“Sounds awesome.”
“I want you to come to my next home game.”
“Aww, thanks, but I’m on a tight schedule. I have a book to finish, and no offense, but I find basketball incredibly boring, not to mention useless.”
“No offense taken, darlin’.” He smiles so wide, that dimple appears. “That’s because you’ve never had someone to root for. Can I read your book?”
“You can buy it when it’s published. Sure.”
“Okay, forget it then. I don’t miss you.” He blows out a breath and pretends to be mad. He goes so far as to pout.
“One of the few things we have in common.”
“Don’t even think of kissin’ me again.”
“I didn’t kiss you.Youkissedme,and it was terrible.” He flashes that sexy smile, the one that shows off that dimple.
“Your moans told a different story. I bet you wish you were kissin’ on me right now.” I give him a blank stare. Truth is, I do wish I was kissing on him now, not that I’ll ever admit it. He looks so sexy with that curly dark hair, and those dark eyes make me want to drag him into my bedroom and climb him like the tree he is. “Darlin’,” he says, breaking me out of my dirty thoughts. “I’m right here.”
I clear my throat and put a hand on my warm cheek.
“Alright, I have to go now.” I wave right before I end the call, cutting off whatever he was going to say next.
The phone rings again, but when I pick it up, it’s not Colt. It’s the same number that called me a few weeks ago. It’s Jerry. I hit decline and put the phone on silent.
TWELVE
“Chastain!”Wakowski shouts. He throws a ball, and it hits me on the butt. I tell him to buzz off, but when I look back to the phone, the screen has turned black.
“What the heck, Wakowski?” I shove past him on my way to my locker. It’s the seventh game, so we need to win to advance to the next series.
“Who was that? The only woman you talk to is your mama.” I give him a hard stare, but he smiles and shrugs. He’s been on this team for just a year now. Immature idiot. “Come to my hotel room after the game. There’s going to be some serious partying.” He does a shuffle and pretends to shoot a basketball. Every city, every hotel room, he has a different woman. Sometimes, he has more than one at a time.
“I’ll pass,” I tell him.
“Chaste Chastain.” I hate that nickname. It’s as if I’m supposed to be ashamed because I don’t screw anything in a skirt. At least not anymore, but when I was screwing everything in a skirt, the team didn’t know about it. “You into black women now?” I tense at the question, but I don’t bother answering him. Am I into black women? I’m into one woman and she happens to be black. He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “She’s cute. Let me have her if you’re not interested.” I look up at him, ready to pound his face through a wall.
“Yeah? Is that how it works? Just pass her off to you as if she has no say?” Vickie would rip his face off in seconds.
He gives me that cocky grin and ignores my question. “This,” he gestures at his body, leaving both hands at his crotch, “is equal opportunity.” He thrusts his hips twice then grinds, mimicking making slow love to a woman. “My dick is color blind. All it sees is pussy.” He thrusts again and lets out a high giggle like an adolescent girl.
“One day, pussy is going to bring that idiot to his knees,” Coach Walsh says after walking into the locker room.
“I’m not the one who gets on their knees, coach.” He laughs like a raving lunatic as we’re called out to the court.
Coach taps me on the shoulder, looking relaxed right before a big game. I guess he released the stress earlier in the gym. I’ve never seen someone bench press so much weight.
“You good coach?” I tap his shoulder. “That workout earlier…” I leave the sentence unfinished. All he does is nod. Coach is not one to ever talk about anything that’s not related to his job.
We’re away tonight, so as we’re called out one by one, the crowd stays quiet. A couple of our players are booed, but that’s not unexpected on a night like this. This game determines if we can proceed into the next series. There’s a lot at stake, and I wish we were playing in New York and not on the other side of the country where I’m away from home, but more importantly, away from my son. The lights in the stadium dim as they announce the home team. The crowd goes wild. My heart rate picks up as I anticipate the next three hours. There’s only one way this game can end, and it’s with us winning and the Mischiefs moving to the conference finals.
Over three hours later, during overtime, Wakowski throws the final basket, winning us the game, and pushing us forward into the next round.
THIRTEEN
Me: It’s a success. Too bad I’m disowning both of you.
I barely havetime to put my phone down and pour myself a glass of wine before it buzzes again. It’s a rich, flavorful Zinfandel, sent by Ethan as an apology for not coming tonight. Not that it was necessary since they are all sick, but that won’t stop me from indulging.
