Chapter six Damon #2
An hour and a half later, the kids are drenched in sweat, and Coach Paulson blows the whistle twice to dismiss everyone to the showers.
Man, I do not miss preseason practices. Sure, the basketball clinics over the summer and sticking to my running and lifting regimen helped maintain my conditioning, but every coach I’ve had puts their team through the ringer those first few weeks.
I’m pretty sure it’s in some secret coach handbook, regardless of sport, amateur or professional, that preseason practices aren’t successful until at least one player pukes in a trashcan.
Seth, our junior shooting guard, is already looking a little green.
After Coach Paulson gives me a nod, I jog to catch up to Carter, who’s making his way back to the locker room but standing apart from the rest of the team.
“Hey Carter. Hold up!” I call after him. He turns with a bored expression, letting me know exactly what he thinks about being kept from his post-game shower.
“Do I know you?” he sneers, sizing me up. It’s ridiculous, considering I’ve got a couple inches and about fifty pounds of muscle on the kid. He’s definitely going to have to bulk up before the season’s done to survive on a college team or anywhere else.
“I’m Coach Park. I introduced myself at the beginning of practice.”
“And?” he says, contempt dripping from the single syllable. Carter isn’t my first difficult teen, but he’s definitely going to be a handful. I take a breath and remind myself that punching a kid is no way to win over my new boss or the school.
“And I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier with Robbie. This is a big year for you and I just want to make sure we put our best—”
Carter holds up his hand.
“We?” he scoffs. “There is no we. Not with you, not with Coach Paulson, and definitely not with any of the other sorry ass players on this team. I’m on my own out there, and I certainly don’t need help from some washed up old man who couldn’t make it in the NBA, couldn’t make it playing ball overseas, and now is stuck coaching high school kids in Brooklyn. ”
Several things hit me as I stand stunned watching the teen walk away.
First, he knows who I am. How else could his insults be so accurate and cut so deep?
Second, he thinks I’m old. Thirty-four isn’t old!
Maybe in terms of basketball, but not in terms of life.
And third, I need a new tactic to reach that kid because that… was brutal as fuck.
Some of Cory’s beer dribbles down his chin, making him cough. Adam pats him on the back, studiously avoiding my eyes. Noah openly grins. Thanks a lot for the support, guys.
“Sounds like you had a rough day at work, man,” Cory says, still clearing his throat after nearly choking on his beer.
I punch him in the gut; not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough so he knows what I think about being laughed at.
Noah smiles wider when Cory doubles over, and Adam comes to stand between us.
“All right, guys. That’s enough. We’re supposed to be helping Damon drown his sorrows, not making them worse.”
I raise my own beer in thanks to Adam, though it’s even more embarrassing that my baby brother has to defend me against the rest of these hyenas. Noah puts his hand on my back, and his face sobers.
“We’re sorry, bro. We’re not laughing at you, just the situation.”
“Yeah,” Cory adds, still sounding pained from the punch. “That little shit tried to school you when his balls have barely dropped.”
“Sure,” I grumble.
“How ’bout I buy us another round as a peace offering?” Noah suggests. Adam and Cory readily agree. I, however, shake my head.
“Can’t. It’s a school night.” I know they’re gonna rag on me as soon as I say it, but it’s the truth.
Cory bites his lip to keep from laughing, Adam turns to hide his snickering, and Noah leans over to the bartender to get everyone else’s drinks.
“Do you have a bedtime too?” Cory teases. I bump him with my elbow, making him chuckle.
Once the drinks arrive, Noah and Cory head to the pool table in the corner to hustle some twenty-year-olds, and I continue nursing my beer. Adam swivels on his stool to face me.
“You know they’re just joking, right? Everyone’s really proud of your new job, which you’re totally going to kill once you figure out how to get through to that kid.”
“I know,” I reply, still subdued from the third-degree burn that kid delivered. “It’s mainly that he’s not wrong.”
“Who? Cory?”
