Chapter Thirty-Four
Bee
I opened my mouth to shout over the bass of the music, my second drink in one hand as shots two and three burned down my esophagus. It was the second bar we’d managed to find open on a weeknight with decent music and I was grateful. I hadn’t realized how much I just needed to shake my ass.
“If you say something about Nola one more time, I’m going to take your phone and call her myself!” Farrah yelled and twirled her hips in a circle, her eyes closed “You guys aren’t fucking, right?!”
I almost choked on my drink, “What? Never!” I pushed Farrah toward a girl who had been giving her eyes since we got here. Many things happened on nights out with Farrah; it’d been this way since our freshman year off-seasons.
We would lose track of what we pregamed with, which leading to us mixing alcohol and suffering the consequences the next morning.
We were also social butterflies, so meeting and talking to strangers had never been a problem for us.
The problem arose when the aforementioned mixing and the social butterflies created a cosmic force of queer basketball players who couldn’t help but attract attention.
Tonight had the makings for a typical night out for us, but where Farrah was locked in on finding someone to entertain her, I couldn’t get someone from home out of my head.
I left our townhome hot and bothered, ready to mount the first hot woman who made eye contact with me. But the first person to buy me a shot just ended up being a fan and then I thought about basketball and then thought about playing against Nola, and then I thought about Nola.
I wouldn’t say I was trying to bring Nola up in every conversation, but I also didn’t know what to do with this pent up energy. I was seconds away from kissing her in the kitchen, her sister my saving grace from going back on our word.
But what else was a girl to do?
Nola was looking at me like she wanted to eat me alive, and I would’ve gladly let her. The goal of tonight was to get her out of my system, kiss a stranger, dance her away, or something that could help me forget how I felt in her arms.
Instead, everything reminded me of her.
The problem with being infatuated with someone who deliberately chose not to speak much was that I had little to go on.
Nola loved basketball and her family. She would’ve chosen to stay in Chicago forever if she’d had the chance.
And she loved the fact that I got under her skin—whether she’d admit that or not.
I didn’t know if she’d have fun at a bar like this. If she’s ever had a drunk cigarette even though everyone in our generation was taught that smoking was taboo. I didn’t know if she liked movies let alone participated in award night bingos like my family did.
Now here I was.
It’d also be easier to forget her existence if she wasn’t responding to each of my story posts.
A selfie I took after finishing my hair and makeup, a picture with Farrah at her apartment in her full-length mirror, a stupid TikTok dance I taught her in five minutes.
Nola Young was up and down in my DMs, and I couldn’t even tell my best friend.
As former captain of the Jaguars, I knew the precarious relationship between captains and the team.
From knowing them in their past lives, to having to be the bad guy delivering unfavorable news, captains had an extra layer of pressure other than performing in front of die hard fans and the misogynists who wanted to see the league flop.
It was how I yelled at Danny two seasons ago before I knew her feelings for Perry were real, and not the usual flirting that got her into trouble often.
All Farrah knew was that not only were Nola and I friends, and living well together, we were playing well together, too. If I had to guess, she did her nightly prayers asking for our current bond to solidify and last through the regular and post season.
What she didn’t need to know was that Nola had made me orgasm, and was maybe the first person I thought of every morning.
Baby steps.
So instead of voicing every new thought, I threw back the rest of my drink and texted her instead.
I stumbled into the apartment as quiet as I could physically muster. And then I dropped my keys. And then I banged my shin into the entryway credenza. I was tipsier than I preferred, but that was nothing electrolytes couldn’t solve. That I would also need to do as quiet as a mouse.
While the lights were off downstairs, the glow from the tv lit a path for me to the living room and kitchen. And there laid Nola, covering her mouth as she tried not to—
“Are you laughing at me?” I whisper-yelled.
A snicker escaped her closed lips, a small snort that I’ve had memorized since we were eighteen.
“I never realized how clumsy you are.” She tried to be serious as I kicked off my platform sandals.
“It’s only because drinking makes you lose your equilibrium,” I clarified.
“Yes, thank you, doctor.”
“Why are you up?” I whispered as I approached the couch, ready to take my position opposite Nola. But instead, her hand reached up to tug me toward her. I tipped over easily, body on the couch, and head in her lap. “Hey, you tipped me over!”
“And I caught you.” She looked down at me, her fingers playing with the rubber bands in my hair.
I purred like a cat, heavy eyelids closing, “You should scratch my scalp.”
“You’re so bossy.” I thought Nola wouldn’t listen to me until I felt her fingernails between my braids.
My eyes fluttered open to stare at her, at us, our bodies touching, touching for the first time in weeks.
Lust that pooled in my belly, that familiar heat that always made itself known when we made contact.
But tonight, the loudest sensation was the quiet she brought.
The movement of the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of her nails on my scalp.
It all morphed into serenity, like a boat moving into the dock after its journey home.
When we were together like this, it didn’t feel fleeting, or that we only wanted to rip our clothes off.
It felt like we fit well together.
“I like us like this,” I admitted, because at least if this backfired I could blame it on my tipsiness. I watched Nola’s face for any trace of the truth. She was more guarded with her words than I could ever be. She always kept things close to her heart—I just wanted her to let me in too.
I wanted her to keep me close.
She smiled softly, her face illuminated by the bright purple light of Roku City.
“I love us like this.”
“Good.” I brought my hand up to twirl one of her platinum twists. “I’m glad this is how we came back into each other’s lives.”
“Same. You know, I missed you a lot after we came home from Spain,” Nola began, her eyes drifting as I folded into her.
My cheek nuzzled deeper into her lap, her arm draping over my waist. “I wished I was brave enough to ask for your number.” She shook her head.
“Sending dumb memes back and forth wasn’t enough.
And then, by the time we got to our last natty, it had felt like too many people were in the way. ”
“Everyone else had a habit of being nosier than they needed to be.” I’d had a long time to think about what we were like eighteen to twenty-two.
How we circled around each other, so close and yet so far.
“At a certain point, I thought you were fine just being internet friends.” I laughed to myself.
Nola was looking back down at me now, her gaze stuck on my mouth.
“I was happy with whatever you gave me. But I think I started wanting more. Your life in Cali seemed so cool—mostly because you actually had a life. I had made basketball my whole personality so when it was off-season, I didn’t know who I was without it.”
“Do you think you know who you are now?” I wanted to know more about Nola; take as much as she was willing to give.
She nodded, her eyes going distant again.
“Sometimes I think people are disappointed when they meet me. Like, when they get to know the real me. I’m nothing like I am on the court or in the press room.
I’m slow to trust new people, honestly pessimistic that everyone just wants something, and I really hate dad jokes.
“So how did I get you to crack?”
“You could get anyone to crack, Bee.” She grinned, making my heart flutter and my stomach somersault. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve. You lead with joy and compassion and honesty. It’s hard to hate you.”
“Until we’re on the court.” I winked.
“Exactly.”
I popped up from Nola’s lap before I lost the courage, kneeling next to her so we were now face-to-face. I wanted to kiss her, but we’d been spilling our guts, and maybe that would ruin everything.
“Can you kiss me?” Nola asked before I could. “If you want.” She rushed out before I could answer. She looked like she was about to add something before my lips stopped her.
This kiss was soft, apprehensive for both of us, since we didn’t have the ferocity from our first or second kisses.
Our mouths moved slow and deep, exploring every surface of the other.
As much as I wanted more, I also wanted Nola to know this wasn’t something with a timer, that we didn’t have to kiss as if we’d run out of time and the shot clock would run out.
There were a few things we could draw out, make worth it, something we could take our time exploring.