Chapter eight Damon
Chapter eight
Damon
Part of me thought Cory was bullshitting when he said he’d invited Kendra to come tonight.
He may have toned down his asshole ways recently, but he still loves to bust people’s balls.
He knows I like Kendra. Fuck, he was there when we met, and I went from freezing like a deer in the headlights, to kinda, maybe, barely spitting some game, to basically running away.
He’s been teasing me about it ever since, but something must’ve happened at Denise’s the other day, because he’s really kicked it up a notch, sending gifs of people choking and shooting air balls next to pictures of Kendra.
How ironic that after playing professional basketball for years, one of which was spent talking to a picture of Kendra like she was my fucking imaginary friend, I’m still scared to shoot my shot.
Well, no more. I put on one of the three outfits I have to wear to the club, thanks to some clutch fashion tips from Henry via FaceTime, and stormed in here ready to sweep her off her feet.
Only now I’m the one stumbling. She’s wearing a short, ruffly dress that’s just daring me to slip my hands under it, showing off what seems like miles of smooth brown skin.
The front of her dress is just as dangerous, revealing cleavage that looks soft, pillowy, and ready for me to plunge my face into.
She’s got on heels that bring her within inches of my mouth, and lip gloss I’m tempted to smear with a kiss in front of everyone.
Especially my brothers, who are standing way too close to her right now. I’m immediately off-kilter.
But off my game or not, I’m already walking towards her. Already making my way through the crowd, dapping a few friends as I pass, until I’m standing right in front of her, mesmerized by her mischievous smile.
“Hi,” she says, almost coyly.
I’m so awkward when I say “hi” back, I’m surprised my voice doesn’t crack.
“You’re lucky you showed when you did. I was about to leave.”
I don’t know if I am lucky, seeing as the meager dating skills I’ve picked up over the years evaporate whenever she’s around.
With the women who normally hung around league bars or the locker rooms after games, I didn’t really have to try.
They were down for a little dine and dash, and I was happy to oblige.
That’s clearly not the case with Kendra.
I smile wide, hoping it hides my nerves.
“Oh no. You were leaving? But it’s still so early.”
She bites her lip, and I will my hands not to reach out and grab her. Nothing can stop my pupils from dilating as far as they’ll go, though, trying to take in every ounce of her.
“Well, I already talked to everyone, had some drinks, ate a burger. Why else would I stay?”
She’s looking right at me, and now is the moment of truth.
The moment when you stare down the defender and decide if you’re going to charge for a slam dunk, or fake right to pass and let your teammates have the glory.
Tonight? With her in that dress? After all that buildup?
I’m taking the shot. If it’s an air ball, so be it, but I’m no choke artist, no matter how many gifs Cory sends.
“You haven’t talked to me,” I answer. Her eyes get darker; she likes that. From the corner of my eye, I see my brothers discreetly edge away to give us some privacy.
“And now that you’re here, are you going to talk to me? I’m surprised you’re even standing here, given how much you like to hide in the back and disappear without even saying ‘hello’.”
I shake my head with a rueful grin. Of course it couldn’t be that easy, not with all the times I’ve done just that.
“I wasn’t hiding,” I defend. “I was just trying not to be a distraction.”
She throws back her head and laughs; a full belly laugh that nearly brings tears to her eyes.
“What’s so funny?”
“Damon, you may as well have walked on the runway with me as much as you blended into the audience. You were the tallest person in the room, and you usually looked like you ran there when everyone else was dressed for paparazzi. I saw you every single time.”
I rub the suddenly prickly hair on the back of my neck. Shit.
“Well…uh,” I sputter. Her smirk turns devious. OK. So she enjoys watching me squirm. “I’ll admit I’ve been a bit standoffish—”
“A bit?” she scoffs.
“OK, ok. A lot standoffish.“ I lift my hands helplessly. “I mean, c’mon. Look at you! You’re not just beautiful; you’re literally a supermodel. If not for my brothers ragging on me about how I acted that night, I would’ve thought you were an alcohol-fueled hallucination.”
She sighs.
“Well, I’m not. I’m real, and I’m starting to wonder if this,” she motions between us, “might be too complicated for me. It’s just a hookup; not forever. It doesn’t even have to be a date if you don’t want.”
Oh. I don’t let my shoulders sag, but it’s hard. Not a date. Just a hookup. Just a hookup…with my dream girl.
