Chapter 5
calvin
“Damn, you really gone leave that horse on one leg, ain’t it?!”
I closed my eyes – partially to keep the sweat out, partially to take a moment to not curse Arthur’s ass out.
I hadn’t asked for spectators – I never did – and yet, somehow, he found himself out here offering commentary on my daily drills.
At this point, I chose to think of his bullshit as part of the training – hecklers never shut the fuck up either.
I used the least-soaked hem of my shirt to make a marginal difference in the sweat pouring down my forehead into my eyes, and then lined up my shot. I didn’t let myself overthink it, just sent it gliding off my fingertips, through the hoop.
“There it is!” Arthur whooped from the concrete bench where he’d made himself – too – comfortable. “Keep that up they might take you back!”
My steps faltered as I headed for my rebound, stopping to shoot him a look I hoped would let him know I wasn’t trying to be on that this morning.
At all.
I’d tuned out a lot, focusing on the beat in my headphones instead of his amateur commentating, but my absence from my team was still a little too much of a sore subject.
One moment.
One little loss of control.
And now my whole life was in lmbo.
As I bent to grab the ball, Arthur’s voice rang out again, “Don’t pull nothing out there – you getting up in age, and you’ll find out the recovery is slower than it used to be.”
“Nigga,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as I stood. “What’s the problem, man?” I asked, heading in his direction. “You ain’t even said good morning, just straight to some bullshit.”
Instead of contrition, I got laughter. “I forgot you like to fight. Don’t come over here thinking I ain’t got nothing for you though, youngin.”
“You just said I was getting up in age,” I countered, chuckling.
“For your profession,” he clarified. “By the time you get back, them young cats gone be running circles around Mr. Crossover.”
I scoffed. “The only time anybody getting one up on me is their wildest dreams, don’t even play with me like that.”
He tugged at the brim of his Arthur’s Tree Service hat and nodded. “Confidence still intact, okay.”
“Where else would it be?” I questioned, and he tossed his hands up.
“It was supposed to be a compliment.”
“Felt like a jab.”
“A jab would be reminding you that you still need an S and an E,” he cackled. “All that confidence, missing wide open shots. What would Coach Lewis have to say about that?”
“Man fu—” I groaned, and shut my damn mouth.
Nobody out here was reporting anything back, but still – it was better to not get comfortable letting how I really felt about that motherfucker come so freely off my lips.
But.
Fuck Coach Lewis.
While Arthur laughed, I jogged back to my mark.
Lined up my shot.
Made it.
Rebounded.
Made the other.
As easily as I really should’ve made the rest.
In my defense, I was at the end of a long conditioning session – the only reason I was outside in this heat anyway. A few miles through the neighborhood, some sprints on the court, pushups, all that.
Actual shooting practice was later.
Weights another day.
Everything to keep myself in a state that wouldn’t discount me from stepping back into a role I never should’ve been pushed out of… but those were musings for another day.
Today, right now, I had a perfect vantage point of Amelia descending the front steps, pretty thighs on full display.
She was wearing an oversized crew neck that covered all except a little peek of her shoulder and the very bottoms of bright yellow shorts that molded to her thighs and popped against her smooth, rich dark brown skin. Yoga mat tucked under her arm.
Arthur let out a low whistle. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with that, boy, I don’t know why you even bothering to look.”
“Nah,” I scoffed. “I know exactly what I’d do – not tell your ass shit, for sure,” I muttered, leaving the ball to head to the sidewalk as she approached it. “Good morning, neighbor.”
“Good morning,” she returned my greeting with a smile – pretty ass smile – that immediately dropped from her face when I extended my arms in her direction. “Oh! I… uh… you’re actually really sweaty and I—”
“Sweat is natural, and you’re about to work out anyway, right? I see the yoga mat. Come on and get in here,” I teased, knowing I wasn’t actually about to touch her, even as I moved closer.
She gagged, though.
Like… bad.
“Oh, shit – I’m fucking with you,” I explained, backing up as she clutched her stomach and nodded.
“Did you cut onions this morning or something?”
“What?!” I asked – appalled, quite frankly – at what she was insinuating. I put my nose to my arm as Arthur cackled in the background.
“She said you smell like one of them bougie salads!”
“Nigga shut up!” I yelled, then turned back to her. “Ay – whatever you smelling, it’s not—Oh.”
I cut off my defense mid-sentence as I clocked the self-satisfied smirk on her pretty face.
“You got jokes this morning, huh?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Just a little. You are disgustingly sweaty right now though, please stay back.”
