6. Jordan
CHAPTER 6
JORDAN
L ucy was incredible today. She was poetry in motion. There’s a quote from The Office that says basketball is like jazz, and if that’s true, Lucy is a master piano player. Or cello player. That was a terrible reference. I know nothing about jazz.
I do know she’s unreal at this sport, though. She had thirty points, the most of any player in an opening game in the school’s history. The women’s team won handily, while ours came down to the wire. I hit a couple of clutch free throws and otherwise played a solid game.
Not a bad start for my opening performance on a new team at a new school.
Of course, it won’t be good enough for my dad, but nothing ever will be. He’s too far away to ruin it now. I refuse to allow his name popping up on my phone to stifle my happiness at my first win and fresh start. Declining the call, I focus on the team discussion as we plan for the postgame celebration.
PJ is leading the charge.
“All right, everyone, we’ll be pre-gaming at our house, then heading to the Cubby. Mandatory. We will be taking attendance.”
The whole team lets out cheers and whistles, some even breaking out dance moves I’m sure I’ll see tonight, just with a little more alcohol providing the courage.
I groan to myself. I feel like I’m getting too old to go this hard. I like to socialize and go out, but the evening he’s describing is almost guaranteed to be accompanied by a hangover tomorrow. But I can’t be that guy. I’ll have to go, but I’m also going to start planning my excuse for leaving early.
Saying I'm sore and tired makes me sound like an old man.
Saying I’m not having fun makes me sound high-maintenance.
Saying I’m leaving with a girl makes me sound like I’m still the guy I used to be.
As if he’s reading my mind, Tyler walks up behind me and gives me a reason to want to go tonight.
“Lucy’s going to be there.”
I whip my head around so fast, I might have pulled a muscle in my neck. As I rub the sore spot, I respond in a low tone, “Are you sure? The party thing doesn’t really seem like her scene.”
He shrugs.
“Normally it’s not, but it’s a celebration of the first game of the season. The whole women’s team will be there. It’ll give you a chance to shoot your shot.”
He does a motion like he’s shooting and following through as he walks out the door smirking. I hustle to pack up my stuff and follow him out, suddenly excited about the night’s possibilities.
After my chance meeting with Lucy in the early morning hours at the gym, I’ve been wondering if she’s softening toward me. Her performance today indicates that at least I didn’t ruin her headspace for the game. The way she was looking at me after I apologized was curious, like she was trying to figure me out–and she definitely stared and maybe even blushed a little when I stretched.
I know I don’t know her that well, but man, I’m loving getting to glimpse these different sides of her. The cozy sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants, and messy braid version this morning was just straight-up adorable. The version of her that knocks down threes and dominates the court is intimidatingly hot.
Tonight, I want more. This social obligation I was dreading has now become my lifeline to this girl.
Suddenly, I’m antsy to go out.
Back at my apartment, I eat my postgame pizza, and I chug three Gatorades so I’m hydrated. I’m not messing this up because I let alcohol get on top of me. I walk to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then back to the kitchen to mindlessly open the fridge, then back into my bedroom to put on socks, then back to the kitchen.
“Geez, you got it bad.”
Tyler’s words snap me out of my nervous pacing. I look at my hands and notice I’m holding some sauce packets from Taco Bell. I hold them up.
“Just in case we decide to grab a late-night snack. Always want to be prepared.”
“Sure thing, buddy. Whatever you say.”
I’m becoming a totally different person–apparently it’s a person who can’t get a grip on their nerves.
But Lucy has–what is it Mr. Darcy says? Oh, yes. She has bewitched me body and soul. No wonder the chick in the movie can’t resist him. Damn, that’s a good line. I may be a dumb jock, but I did watch Pride and Prejudice in my high school English class and probably should’ve been taking notes.
I set down my sauce packets and try to make casual conversation. “So, are you talking to anyone right now? ”
Tyler shakes his head. “Nah, man. This whole hookup culture of sports isn’t for me. Even when I came in as a freshman, I just never wanted it. I did become friends with Lucy and her roommates, though.”
Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Britt is pretty cool.”
My ears perk up both at the mention of Lucy and his tone. I notice his neck is suddenly a little splotchy and red. He definitely wants to be more than Britt’s friend. With someone I’m close with, I might start teasing. But Tyler and I aren’t at that point yet. So, I play it cool.
“Oh, dope. Who’s Britt?”
“She’s on the volleyball team. She’s really good. And from what I know, she’s single, in case this thing with Lucy doesn’t work out.”
I chuckle and shake my head. He’s deflecting big time. I guess I’m not the only one who has it bad.
“What a generous offer. I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”
He holds up his hands. “Hey, I know what I know. Don’t shoot the messenger. Lucy is a puzzle.”
