5. Lucy
CHAPTER 5
LUCY
B ut actually, who does this Jordan guy think he is? Michael Jordan? He wishes. The arrogance to act like he let me win. And to do it while driving me crazy with his soft-looking lips and those dark eyes like pools I want to dive into headfirst.
Why are my thoughts suddenly making me feel like I’m in one of those raunchy romance novels my grandma buys at gas stations? It’s all Jordan’s fault. He’s under my skin big time. It’s been four days since the contest, and I haven’t let it go.
I’m muttering to myself like an insane person as I get back to my room after class.
“Little princess–yeah, little princess who kicked your ass…”
I slam the door and look up. My roommate, AJ, is sitting on the couch, staring at me with her eyebrows raised.
“Aw, did the little princess have a rough day?”
My face turns beet red–a combination of embarrassment and anger at that dumb nickname. I turn to the fridge and grab a protein shake before shutting the fridge with way too much force .
“No. My day was fine. But can I just say something? That new transfer is everything that’s wrong with men’s sports. He’s cocky and full of himself and not even that good–”
I cut myself off when I see the amused expression on AJ’s face.
“What? What’s so funny? I’ve been pissed off for multiple days.”
She laughs. “Oh, yes. Believe me, I’ve noticed. Lucy, come on. This is so obvious.”
“What is?”
“Are we in kindergarten? Can we not admit when we have a crush?”
I cough on the protein shake I’m drinking and end up spitting some onto the kitchen counter. I can barely sputter out my response.
“Excuse me? That’s asinine. You’ve been watching too many rom-coms. I hear you in there late at night hanging out with Sam Montgomery.”
“Great Cinderella reference, Princess.”
“Don’t call me Princess.”
I say it through clenched teeth, which only sets her into a fit of giggles. I sigh and can’t help but laugh with her. I’m fully aware that I’m being ridiculous. I’m a little concerned at how defensive I became at her accusation. I’m not someone who has crushes, something that AJ is fully aware of. She’s the same way. It’s one of the reasons we became friends.
AJ is a soccer player–a really good one. She’s a striker and goal-scorer extraordinaire. I don’t know a lot about soccer, but she’s the best player on a top-ten team in the nation. We met our freshman year in the library on a Friday night. Unsurprisingly, there aren’t a lot of people in the library on a Friday night. We’ve been besties ever since.
Throughout the course of that first year, we met our other two roommates. Kya is on the track and field team. One night, AJ and I were heading to the gas station to get snacks for a movie night and we saw Kya walking around the track alone listening to music. We invited her to join us, and after finally cracking her shy exterior, we discovered how much we all had in common–including our love of classic romance movies.
Our last roommate is Britt the Spit. It’s short for spitfire. A volleyball libero with the wild energy of a Chihuahua. Her passion is electric and obvious the second you meet her. We discovered her when she stood up at an all-athlete meeting and questioned the athletic director about the unequal accommodations for the female versus male athletes at the school. She is fearless.
The house we live in is right by campus. AJ’s parents are loaded, although you’d never know it just by meeting her, and they bought this house right before our junior year. We call it the Sailboat, or the Boat for short, because we’re all captains on our respective teams. It’s a dumb name. We all acknowledge that wholeheartedly. But once we came up with it, it just stuck.
AJ’s parents charge us a low rent and are the best landlords. We’re pretty easy tenants. This isn’t a party house at all. Not even close. The closest we get to a party are our themed movie nights. Sometimes we have various teammates join us, but it’s usually just us four. We aren’t interested in bringing boys around. We’ve bonded over our commitment to our sports and school. Yes, we still go to parties sometimes. Yes, we like the occasional fling–well, Brit and AJ do. But none of us have entertained many—or any—real relationships. Therefore, I refuse to believe or admit that I have any sort of crush.
We’ve finally stopped laughing in time for Britt and Kya to walk through the door, coming home from their last practices of the week.
Britt looks at us suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”
AJ doesn’t hesitate to expose me. “Lucy has a massive crush on the new transfer and is refusing to admit it, and it’s driving her insane. How was your day?”
Britt dramatically throws her bag in the general direction of her room and sprawls out on the couch like she just fainted. “Well, butter me up and call me a biscuit ’cause the world must be ending and pigs must be flying. I never thought I’d live to see the day. Our spinster cat lady Sister Lucy has finally fallen prey to a sexy smile and perfect set of abs. Do tell me more.”
Britt is a Southern girl, and her sayings have become more outlandish the more I’ve gotten to know her. But I don’t crack. I stare her down, fully deadpan.
“Ha. Funny.”
She sits up, her long dark hair falling out of its messy bun to the side of her head. “I am funny. Thank you for finally acknowledging that.”
I chuck a throw pillow at her. She spikes it back at me like a volleyball, and it hits me in the face. This brings howls of laughter from the whole group. I’m wiping away tears as Kya sits next to me and tries to get some legitimate information.
“So, Luce … the transfer? Jordan, right?”
I love how gentle she is, but I’m not telling anyone anything.
“Guys, there’s nothing to tell here. We met at the YMCA and then again at the contest, and in both instances, he was super arrogant and flirty. Not my type. As a side note, I should mention that I beat him both times.”
I can’t hide my smirk as I say it. They all slow clap for me, and I stand and take a bow.
