Chapter Twenty-Five
Nola
“Do y’all want to know why I agreed to the heinous idea of signing both of you?” Tashi asked, her hand slotted in between our bodies at the half court line. She would be our ringmaster and referee.
“Because you believe in developing young players before we get too stuck in our ways?” Brittney answered.
Tashi shook her head quietly, “I watched your gold medal game. That tournament y’all did back in Spain.
That was seven years ago, and even then there was a fire between you two and Farrah that you guys didn’t realize; a chemistry I haven’t seen in years.
But you two specifically? Well, shit, you could get a lot more done together than apart. ”
Tashi stepped back, clearing a path for tip off.
Brittney and I had never had the pleasure of starting tip off since that role always went to the center positions on our team.
It was the first time in a long time—on court beef excluded—where we’re so intimately close to each other.
From here, I could see how dark her brown eyes got and how her lips twitched as if she was fighting off a smile.
I could see the moment her brain clicked on and she read my body.
“So let’s get to that,” Tashi said then sent the ball up.
Brittney and I crashed together trying to jump the highest. She was able to get the ball with the tips of her fingers, sending it backwards and running toward it before getting it in her hands and meeting me back at half court.
This was the face I was used to seeing. In every game we’ve played against each other, at some point, Brittney took the guard position, standing at the top of the key to watch who has the space to receive the ball.
Depending on the night, she might be totally ignoring my presence and I had to result to a little shit talking to rile her up.
Today was a Brittney I hadn’t seen often. Her eyes were solely on me, her lips pressed together as she got ready to make an offensive play. With both of us without help, it all came down to if she was driving to the basket or pulling up for a three.
She did both.
I could hear my mom commenting on how much faster Brittney was than me. Even if it wasn’t by that much.
Brittney started to drive to the basket, her left arm on my chest as I guarded her, keeping my body parallel between her and the basket.
When I thought she was going for a lay up I could block, she faked me out, giving herself enough time to take two steps back to the bottom of the arch to sink a three.
Her angle was so pristine the net barely swooshed.
We played like that for seven more minutes, her speed was the biggest weapon against me as I tried to counteract any of her moves.
We knew each other’s tells pretty well, after seven years as rivals, so it was a small miracle when she tried for her standard midrange shot and it bounced off the rim right before I could get the rebound.
With the ball in my hands, we were on my court now.
I didn’t even have the energy to shit talk with how much energy we were both using.
At the same height and similar weight ranges, we were not just tired from moving fast, it was the way our bodies absorbed each impact when we were guarding.
At the moment, Brittney’s hands were reaching for my waist as I plotted on how I wanted to take my best shot.
I started to drive to the paint before I pulled back and sunk a three. Easy money.
From there, she didn’t make my life easy.
I tried not to show what I was thinking on my face.
I tried to use my eyes to tell the opposite, in case the smarter players were thinking to not focus on my feet for the fake outs I was known for.
Somehow, Brittney could see through me, as if she was in my head, seeing moves I wasn’t confident enough to try on the court that she’d seen me practice over and over again in private.
I worked hard for every shot I got. This wasn’t like last week’s practice with Farrah. My sweat was well-earned, any air I could get into my lungs felt like a gift.
On my last shot that could tie our game, Brittney got a good, clean block, her best one of the game, and the momentum sent me sprawling to the floor.
The light was blinding from down here. I watched her approach, taking the moment to catch my breath, but all she did was take it away again, the second she came into my view.
Her hands reached down to help me up, every muscle pulling effortlessly as I hopped onto my feet. Her hands lingered longer than they needed to, her fingers trailing down to my own fingertips as our bodies parted.
I didn’t know if it was possible to fall in love with someone through the game, and not just because of it. But I wanted to know how she thought; how we were able to be on the same page when we were on the court.
But that wasn’t something I was ready to think about longer than I should.
Or preferably at all.