Oh, good. I’m a master at puzzles. It was my second-favorite activity at the YMCA behind basketball. But I don’t need to tell him that.
“Let’s head out.”
We go to the pre-party, which ends up being exactly what I expected. Many of the guys are already buzzed and discussing the other games going on in our conference. The other ones are discussing which girls are supposed to be there tonight.
I hear one of the freshmen mention the contest. “Dude, who was that hot blonde chick who kicked Mitchell’s ass?”
One of the other seniors, Aaron Humphrey, chimes in. “Lucy Townes. She won’t give you the time of day. ”
The freshman, who I now see is the loud-mouthed Hunter Matthews, just smirks. “What about the time of night?”
All the guys laugh, and I feel my blood start to boil. This girl isn’t my girlfriend–or even my friend yet, for that matter–but hearing him talk about her like this is making me clench my fists like I’m warming up for a fight.
My hand feels wet and I realize I inadvertently crushed the beer can I’m holding. No one notices as I chuck it a little too hard in the trash can and spend the next hour staring daggers at Hunter. A freshman who didn’t even see the floor today should not have an ego this big.
And yet I remember what it was like, coming in and feeling like you need to prove yourself. My first year, I had a big mouth and a bigger ego. Thankfully, my teammates put me in my place.
But I still carried a burning desire to prove myself.
I’ve felt like that my entire life, thanks to my dad. Every game starting in fourth grade, he sat on the sidelines screaming at me, my teammates, the coaches, the refs… pretty much anyone within earshot. Nothing I did was ever enough.
I was never asked to be on a team longer than a season. Every new year meant a new team, a new group of people whose acceptance I desperately wanted but wouldn’t ever gain. Nothing I did worked because according to my dad, if I was better, they’d have wanted me to stay. But I wasn’t good enough.
This deep intrusive thought sends a shiver down my spine. I shake it out and look around. We’ve finally reached the point in the night that I’ve been desperately waiting for: heading to the Cubby–AKA, the place where I’ll finally get to talk to Lucy off the basketball court.
Wearing something other than a jersey.
Talking something other than smack.
Doing something other than trying to beat her.
My neck gets warm at the mere thought of being close to her. It only gets worse when I walk into the bar and see her looking like a damn model.
Her long blonde hair is in waves down her back. Her white tank top is tight, hugging all the right places. She’s got long flowing olive pants that make her legs look like they stretch on for days. She’s wearing Retro Air Jordans in green and white.
She glances toward the door, and I catch her eye. My mouth goes dry, but she turns right back to her conversation with a guy who looks like he’s probably on the football team.
That’s okay. I’m in no rush. I’ll wait for her as long as I need to.
Tyler and I get drinks and do a lap, with him introducing me to various acquaintances and friends, most of them other athletes. I’m keeping tabs on Lucy, glancing in her direction every few minutes. And she’s definitely tracking me because we’ve made eye contact across the crowded bar more than once. Maybe that’s our thing–finding one another amidst the chaos. Yet neither of us has made a move.
Tyler continues the introductions, and then his face lights up and he leaves me in the dust. I know which one is Britt before he even says her name.
He puts a hand on her lower back, and she turns with a grin. She greets him with a huge hug that’s held for just a couple seconds longer than is normal.
Clearly, these two are friendly. Once they get talking, I become invisible. I could start juggling flaming tequila shots and they wouldn’t break eye contact. Speaking of eye contact, I was so busy watching Tyler and Britt fall in love, I haven’t seen Lucy in a minute.
I step back and sweep the room. My heart sinks. I see Hunter approaching Lucy, who’s sitting in a chair near the door, laughing and looking effortlessly beautiful. Before I can stop myself, I start cracking my knuckles and heading in that direction to teach this overeager freshman a lesson about respecting women.
And pissing me off.
I know the first thing is more important–the second just feels necessary to admit to myself.
He’s laying it on thick. His hands are gesturing nonstop, and he’s giving her a big, gross, cheesy smile.
She’s not having any of it. Her eyebrows are raised, and she’s nodding like she’s thinking of a million ways to kick him in the nuts. I really wish I had some popcorn to munch on while I enjoy this incredible show.
When he tries to put his arm around her, it’s the last straw. She ducks out from under it, leaving him slightly staggering and off-balance. Then she gives him a salute. Like a genuine arm salute.
And I can’t be sure, but I believe I hear the words, “Terrible effort, kiddo. Better luck next time with someone who enjoys mansplaining a little more than I do.”
I’m grinning like a fool, frozen to the spot as I bask in the glory of this moment. It’s the greatest shutdown my eyes have ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
She didn’t need me at all–this girl can definitely take care of herself.
And just like that, she’s gone.