Chapter Fifteen
Dominic
When your neighbor is a total snack and all you have is a microwave.
I stare at the meme in my direct messages and then smile. I’m not sure if Nicole’s just messing with me…
Or if she likes me.
But either way, she thinks I’m hot.
“What’re you grinning about, Texas?” Marcus is standing in front of his locker, two down from mine, already half into his practice jersey.
“Nothing,” I say, raking my fingers through my dark hair, attempting to play it cool in a way that obviously shows I am, indeed, not cool.
He leans over, his head close enough that I can smell his eucalyptus shampoo. “Is that from … a girl?”
“She’s, uh… She’s a friend.” I quickly shove the phone into my locker.
“Yeah, okay.” He side-eyes me and chuckles, unconvinced, but lets it drop. For now.
I sit on the bench, open my bag, and try to focus on taping my left ankle, which I’ve rolled more times than I can count. But even as I work on that, all I can think about is the meme and how giddy it makes me feel.
I’m such a loser. You’d think I’d never had a girl hit on me, but honestly, Nicole is kind of out-of-this-world gorgeous. And not just gorgeous, but also super smart, and creative, and tenacious… And she thinks I’m hot.
I just can’t let that go.
A heavy slap lands on my back, and for a second, I think I might actually have a heart attack. I look up to see Marcus again; he’s grinning like the world’s happiest wolf. “I’m not buying it,” he says. “I bet she’s more than a friend.”
“She’s not,” I insist, but I can hear my own voice, and it’s pathetic. “She’s just … my neighbor.”
“Oh, the dog girl?” he asks, dropping onto the bench next to me. “She’s the one who makes those cookies? She’s um, what’s-his-face’s daughter—the tech guy.”
“Yeah, that’s her,” I admit. “She’s nice.”
Marcus puts on his best thinking face. “Nice is good. Hot is better. Do you think she’s hot?”
I laugh, even though I don’t mean to. “Can we not do this right now?”
But Marcus won’t drop it. “You gonna ask her to the game this weekend?”
I stare at my ankle tape. “What, like a date?”
He shrugs. “Dude, you gotta live a little. You’re allowed.”
I don’t answer, because I don’t want to lie. Instead, I think about it, and for the first time, it doesn’t seem impossible.
The rest of the guys trickle into the locker room, and with each arrival, the energy in the room ramps up. I throw on my jersey, pull my hair back with a headband, and try to keep my face neutral as I follow the guys out onto the court.
Just focus. Forget about the meme for a while.
But I can’t.
Coach starts with a speech as we line up.
He does this thing where he paces the hardwood, talking slow and low, shaking his head.
“Comets are about discipline. About focus. About trust in your guys.” His eyes do a sweep of the room and land on me for just a beat too long.
“You play for each other, or you don’t play at all. ”
All the guys get pretty hyped, and I have to admit, I’m feeling it, too. Even as we start running suicides, I feel stronger and more agile than ever.
It’s probably just the speech. Definitely not the meme.
My legs are burning, my chest feels tight, but I don’t care. The endorphins are hitting differently today.
And I’m loving it.
We move into a full-court scrimmage, and the teams get picked, just like in grade school. I’m blue, Marcus is white. I take my spot on the wing as the ball gets checked in, bouncing once against the hardwood before the whistle cuts through the gym.
I settle in.
The game slows down the way it does when I’m locked in. I stay wide, spacing the floor, cutting hard when my defender turns his head. Passes hit my hands in rhythm. I swing the ball without forcing anything, relocate to the corner, then flare back out to the arc.
“Hot hands—hit him!” Marcus shouts. “I’m coming for you, Texas!”
I hear him, feel the pressure when he switches onto me, but I don’t rush. I jab, drive two steps, kick it back out, then slide along the perimeter. When the ball comes back to me, I rise into a clean jumper.
Nothing but net.
“Somebody ate their Wheaties today,” Marcus calls, clapping as a few guys laugh.