I roll my eyes and take another swig of my drink.
“No. Carter.” I turn away to look out of the bar’s windows. We’re in Williamsburg, so the sidewalks are bustling with bar-hoppers, even on a Wednesday night. “I didn’t make it to the NBA. I am washed up. I am coaching high school basketball.”
Adam puts his beer down hard on the bar, making me turn to look at him.
“Cut that shit out, Damon. You’re not washed up; you’re retired. You didn’t make it to the NBA, but you were professional; you had your own chant when I came to see you. And you’re coaching basketball for one of the top teams in the state.”
“Assistant coaching,” I correct him.
“Still! That’s hardly failing. That sounds like winning to me.”
I sit in silence, letting the bar noise drown out my thoughts, when Adam taps me with the neck of his beer.
“If you need a pick-me-up, you could always go talk to that brunette checking you out.”
I sneak a glance at the woman. She’s petite, with a pixie cut and a goth vibe. She’s cute, she’s just not…I turn back towards the bar before she makes eye contact and comes over.
“Not my type,” I mutter.
Adam looks at me in disbelief.
“Since when are you so particular?”
I turn to him with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smile.
“Are you calling me a slut?”
He rolls his eyes like I’m being dense.
“Duh! Of course you’re a slut.” I laugh because it’s the truth. Or at least it was…before a certain copper-eyed beauty became my obsession.
“Cory used to be the biggest slut among us, but you and Noah definitely gave him a run for his money. Now, you two are the last men standing.”
I just shrug and take another sip of my beer. I’m not ready to get into my dating life—or lack thereof—right now. One heavy topic per night is the limit.
“That’s just not my focus right now. I already told you. Between my new job and getting used to being back in the city, I have my hands full.”
Adam eyes me thoughtfully, then his look turns mischievous. Uh oh.
“Are you sure it’s that and not that you’re still hung up on that Kendra woman?”
Kendra Gray, I correct in my head. Adam slaps the bar when I don’t respond.
“I knew it! You must really like her.”
“What’s not to like?” I grumble, feeling defensive. I guess today is “Rag on Damon” Day. Adam raises his hands.
“Nothing. I just thought when you didn’t follow through after that picture came out, you’d moved on.”
Ugh! That fucking picture! I’m embarrassed to admit I saved it on my phone and may have jerked off to the memory of that look more than a few times.
I’d had every intention of hitting her up once I got the job, but the interview process ended up taking way longer than expected.
A second interview turned into a fourth, and by then I figured I’d missed my window.
What woman is going to stand for a man not making a move when she goes out on a limb like that?
She probably thinks I left her hanging. I did… accidentally.
Adam’s watching me too keenly, so I’m careful not to make eye contact. He keeps staring until I finally break.
“I think our window may have closed while I was getting myself situated. It’s been weeks.”
Exasperated, Adam pinches the bridge of his nose.
“There’s no shot clock, Damon! Did you mess up by waiting too long? Maybe. But you won’t know until you grow a pair and actually ask her out!”
Adam storms away from the table just as Cory and Noah come back, fifty dollars richer from their pool game.
Noah orders another round of drinks, and Cory proceeds to give the play-by-play of the game.
They’re surprisingly excited about fifty bucks given how much money they both make.
Even after quitting his job, Cory’s still raking it in with consulting.
I know Adam’s right: Kendra won’t wait forever, and I need to man up and make a move if I want her. It might already be too late, though I haven’t seen anything about a new guy online. And I’ve definitely been checking.
But with an ex who’s a literal R&B icon, who could blame me for being a little intimidated?
For wanting to wait until I win a few games, earn a few paychecks, to pump back up my confidence?
I doubt she’d be impressed by a walk around the park or a candlelit dinner when her ex probably has a private jet and only eats at Michelin-star restaurants.
No. I’m going to keep my distance until I’ve got something to offer, and if I’ve missed my chance by then, I’ll just have to deal with that. There’ll be other fish in the sea…maybe.