Page 20 of On Merit Alone
But about halfway back to my side of the court, I heard her speak again. “I was waiting for you. But only because I wanted to tell you that I took your advice. You know, from that other night.”
“Oh,” I said cautiously. I wouldn’t say I was disappointed that’s all she wanted. I was just put off. Especially because she already brought this up, and just like before, the mention of me being a jerk that night made me feel bad. It made me want to retreat like her. Picking up my discarded ball, I continued toward the hoop, suddenly desperate for the slight space between us. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me that night. I don’t usually run my mouth so much about other people's business.”
I took a shot to distract myself from her growing silence. The ball swished through the net at the same time she spoke, almost making me miss.
“That’s fine,” she said.
I smiled, knowing she couldn’t see me. “Oh, it’s fine now? Cause I distinctly remember you telling me to fuck off.”
“I didn’t?—”
“In so many words,” I clarified.
A sigh. Silence. And then, “Well, it’s only okay because it worked.”
“Ah,” I chuckled. Taking another shot, I nodded as it went in. I was in a groove lately, which was good to know heading into the finals. “And the truth comes out.”
“I told you I wasn’t obsessed with you,” she grumbled.
Another shot.
“And let me guess. You have those pictures of me so you can throw darts at them,” I said. “Don’t tell me, I’m like your greatest rival now? That’s why you keep staring at me from shadowed corners?”
“No,” she said seriously. Did she ever laugh?It was a joke. But no, she didn’t even smile. I knew because I was peeking over my shoulder at her now. She just stood there, facing me again but looking at her hands. “They were kinda cool, okay?”
I coughed, turning away quickly. I wasn’t expecting that.
I’d been called “cool” many times before. Mainly by twelve-year-old boys, but the sentiment still stood. So why did Merit Jones using the words sound so damncute?
Jesus.
The easy attraction I had to the way she said that took me so off guard, I had to actually hide my reaction. She didn’t seem to notice, instead just saying, “So, thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime.”
“Do you—” she paused, hesitation taking over her voice again. But quickly, determination persevered and she pushed on in true Merit fashion, I was learning. “Do you have any more?”
The three-pointer I went up for shanked off the side of the rim.
Did I hear her wrong?
I turned my shoulders, looking at her. “Sorry, what?”
She fidgeted, shifting on her feet. “Advice. Do you have any more?”
“What exactly do you mean?” I asked. Because she couldn’t seriously be asking what I thought she was asking.
She fidgeted some more, her expression turning down in a glower. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I’m asking you for advice.”
“Yeah,” I started, narrowing my eyes. “Butwhy?”
Exasperated, she pushed her arms out at her sides. “Obviously, because you’re good at it. Why else?”
“Didn’t it take you three games to take my first advice?” I questioned.
She sputtered, her mouth gaping like a fish. She probably didn’t think I watched her games, but I did. I watched a lot of basketball. And what I’d seen of her in the last couple of matchups compared to before I made a know-it-all ass of myself was that she looked a little better in the middle. Focusing more on her control and pacing herself whenever possible. She looked good.
And like she pointed out before, she was the same as me. We were both professional athletes. Both professionals in our fields. Both one of the industry-proclaimed “greats” of our time. I was no better than her. No wiser. So why was she standing here asking me for advice?