Coach doesn’t say much—he never does—but I catch him watching from the sideline, eyes sharp, giving a small nod like he’s filing something away. It feels good to finally click with the Comets. To stop feeling like I’m trying to prove I belong.
Midway through the next run, I read a lazy pass and jump the lane. The ball pops loose, and I’m off in transition, sprinting to the right side. Marcus is chasing, closing fast.
Most guys would slow it down, pull up for the safe finish.
I don’t.
I take my gather in stride and go up strong, throwing it down with one hand. The rim rattles, the net snaps, and the sound echoes through the gym. For a split second, everything freezes—then the bench erupts. Even the other team is clapping.
I land clean, already backpedaling.
Marcus jogs up, hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Texas,” he says, half-grinning. “You’ve got some fire in you today. I’m shocked. You’re finally playing like I knew you could.”
I just nod, breath steady now.
Yeah.
Me too.
I can’t wipe the grin off my face.
He gives me a look, all smug. “It’s the girl. I knew it.”
I don’t answer him.
Coach blows the whistle, signifying that practice is over. My heart jumps in my chest, thumping harder than it has all day.
Almost time for dog training.
As we head off to the locker room, Coach walks over, arms folded, looking more relaxed than usual. “Good hustle today, Neelson. Good to see something from you.”
“Thanks, Coach.” He glances at the last player slipping into the locker room. Then he drops his voice a little. “You settling in okay?”
I nod. “Doing my best, yeah.”
“You ever need anything, you let me know,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You got the stuff. I was wondering when you were going to come out of your shell.”
It hits harder than I want to admit. I swallow, nod, and watch him walk away.
Marcus is waiting just inside the hallway, shoes untied, grinning like an idiot. “So … you got plans tonight, or you gonna go home and stare at your phone all evening?”
I pretend to think it over. “Probably will go home. Maybe eat some leftovers. And I have a dog training session…”
He laughs, then leans in, his voice low. “Hey, just for the record … she’s cute.”
“She’s fun,” is all I can manage. Which somehow feels more dangerous than calling her hot..
Marcus smirks. “Cool. If she keeps you playing like that, keep her.”
I chuckle as I grab my towel and head to the showers.
I just might.
I spot Nicole right off the bat as I make it to the courtyard. She’s got her hair up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top. Honestly, she’s the hot neighbor.
Well, and there’s Cocoa’s doing donuts around her ankles, the leash already hopelessly tangled.
“Hey,” she calls when she sees me, the corners of her eyes crinkling up into a smile that’s not quite confident. “How was practice?”
I lift my hand in a half-wave. “Surprisingly not a disaster,” I say, smiling. I’m still riding the high from earlier, but I try to keep it off my face. “Ready for round two?”
“I’ve been prepping,” she says, her voice bright. “I watched a bunch of YouTube videos. One of them was a guy who trains dogs with a flute. Cocoa only howled, though…”
I can’t help but laugh. “He’s got a lot of opinions.”
She grins. “He’s a free spirit, obviously.”
I drop my bag on the bench, reach in for the clicker and a fistful of treats. “Let’s see if we can get him to sit for more than a millisecond.”
Nicole gives Cocoa a stern look, but the dog just stares starry-eyed at the treat bag.
“Okay, Cocoa. Sit.” I keep my voice flat, like I’m bored.
He plops down happily.
“Click,” I prompt, and Nicole clicks way too late, but at least she’s trying.
She hands him the treat and me the clicker. “Maybe you should do it for a minute.”
“Okay.” I laugh and then keep going, cue and click, click and treat. Nicole watches, her arms folded, but she looks at me with a smile—and not a single mention of the meme.
Should I mention it? Maybe not. Maybe it’s nothing.
“Your turn,” I say, shaking off the thought.
Nicole takes the clicker and then holds up a treat. “Cocoa, sit,” she says, then clicks immediately, even though the dog’s still spinning in circles.
