4. PAUL
Sarah.
I was beginning to think this girl was a figment of my imagination and that the whole damn night between us was just a dream.
A really good dream, if I say so myself.
But the moment my eyes locked on her Disney Princess emerald-green eyes just now, I knew it was her. The girl I haven’t been able to get out of my fucking head because she was too busy invading every waking thought and wet dream.
As my hand enveloped her small one, I had to rein in the caveman inside me so I wouldn’t throw her over my shoulder and scream, “I found her!” in front of everyone.
I wonder if—
“What the hell was that?” Nate asks, breaking my trance.
“What was what?” I emerge from my daze and step toward the fridge, reaching inside for a drink.
“That!” Nate waves his hands between me and the now vacant entryway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond before guzzling the soda in my hand. Even though Nate knows I’ve been searching for my mysterious one-night stand, this does not feel like the appropriate time to tell him that it was her. I place the cold can against my burning cheek. “Natalie, is the heat on in here? It feels like I’m in a sauna.”
She smiles knowingly. “Nope. I think it’s just you, TB.”
“Oh Jesus, you gave him a nickname?” Nate pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Of course, I gave him a nickname.”
“What does TB stand for?” Jason asks.
Nate sighs and then rolls his eyes. “Teddy Bear.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, Natalie. You are definitely my favorite.”
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Nate stands behind Natalie, his arms surrounding her waist.
“I know I am.” Her face tilts toward him, and she reaches up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
The way the two of them look at each other is sickening.
But damn, I wish I had someone who looked at me that way.
Like their hearts are whole because they have each other.
And the word lonely never crosses their minds like it frequently does in mine.
“All right. Everyone, dig in,” Vanessa announces as she organizes the food on the marble island in the kitchen.
Jason grabs a pizza box and makes himself comfortable on the couch, so I grab one as well and sit on one of the counter stools. Nate and Natalie sit beside me, and I realize there’s no seat left for Vanessa.
“Hey, Vanessa, take my seat.” I start to get up, but she shakes her head.
“It’s okay.” She looks over at the couch where Jason is sitting. “I’ll go sit over there.” She lets out a breath, straightens her shoulders, and takes her salad with her as she strides toward the couch.
I chuckle, shaking my head, before taking a bite of my pizza. I worked up an appetite today, helping everyone move into their apartments. We spent the day moving Natalie and Vanessa into their new apartment and bringing Jason’s things into his, which was Natalie’s apartment last year.
I worked muscles I hadn’t used, even on the basketball court. Which is why I’m glad that Nate and I moved into our place at the beginning of the summer, so when I leave here, I can take a refreshingly cold shower and crash for the night.
It’s not like I have anything else to do.
Or maybe I do…
After asking Jason to hang something in Vanessa’s room, Natalie walks back into the kitchen to sit on her stool.
Why didn’t she ask the tallest guy in the room? No idea.
“So Natalie…” I clear my throat. “Have you and Sarah been friends long?”
She swallows what’s in her mouth before saying, “We met last year when I moved in. She’s a junior at LU and lives down the hall across Jason now.”
She lives in this building…
Just down the hall…
Is this a sick joke?
I rub a hand up and down my face, not letting Natalie see me internally berating myself because apparently, I wasn’t looking hard enough for Sarah if she’s been living in this building the whole damn time I’ve been searching for her.
I finish the slice of pizza in my hand and get up from my seat. “Well, I better get going. I’ve got to be up early for basketball tomorrow. I’ll see you at the house,” I say to Nate as I pat Natalie on the top of her head.
Walking into the hallway, I start to make my way for the elevator, but before I know what I’m doing, my feet take me in the opposite direction, heading down the hall straight for the apartment door across from Jason’s.
My feet stop right before the threshold as I bring my hand up to knock, but I stop myself.
What am I doing?
This girl probably hasn’t even thought about that night.
She only wanted one night.
One fucking night.
I shake my head, squeezing the back of my neck, and take a deep breath, pinching my eyes shut before opening them and looking directly at her door.
I’m not a coward.
I am Paul fucking Weston.
And I will knock on this door if it’s the last thing I do.
I tap my knuckles against the door and step back, not wanting to crowd her if she does open the door. I know some people find my height intimidating, and that’s the last thing I want to do: intimidate her.
Of course, she didn’t seem intimidated by my height that night…
I wait a minute and another and another before I start to feel discouraged.
She’s not here.
Well, that or she sees me through the peephole, and she’s choosing not to answer.