I sit down again and let out a breath.
“Ladies of the Boat, I don’t have time for a boy right now. Seriously, you know how much this season means to me, how hard I’ve worked to get healthy. I can’t get distracted–even if that distraction definitely does have washboard abs. ”
AJ puts her arm around me. Kya and Britt nestle at my feet and hug my legs. AJ talks first.
“We know. We also know you’re going to be amazing tomorrow. And the rest of the year. But it’s okay to have a life outside of basketball. We love rom-coms for a reason.”
Britt, ever the drama queen, grabs my hand and gazes off toward the window.
“Maybe you’ve found your Romeo, Prince Charming, Austin Ames.”
I snort.
“Wow, two Cinderella Story references in one day. We really need to expand our repertoire of movies.”
Kya grabs the remote and turns on that very movie. She shrugs when she sees our expressions.
“What? I figured we might as well lean into it.”
Normally I’m super into the romance of this movie–it’s one of my all-time favorites. But tonight, I’m reminded that just like Sam, I lost my dad. This season, like every season, is dedicated to him.
But especially this one. It can’t be anything less than perfect.
My fondest memories of him were on the basketball court. He taught me to dribble and shoot before my hands were even big enough to hold the ball. He came to every game and cheered like a maniac. I acted embarrassed, but now I would give anything to look in the stands and see him give me his signature wink again.
However, my mind takes an annoying path, and thinking of a basketball court reminds me of Jordan. My mind is in an endless loop, circling between him and basketball. Both thoughts are anxiety-inducing. It sucks that the first guy who makes my heart race has to be a classic college jock, flirting the pants off every girl in the vicinity.
Not that he could flirt my pants off.
Or do anything to my pants .
Good Lord. My mind is on a dangerous path. I’m very glad it’s dark in here because my cheeks are scarlet. For whatever reason, I got the sense that maybe Jordan was actually different. Which is classic. It’s what every girl who gets played is led to believe.
But truthfully, I did believe it.
The first time our eyes locked, I thought I sensed something real. Every time he looks at me, I feel like he’s actually seeing me, like he wants to see past the front I put up for everyone else. Plus, I’m almost certain I caught him checking me out.
But his comments cut a little too deep. Ugh, how does this guy already have the ability to hurt me? That proves that he’s dangerous. I need to keep him at arm’s length before he gets any closer and gains the power to decimate me. That isn’t an option–it can’t be.
I head to bed before the movie is over. I don’t need to see the reformed jock confess his love in the rain. It’s hitting too close to home at the moment. It can’t be me.
Tomorrow is game day, and I need to lock in.
Yet, I fall asleep imagining kissing Jordan in the rain, which isn’t a productive step in the quest to rid myself of this crush.
I wake up with a jolt from a dream that was fulfilling that exact fantasy. It has me feeling a little too warm.
The sun is just starting to peek through my curtains as I turn off my alarm and crawl out of bed. This is my game-day ritual–I head to the arena before anyone else is even awake. I like to calm my nerves by walking around the court in the silence. I imagine the fans and the pressure, and I attempt to feel every feeling that might arise during a game. That way, I’m prepared for anything.
I scan my ID card and shiver as I step into the warmth of the arena. The lights are off, the only glow coming from the jumbotron above the court .
It’s wildly peaceful.
I begin my walk, first around the court, then up into the stands. I grab a ball and dribble slowly, breathing deeply. Finally, I settle into a chair sitting courtside and soak it all in. After a few minutes, I hear footsteps.
I’ve been doing this for years and no one has ever intruded on this sacred ritual. Who else would even be awake right now?
I don’t have to wait too long to find out. Jordan comes walking out of the tunnel, looking like he just rolled out of bed. And dammit, he looks hot with messy hair and sweatpants. The sweatpants are just a little tight, and suddenly I’m very aware of how hard he must work in the weight room.
As much as it pains me, I’m not going to give him the time of day.
I stare straight forward until he takes a seat a few chairs down from me. Neither of us speaks, but I can feel him looking at me. After a long silence, I decide to acknowledge his presence. I want to lead him to believe I’m unbothered by his closeness, even if that’s the opposite of the truth.
I still don’t look at him when I speak.
“Welcome to my game-day tradition. I don’t recall inviting you.”
Weirdly, it feels easier to keep up the sarcastic banter than to try to actually talk to him. I don’t have a ton of practice just talking, especially when it comes to a guy who makes me about as nervous as the start of a game.
He runs his hands through his hair and leans back.
“Sorry for crashing the party. Full disclosure—I couldn’t sleep. I don’t normally come this early, but it felt like the logical place to work through my nerves. You being here is a definite bonus too.”
I’m quiet. It takes my tired, fuzzy brain a minute to process what he said. That was the first real thing he’s said to me. No sarcasm, no game. It was verging on vulnerable, and I don’t know how to respond. He breaks the tension.
“I’m sorry about my comment at the contest. I’ve been looking for you every day to apologize. I went too far, and I don’t want you to think that’s what I actually believe. You are super talented. I’m actually excited to watch you this afternoon.”
He stands up and stretches his arms above his head, revealing ab muscles I could only dream about. Then he meets my eye.
“Good luck today, Lu-Lu.”
He walks back toward the tunnel. I’m left in the silence, struggling to convince myself I don’t have a crush.