I grinned, and took a step closer. “What, you sweat-phobic or something? Is there a word for that?”
“Backthefuckup is the word for it,” she said, putting up a hand. “But no – I’m not sweat-phobic, it’s just… a bodily fluid.”
“You don’t like swapping bodily fluids?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Outside a very, very limited set of circumstances, no.”
“Okay, tell me the circumstances,” I shrugged. “We can arrange that shit. Starting now.”
“Boy!” she laughed. “Tell me – do women usually respond favorably to this kind of blatant propositioning?”
“Looking like I do? Yeah,” I laughed. “They love the candor, the interest is reciprocated… the inevitable is obvious…”
Her eyebrows shot up. “The inevitable is obvious?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Like… right now?”
I shrugged. “I’d say so.”
Her gaze locked onto mine, determined. “You know I’m never going to fuck you, specifically because of this conversation, right?”
“I’ve come to a very different conclusion from it.”
She scoffed. “Yeah… never.”
“Why would you deny yourself the pleasure of my dick?”
“Wow,” she laughed. “You are so full of yourself.”
“And you could be full of me too, but you playing around.”
“Can you leave me alone?” she asked, then bit down on her lip – trying her damndest not to smile before she added a “please?”
I smirked.
Stepped closer – right on the line of probably too close – meeting her gaze as I told her in a low tone, “Only because you said please.”
She gulped a little.
I saw it.
I heard it.
Got her.
“Goodbye, Calvin.”
I straightened to full height to wave. “Bye Li-Li.”
She’d already started moving down the sidewalk, but looked back with a frown. “Li-Li? Don’t do that,” she laughed, then crossed the street.
Ass swaying in little peeks under the hem of her sweatshirt.
She is bad as fuck, man.
“That box-head nigga from upstairs gone fuck you up about that girl,” Arthur cackled, from way closer than he’d been when I stopped paying attention to him. “You know that’s his lady, right?”
I sucked my teeth. “Nah, he fumbled her.”
“They ain’t done – they was together too long – I’m telling you,” Arthur warned. “And that boy got money.”
My face dropped into a frown as I turned to grab my ball. “So? I got money too.”
“The fuck you hanging around here for then?” he countered, and I sighed.
“Because this is home? It’s low-key, nobody bothers me for autographs and shit.”
“Cause don’t nobody know who you are.”
“They know who I am, be serious.”
“She don’t.”
Damn.
Okay.
He had me on that one.
“Don’t you have a list of maintenance requests you should be handling right now instead of bothering me?” I asked.
“I ain’t on the clock yet.”
“But you’re punched all the way in on my business? That’s craaaazy,” I said, heading into the side door of the building.
With him right behind me.
“Somebody has to look in on you – make sure you’re not getting too comfortable.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, frowning as I stopped at the door to the stairs.
He shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of cat get a little too comfortable sitting out. Start doing other shit – never make it back to the game. Look at Ambrose McNeil.”
“From the Kings?” I asked. “He came back from his injury, had a great season…”
“Yeah, and then he got shot behind somebody else’s woman,” Arthur cackled and I rolled my eyes. “He ain’t seeing the field again – those some nice ass watches he be selling though.”
“Are you implying the wack ass dude from upstairs is going to shoot me for flirting with my neighbor?”
“I’m just saying it’s a possibility – and you know damn well flirting ain’t all you trying to do.”
I chuckled. “It’s all I’ll ever discuss with your gossiping ass,” I told him, then pulled the door open for the stairs.
I took them two at a time, ready to get out of my sweaty clothes and into the shower. Now that I wasn’t in the moment, the fatigue of my workout was starting to register in my limbs.
I checked my phone for anything emergent, then went about my usual routine – quick protein shake, shower, and then back to my phone.
I was not comfortable, not at all.
I was essentially unemployed, and though bills weren’t a concern due to savvy planning and smart savings, my future?
I was very fucking concerned.
Basketball was my job – my life.
I wasn’t on any superstar status shit like Kevion or Thierry – neither of them could walk around the Heights or Blackwood like a regular person, while I still had that freedom.
I hadn’t had my “breakout” season yet.
I’d been, I believed, on the verge.
But then bullshit came knocking, and my stupid ass answered the door.
Now, instead of working out in the Brawler team facilities… I was running drills on cracked concrete in an empty lot.
I wasn’t defeated, though.
Benched, maybe.
I was not comfortable, but I was confident – I had more wins coming.
And one of them had just moved in next door.