I’ll go with the first option for the sake of my pride.
My shoulders drop as I spin on my heels and stride toward the awaiting elevator, mocking me with its silver doors wide open for me.
An hour later, I’m home, showered, and lying in bed, resuming my solo Star Wars marathon.
Yes, I’m a nerd.
I’m also a twenty-two-year-old guy who should be out enjoying his senior year of college, but I’m an old soul. Or at least that’s what my mom always calls me. I prefer the comfort of close friends and nostalgic “nerdy” movies to going to unfamiliar places and meeting new people.
And because of that, I’ve always felt like something was wrong with me.
Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but it’s hard not to think that way when you’ve spent half your life feeling like an outsider. I’ve always been the person people want to know on a surface level, but when it comes down to knowing me personally, people seem to lose interest.
Because they don’t truly care about the man in the jersey.
They only care about the status my last name brings with it.
A loud thrumming noise echoes near my ear as the light from my phone screen awakens. Grabbing my phone off my nightstand, I see my agent’s name, Dan, flash across the screen. My finger hovers over the red button before pressing it, sending him straight to voicemail, and then flipping my phone over.
I’m in no mood to hash over my future tonight, and I certainly don’t give two shits about numbers on a piece of paper.
Especially when it means nothing if I don’t have someone to share it all with.
With a frustrated sigh, I throw the covers back and hop out of bed, taking a few steps toward my computer.
Aka, the one thing I use to distract myself with when nothing else seems to work.
I rotate my blue gaming chair and sit, facing the monitor. Adjusting the headset over my ears, I position the microphone away from my mouth, not wanting to talk to anyone tonight. I slide the cover over the camera situated on top and power on the desktop. The screen fills with bright colors as the futuristic scene appears, my standard avatar waiting for me to begin.
I spend the next half hour making it only one level ahead before getting my ass kicked by a twelve-year-old in New Zealand.
Pathetic.
God, if people knew the real me behind the highly recognizable last name, the one I only show to my closest friends, they’d probably think I was weird.
I let out a laugh, leaning back in my chair as I scrape a hand over my face.
But come to think of it, Sarah didn’t know who I was that night, and she didn’t choose me because of the last name on my jersey.
She chose me because she wanted…me.
The girl clearly had a lot on her mind that night, searching for a distraction in a bar. And maybe that’s what I was doing, too.
I didn’t want to go out with Glen and the guys that night.
I wanted to stay home and read a book or rewatch an episode or two of Game of Thrones.
But there was also a tiny part of me that thought I could find someone out there to distract me.
To make me not feel so alone anymore.
At least just for one night.
And I did.
And goddamn, I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve spent thinking about her. About how good her curves felt in my hands. About her soft moans and whimpers that escaped her as I pounded into her, making her forget, just like she asked me to do.
And as I fell asleep with Sarah snuggled up in my arms, I envisioned myself doing this every night with her. I had never felt a connection like that before with someone, so I was optimistic that there might not be an expiration date on our one-night stand.
Maybe it never had to end.
But waking up in the morning to find an empty spot on the bed beside me ultimately hindered those dreams.
And just as swiftly as the loneliness left me, it returned.
Shutting my game off, I throw my headset to the side and make my way to my bed and under my covers. Closing my eyes, I bring the blanket to my waist, enjoying the slight breeze from the open window near my head, stretching out on my extra-long bed. As I turn on my side to look out the window toward the bright moon shining high above, feeling that extra thick memory foam contour to my body, I wonder what Sarah is doing right now.
* * *
My fingers grip the familiar orange leather, looking to my left and right for an open teammate but finding them all guarded, leaving me with no option but to handle business myself.
Seeing that it’s just a practice, everyone on the court is my teammate. But you wouldn’t know that from the way Greyson is covering me.
He’s been on me like bees to honey.
When I move, he moves.
If I shoot, he blocks.
If I fall to the ground, it’s because the son of a bitch shoved me while no one was looking.
Yeah, the whole co-captain thing is going really well.
And I’ve just about had enough of his fucking attitude.
His eyes narrow in on me like a rabid dog, watching every move I make. Anticipating every play and every step I take.
But it’s not going to work this time.
I subtly move my body toward the right without shifting my feet, my eyes focusing on Glen, who is completely covered and unavailable for assistance. But Greyson doesn’t know this because Greyson only has his beady eyes plastered on me. So, as I shift the ball in front of me, appearing as though I’m about to dribble to my right side, I fake him out, pivoting on my left foot, bypassing him with a not-so-gentle elbow nudge.
