t use all the hot water. I need to get ready to head to the stadium.
* * *
This is it. The first of many games to happen on this court. I used to dream about this moment when I was little and here I am. My feet jogging across the shiny hardwood floor. My hands shooting the ball toward the goal I never thought I’d be tall enough to reach. This is what I’ve worked for my entire life. And tonight, I will prove how valuable I am to the team.
Coach calls the team over to the bench. The game is about to start and I’m itching to be back out there. “All right guys, I know it’s only preseason, but we need to start the season off with a win. Go out there and take care of the ball.” He goes over a few plays with us and calls out the starting line.
I bounce on my toes, hoping he’ll call my name, but he doesn’t. My shoulders sag and I make my way to one of the empty chairs along the sideline. I choose one closer to the coach rather than at the very end. I doubt it’ll have any impact on him deciding to play me, but maybe if I show some initiative, he’ll give me a shot.
Halfway through the game and I’m still riding the bench. We’re up by fifteen points, and the other team is getting mad. I have a feeling they will come back fiercely for the second half. I wish I was out there playing my heart out. I know I’m just a rookie, but how am I supposed to prove myself if he only lets me on the hardwood during practice. Practice isn’t what I’m here for. I’m here to make a name for myself, to take another team to the championships. That’s the problem, though. I’m not leading a team anymore. I’m the new guy, the one that has to earn their way to start. I did it in high school, then again in college. I’ll do it this time, too. One day these fans will be screaming my name.