I shake my head. What’s there to think about, idiot? If Kendra Gray wants you to fuck her, you do it and you say thank you for the chance. Did I hope for more? Sure, but casual hookups, I know. I can do casual. I’ll just casually hook up with a real-life in Chanel. No big deal.
“You have me all wrong, Kendra,” I lie through my teeth. “Things don’t have to be complicated. They can be simple. Casual, even.”
The look in my eyes ensures she catches my double meaning, and the look in hers says she’s interested. Hey, I’ll take what I can get.
“So…” She steps closer to me, putting her hand on my bicep. “Do you need to make the rounds first, or,” she actually bats her eyelashes, and I’m a goner.
“Oh! So, like, now?” She nods. “I, uh, I have to say ‘hi’ to my parents, and, uh, a few other people,” I stammer, “but I could be ready to go in, like,” I glance at my watch, “thirty minutes?”
She gives my arm another squeeze, and I nearly whimper. Kendra Gray wants to hook up. With me! God, if this is another wet dream, I’ll never recover.
“Thirty minutes works for me.”
Exactly twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds later, she’s taking my arm as we walk down the steps of my parents’ stoop.
Though the heels make her legs look incredible, I doubt they’re comfortable, especially on all the uneven sidewalks in Clinton Hill.
At least that’s my excuse when I urge her to keep hold of me all the way to the subway and down the stairs to the platform.
Miraculously, the G train pulls up after only a brief wait, and I offer my arm yet again.
“Such a gentleman,” she murmurs, settling on the seat beside me.
The train pulls away from the station, the momentum pushing her plump body into mine. Her curves are so soft, molding around the hard planes of my body like I fantasized they would for months. I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t back away, and release it on a sigh when she stays snuggled close.
“So, whose place are we going to?” she asks. The subway car is crowded with people on the way to their own festivities, and she has to lean in to be heard. Her breath tickles my neck, sending goosebumps up my back.
“Wherever you would feel more comfortable,” I manage with only 10% of my body’s blood still in my brain.
She considers that in silence while the other riders chatter around us. They’re texting on their phones, talking about their holiday plans, reading their books. Meanwhile, I’m making a core memory.
The car empties completely at the Myrtle-Willoughby Avenues stop, likely due to all the bars in the area.
“I think,” she hesitates. “I think I’d prefer us to go to my place. There hasn’t been anyone over in…a while, and I think it’s time.”
Her voice is a whisper into the silence that suddenly surrounds us, and it makes the moment feel special. Maybe even magical. Like one loud noise could pop the bubble and yank us back into reality.
I nod and lean forward, ready to kiss her. Ready to see if the chemistry between us is as good as I’ve imagined. As explosive as I feel after so long lusting after her.
She begins to lean in too when the train screeches to a halt. The lights flicker, then turn off completely, and Kendra gasps.
“Wh-what’s going on?”
I can hear the panic in her voice. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close for comfort.
“It’s probably nothing. We are on the G train, after all. I’m sure the conductor will make an announcement to explain.”
The words are still on my lips when the scratchy intercom blares to life in the darkened car.
“Excuse the inconvenience, folks. There are signal issues at the Broadway stop, causing a slight delay. As soon as we get the green light, we will resume service.”
I expect to hear her sigh of relief, but instead, Kendra appears to be hyperventilating, her body trembling against mine, and not in a sexy way. I’ve seen enough rookies right before their first big game to recognize the start of a panic attack when I see one.
“See?” I say in a soothing voice. “It’s exactly as I said. Just a problem with the lights, then we’ll be moving again.” I rub my hands up and down her arms in time with my deep breaths, hoping she’ll join me.
In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4. In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4.
Her breaths are nowhere near as steady as mine, but after a few more, she finally stops trembling.
“Are you OK?” I ask. There’s no shame in having an attack, but I can see embarrassment written all over her face.
“S-sorry. I don’t really do well in tight spaces,” she says. Her voice is shakier than I’ve ever heard it, and I don’t stop rubbing her arms, trying to ground her in the physical space. Everything is OK. You will be OK.
“I totally get it,” I reply with a grin. I doubt she can see my expression in the dark, but hopefully she can hear it in my voice.
“The only reason I’m not panicking with you is because I have years of practice keeping my nerves in check in front of a crowd.”