“Where’s your friend?” I ask her, relieved that I don’t see him.
“He took an Uber to his boyfriend’s.”
I sigh, cup her face, and kiss her. She relaxes for a fraction of a second and kisses me back. Right before she bites my lower lip.
“Mmhmm. Do that again.” Like I did at the stadium, I grab her shirt and bring her closer. “I like my women feisty, and a little pain turns me on.” She pushes me, but I take her hand and put it on the growing bulge in my pants, but she yanks it away as if burned.
“I told you I didn’t want anyone to know. My dad saw that. He’s been blowing up my phone for two hours, you thoughtless jerk.”
I put both hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I got so excited, and I looked up and saw you wearin’ my jersey and forgot myself.” I take her hand and put it to my chest. “I’ve done it with my Mama a million times. I just get so excited when someone I care about comes to my games.”
She pulls her hand away and swats me several times.
“Don’t compare me to your mama, you mama’s boy.” I put my hands up to shield myself from her hits and laugh when she only hits me harder. Well, as hard as someone her size can hit.
“Queen Vee, come on.” I grab her wrists and pull her against my chest. “Nothing’s changed. We’re still not a couple.”
She doesn’t say a word. She stays pressed against me. I let go of one wrist and snake my free arm around her waist, holding her in place. God, I like how her soft body feels against mine. Even as she pants like a cornered animal, all I want to do is bend down and kiss her.
“I saw your post-game press conference or whatever it’s called,” she says. She flares her nostrils and her words come out in pants.
I drop her other wrist and scratch my head. “Press conference?” When she twists her mouth in disbelief, I pretend to finally remember. “Oh, right. Yeah, I’m contractually obligated to have those. Part of the job. They’re always a blur. I never remember a word I said.”
She shoves me away and I pretend to take a few steps back, but my laugh gives me away.
“Really? You don’t remember a word you said?” I shake my head and do my best to look confused.
“I don’t understand what you’re mad at.”
She pulls out her phone and replays my press conference from a few minutes ago. I put a hand to my mouth in shock.
“Oh. I see why that would make you mad.” I point at the offending phone. “My goodness, I don’t know what got into me. Must be the post-game endorphins. Now do you understand why I don’t drink? I just can’t be trusted.”
“Thanks to your wandering lips, they know my name. This is what I told you I didn’t want. You did the exact opposite of what we talked about the other night.”
“Darlin’, that definitely shouldn’t have happened,” I explain quickly. “But look at it from my side. Cameras and the adrenaline from the game. And that Yankee reporter was talkin’ so darn fast, I could barely understand what she was sayin’.” I make sure my southern twang gets thicker with each word. “I have no memory of utterin’ those words, but I’ll fix it at the next press conference. I’ll tell them we’re not datin’, and that I don’t think about you when I’m away. I won’t tell them how much I’m looking forward to the off season so we can spend time together. Or how I want to take you to Alabama so you can meet my old high school coach. And forget about meetin’ Mama. Those are things that couples do, and we’re not a couple. What else do you want me to tell them?” I scratch my head and appear deep in thought. “Do you want me to tell them that we can’t possibly be a couple because of your rules? What were they again? I’ve been hit in the head by so many basketballs, my memory ain’t what it should be. I’ll write it down next time, I promise.”
“Will you shut up, Chastain?” She hisses. “So, I guess Mama raised a liar.” I give her a blank stare. “You know what, just stop talking.” I gesture locking my lips and throwing away the key. “This is not what we talked about, and I don’t appreciate being set up. Goodbye, jerk.” I take a step closer, but she puts a finger to my face and says, “I’m done with you.”
“I’ll tell the press that you would never consider being with me because I have a kid. Or because I’m from Alabama? How about how you don’t date white men? You tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it.”
She stares at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She jerks her head back. It’s like she’s trying to decide what to make of me. I reach for her hand, but she moves it away. I catch it and bring it to my lips.
“You’re an asshole.” This time the laugh I was trying to hold in slips out. “I don’t want to be with you because you’re a manipulative, thoughtless jerk. Don’t say a word about me to anyone ever again. You’ve done enough damage.”
I turn her hand over and kiss the middle of her palm. Her nostrils flare and she tries to muffle her groan with a sigh.
“But hear me out.”
She snatches her hand from me, moves away, and crosses her arms. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.” I put a finger under her chin, but she wraps her hand around it and twists it. It doesn’t hurt, even though I think that’s her intention. I give her what she wants and let out an exaggerated pained yelp. She tries to bend it back, but I press against her palm. “Let’s see how well you play with a broken finger, you liar.” I pull my hand away and hold both hands up in surrender. “You set me up.”
“Did I?” I reach for her hand again and quickly intertwine my fingers with hers. “I asked you to come to my game and wear my jersey, and you did. You let my driver pick you up, and you waited for me after the game.”
“That’s so I could tell you off for being a lying jerk to your face. We said we weren’t dating.” She whispers the last word as if it’s a sordid secret.
She walks away, and I wonder if she knows where she’s going. We’re in the back of the stadium. It’s just after midnight and dark outside. I count to ten, mainly to get my laughter under control.
“Dante, come and find us in ten minutes.”