Taking Greyson by surprise, he doesn’t react fast enough as I dribble from the arc to the basket, dunking the ball in the hoop.
Victory has never tasted so sweet.
“That was a fucking foul,” Greyson bites out, advancing toward me.
“Excuse me?” I place my hands on my hips, my chest rising steadily from each huff of air I release, my lungs burning from the over-exertion of hustling on the court nonstop for hours.
My teammates watch, not saying a word.
“You pushed me,” Greyson accuses. “So that basket doesn’t count.”
“Oh, you mean like what you’ve been doing to me all night,” I challenge, cocking my head to the side.
Greyson gets right up in my face, or at least as close as he can, seeing that he’s half a foot shorter than me. “You better watch yourself.”
“Are you threatening me?” My brows furrow as I step into his space, bumping into his chest.
“I’m simply warning you to—”
The piercing ring of a whistle blows nearby, causing us both to whip our heads to the side and take a step away from each other.
“Paul.” Coach Rivers motions for me to join him on the sidelines.
Before heading his way, I look down at Greyson, narrowing my eyes. “We have a whole season to get through together. So calm the fuck down.”
Just as I turn, Greyson ensures he has the last word. “Too bad your daddy’s not here to see you riding his name.”
I clench my fists at my side.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Glen, who mouths, He’s not worth it. And he’s right. I know he is. Greyson’s egging me on, trying to do anything he can to provoke me into losing my shit in front of the coach. Bringing up my dad was a low blow. But I refuse to be a pawn in Greyson’s game, giving him what he wants, so I walk away with my head held high before I give myself a chance to let his words soak into my skin.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I swipe at the sweat dripping down my temple.
A tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair stands beside him, smiling, as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
“Yes, Paul, this is Peter Green.” Coach shifts his stance, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “He’s a scout for the Boston Celtics and wanted to introduce himself to you before he left.”
Holy shit.
Peter sticks his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I respond, happily taking his hand.
“I remember watching your dad play like it was yesterday.” His smile falters as he says, “I was really sorry to hear about what happened to him. Terrible tragedy.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Even after all of these years, the pain hasn’t dissipated at the mention of him.
Although, does the pain of losing a parent ever get easier over time?
If it does, I have yet to experience it.
“It was,” I respond solemnly.
He nods. “Well, it’s no secret that you’re anticipated to be the number-one draft pick next summer. And I can tell you, just from the little I’ve observed today, Boston would be lucky to have you.”
“Thank you, sir.” I run a hand over the top of my head.
“Have you ever considered playing for Boston?” he asks, shocking me into silence.
Being drafted to play for Boston is everything I’ve ever wanted.
It’s the city I grew up in.
It’s the city where my family lives.
And it’s the city where my dad spent his whole career playing.
But if Boston drafts me, is it only because of my last name?
The words that Greyson taunted me with earlier flash before me.
“Too bad your daddy’s not here to see you riding his name.”
My eyes meet Peter’s. “I’d like to play for a team that chooses me because of what I bring to the team and not because of the name I wear on my jersey.”
Peter squeezes my shoulder. “I’m not going to lie to you and say if you come to Boston, you won’t have some big shoes to fill because you will. People will expect everything from you that your father gave them over the years, if not more. But it’s up to you to show them who you are.” He lets his hand drop, peering around me. “Plenty of great basketball players are out there, waiting for a chance to be recruited into the NBA. But there’s a difference between being a great basketball player and being one of the greats. And you, my friend, are well on your way to being one of the greats.” He shrugs. “You may have the same last name as your father. But it’s one you should be proud to wear as you continue his legacy, making your own path and choices.” His eyebrows raise. “So, tell me. Do you think you can fill those shoes?”
I take in his words, letting them absorb within me.
Am I able to fill my dad’s shoes? To dribble down the same courts my dad played in regularly, clinching championship wins year after year?
“I don’t think there’s a right answer to this question, sir.” I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “But I know it’s not something I take lightly. My dad was the best man I know. He’s the reason I’m standing here today. I hope I can be half the man he was someday, especially on a basketball court. And I think it would be a dream come true and an honor to my father’s legacy to play for Boston if the opportunity was presented to me.”
Peter smiles widely. “That’s the kind of answer I was hoping to hear.” He looks at Coach Rivers and then back at me. “I have your agent’s information and will be in touch. Take care, Paul. Let’s do what we can to get those green and white colors on you.”
I smile, watching as he walks away.
Boston wants me.
They want…me.