Page 23 of On Merit Alone
“‘Woah, you’re Merit Jones!’” I mocked. “You sounded like an idiot.”
“What? I got nieces and shit that look up to her!” he protested.
“Youshould look up to her. Did you see the way she posted King like he was nothing?” Troy gawked.
“Alright,” I said, brushing him off. “Enough of that.”
But he was right. I didn’t know they were watching when we did that drill, but she did make light work of my tired ass in the paint.
Like I said, a machine.
“Andshe never talks to anyone,” Stephens went on. “I didn’t know you were on that, King.”
“Nah, it’s not like that,” I said, immediately dismissing theinclination that just because she was a girl and I was a guy, and we were togetherone time, we were immediately a thing. Nope. She, unlike the countless jersey chasers, was not into me like that. She was all about basketball. I could tell.
“No?” he asked, and behind them, the rest of the team slowly but surely were starting to file in. He lowered his voice like this was some kind of secret. “You gotta introduce us then, man! ‘Cause I would be all over that!”
Wrinkling my nose, I looked at him. Tall, dark, and handsome.
And so outgoing he’d trample all over Merit’s quiet with the need to hear himself breathe.
That wouldn’t work… but who was I to judge, right?
“Sounds like you’re the one who looks up to her, dipshit,” I teased again.
I didn’t commit to introducing them. I didn’t deny it either. It wasn’t my place.
Yet, somehow, I knew I wouldn’t be doing that.
Chapter Eight
Merit
I likedIra’s smile way too much for my own good.
How did I know? Because ever since the last time we met, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
Okay, let’s be real. All I’ve been able to think about is the fact that the very same man who had irritated the heck out of me not two whole weeks ago had so easily invited me out to play with him after only a brief explanation of why I wasstalkinghim.
While he said he was no coach, I begged to differ. The encouragement he offered as soon as I picked up a ball was almost instantaneous. He had a knack for making regular shooting drillsfun. When I pointed it out to him, he just said that he was used to cheering on his teammates as captain and that over the years, as teammates came to him for small pointers here and there, he picked up the habit of guiding them through drills.
I felt welcomed just by playing with him. He had an attentive eye. Making quiet but firm suggestions on my footwork, my positioning, or my urgency in specific movements all while just playing around with me during pre-practice drills. If I hadn’t known anybetter, I would have called the thirty minutes we spent on court a full-blown lesson.
That is if I didn’t have so much fun.
Was it normal to want to smile so much when playing basketball? I mean, don't get me wrong—I loved basketball. I obviously loved it, but I had absolutely no business wanting to curl over and start giggling at the way Ira teased, joked, and poked fun at almost all times. Well,afterI realized that was just his personality and it had nothing to do with me.
He wasn’t making fun of me, he was being friendly. That relieved me for some reason, but why?
Did I want to be Ira’s friend?
Another win later, I was dribbling at the free throw line absently, contemplating that very question while trying to get that annoyinglyno longer annoyingsmile out of my head. When I got the idea to ask Ira for his help, I’d wanted to picture his game in my head, nothim.
Not his golden skin or his dark brown hair that curled at the top of his head, or even the little peek of a silver necklace he wore underneath his clothes. Not the way his big hands handled a basketball. The way they’d touched me…
God! He was messing with my head!
“Thinking about me?” a voice asked from right beside my ear. I jumped, squeaking slightly as my heart rate racked up. Startled, my next dribble landed on my shoe, and my feet crossed over themselves, tipping me off balance.
