Page 7 of Power Play

He’s got shaggy, dark hair that covers one of his eyes, and the faintest smell of weed fills his car but is drowned out by the overwhelming smell of some sort of air freshener. I smile through the rearview.

“Yeah, man,” I say.

“Sweet,” he says. “Not to be, like, uh, unprofessional, but, uh, could I, like, get a selfie before, uh—”

“Of course, man,” I laugh. “You get me there safe, and I’ll give you a picture.”

He nods in approval, drumming his hands on the wheel.

For the entire fifty-minute ride, he’s pegging me with questions. Who is my best friend on the team? Who do I wish wasn’t on it? How does my head feel? How do I think the game is going to go next week?

Finally, we pull up to Andy’s, the little bar in Dalesville, the next town over from Crooked Creek. We used to try—and fail—to get in here as teenagers but proudly came as legal patrons when we turned twenty-one. It’s where my best friend from high school, Tyson Calway, told me he would be tonight—and where I can’t wait to throw a few back and forget about everything that’s looming over my head.

I snap a few pictures with my driver, grab my bag, and hop out.

I walk in the door, barely able to get through, but am immediately pleased. It’s dark inside, and it’s late, so I know most people are already going to be borderline drunk. Which means less people to notice me and more of a chance that I can actually sit with a few of my old friends and forget everything else.

I spot them, right where I left them all those years ago, in the far-right corner of the bar, at a high-top table built for four but seating six. Just as I’m making my way through the crowd, I stop dead in my tracks, suddenly not giving a shit who sees me. Because there, in the center of the room, making her way to the table with two beers in her hands, is Lola Calway.

She’s still tiny, maybe five-two on a good day, but she’s got these curves that make my dick instantly hard. Her long, caramel-colored hair hangs down to the middle of her back, and her tattered jean shorts show off thighs I don’t recognize but am delighted to see.

I probably shouldn’t be staring at her the way I am, being that she’s my best friend’s little sister—and I do mean little, in every sense of the word—but I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. She’s fucking beautiful.

And she’s smiling.

Thank God, she’s smiling.

I couldn’t get a read on her that night at Tyson’s—when she left me like a fuckin’ teenager with a hard-on. I sat in that stupid fucking laundry room for an hour before I realized she wasn’t coming.

I wanted to finish the business we had started, that’s for damn sure. I wanted to run my hand up her thigh, find that creamy center.

But I also just wanted to sit with her. Get the answers I have so desperately wanted for four years now. To know she was okay.

For a split second, I picture her, that night I saw her four years ago.The tears on her cheeks, the smeared makeup…

I shake my head when I hear Tyson calling my name. The other guys all stand up to greet me, trying to keep the noise down while being overcome with emotion. Ricky, Mike, Grant, Hammy, Tyson, and Kate, Grant’s wife, all stand up to wrap me in hugs. And then, she’s the only one left.

“Long time no see,” she says, looking up at me with those big brown eyes that make me fucking weak.

“Yeah,” I say, and then I dip down to scoop her up off the ground. Light as a fucking feather. “It is so good to see you, girl,” I whisper in her ear, and she tightens her arms around my neck before I set her back down. I mean every word. It’s good to see her, not just because she’s the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen with my own fucking eyes, but it’s just good to see her…good. No matter what happened, no matter what I thought I saw that night, no matter what happened between us on top of a dryer…she’s good. She’s okay. And she’s here.

We spend the next few hours laughing, telling stories, and drinking—not too much, though. I don’t drink much during the season anyway, but tonight, that’s not the only reason why. I notice Lo is not drinking much, either. After another little while, I see her get up from the table and walk out the side door. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom a few moments later but sneak out the side door myself. She’s standing with her back against the building, talking on her phone.

“Okay, good. Thank you. I’ll be home soon. Okay, love you, too,” she says, then hangs up as soon as she sees me. My heart sinks.Love you, too?

Am I… Am I fuckingjealousright now? It’s been three hours. And now I have some sort of claim on her.Get a fucking hold of it, Buck.

“You, uh, headed out?” I ask, pointing to her phone. She looks down at it, then looks back at me.

“Oh, just my dad,” she says with a shrug.

Thank God.

“Oh, good,” I say. “Coach C. Thought you were gonna tell me you had a boyfriend.” I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. Watching her tonight, listening to her talk, seeing her laugh…remembering how I left her, how much I wanted to go back. If there’s a shot, I’m taking it.

I smile at her, and she laughs nervously and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“No time for boyfriends these days,” she says with a shrug. I lift an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. “Just, uh…you know, working a lot.”

---