I try to correct her, but she’s laughing too hard to hear me. “Sorry,” she says, giggling. “I got nervous. It’s like a game show buzzer.”
I move closer, showing her how to wait, then click, then treat. Our arms brush, and I ignore the jump in my pulse.
We do another round, and this time she nails it. Cocoa sits, Nicole clicks, and Cocoa gets a treat.
“Nice,” I say, holding up a hand for a high five.
She giggles and slaps her palm against mine a little too hard. “I learn fast. Sometimes.”
We keep going until Cocoa’s energy dwindles to a manageable level, then Nicole drops onto the bench next to my bag, letting out a huge sigh.
“That’s exhausting,” she says, brushing her hair back from her face. “I can’t believe people do this for a living.”
I shrug. “It’s more about patience than skill. You’re getting there.”
She glances at me, then away, then back again. There’s something she wants to say, and she’s working up to it. “Yeah, so…” she starts. “I have to ask. Um, about the, um, meme I sent last night.” Her cheeks flush. “That was … an accident.”
I smirk. “Yeah? An accident, huh?”
She nods, mortified. “I meant to send it to my sister. We… I… It was just… You know, a hot neighbor thing.”
“Got it,” I say, dragging the words out just long enough to make her squirm. “So … I’m the hot neighbor?”
She covers her face. “No… I mean… Yeah. Actually, yeah. You’re the hot neighbor.”
I laugh, tugging at my T-shirt as my face grows hot. “It’s okay. I’m flattered.”
She peeks at me through her fingers, eyes wide. “You’re not mad?”
“Not even a little,” I say. “Honestly, it was the best thing I’ve seen all week. It was nice, Nicole.”
She drops her hands, and now she’s laughing, too. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Promise.” I cross my heart.
We sit, the silence comfortable, Cocoa circling our feet and sniffing at every blade of grass like it might be the secret to the universe.
Nicole glances at Cocoa. “You think he’s a lost cause?”
“Not at all,” I say, reaching down to ruffle the dog’s ears. “Just … high energy. He needs more structure.”
“I guess that’s fair.” She playfully nudges my leg with her knee. “Maybe I do, too.”
It’s the opening I’ve been waiting for, so I go for it. “You should come to a game sometime. See what real structure looks like, you know?”
She laughs, bright and surprised. “I actually already have tickets for Saturday.”
I’m floored. “You’re coming?”
She nods. “Dad wants to see you play. I think he’s hoping I can get an autograph, but he won’t admit it.”
My stomach flips. “That’s … awesome.”
No pressure at all.
She grins. “You’ll have to put on a good show.”
Yep, no pressure.
“I’ll try not to embarrass myself.” I chuckle, and without thinking, I squeeze her knee gently.
She glances up at me, her eyes lingering, searching mine. “Thanks, Dom. For … everything.”
“Anytime,” I say, my eyes dropping to her lips and then back up to her eyes. A flush of color floods her cheeks, and I consider leaning in…
But her phone rings, sharp and sudden, startling us both. She checks the screen, then her lips twitch into a frown. “It’s my dad. I should take this.”
“Go for it.” I clear my throat, standing and stretching my legs.
She answers, walking a few steps away, and I hear her voice go bright and chipper, like she’s shifting gears into daughter mode. Cocoa follows, leash dragging behind, tail wagging.
I watch her go, the way she gestures with her free hand, the way she laughs at something her dad says. She’s easy to read, even from a distance.
She’s beautiful. How did I ever find her annoying?
When she hangs up, she turns back to me, phone in one hand, leash in the other. “I’m so sorry to dip out, but my dad just arrived at the airport and wants to meet up for dinner.”
“No problem.” I nod, watching her leave.
“See you Saturday, Dom!” she calls from somewhere up ahead.
I laugh and hoist my bag and head for the elevator, already looking forward to the weekend.