Page 29 of On Merit Alone
Curling his lips into his mouth, he gave me a once-over. “Do me a favor, and I’ll tell you.”
“Okay,” I agreed instantly. I had a feeling Ira wouldn’t ask me to do anything insane.
“Alright,” he said, motioning me closer as if he had a secret. Instead of asking me the favor, he bent his head close to my ear and said, “Four years ago, you against Miami is when I became a Merit Jones fan.”
My breath caught as I jerked away from him, his eyes snapping up to mine. Yes, he was smiling, but I realized that was just Ira. And past all the jokes, smiles, and teasing in his eyes, I saw that he wasn’t kidding.
And holy shit…
What the hell just happened to my heart?
Chapter Nine
Merit
It would seemthat Ira would ask me to do something insane.
The next day after practice, I was on my way into the locker room when I heard the stir before I even saw the commotion. Usually, excited energy and playful laughs were the norm after an adrenaline-filled session. It was nine in the morning after a seven AM practice block. The guys had their third finals game today, and we had to be out of the facility by ten so preparations could be made for the big event.
It was safe to say it was way too early for them to be chirping like birds at dawn. I tuned into them anyway, opting to listen to whatever was exciting them so much rather than think about the fact that I tried Ira’s newest advice and was having a shit time at it.
Yesterday—you know, after he told me he was a Merit Jones fan like he didn’t think that would make my heart fall right out of my chest—we continued to run drills. This time, I tried to trust my knee as much as I used to before the injury.
I struggled with it to start, but with repetition and Ira’s encouragement, it started to get better. By the time I started getting agroove, there was a voice calling from the court entrance, startling us both mid-drill.
“Cap?” Emily’s even-toned voice called from the doorway. She was fully dressed for practice, a familiar tattooed player at her side. “Warm-up’s soon. Gotta hustle.”
“Shit,” I said, looking down at my watch. I’d lost track of time. Turning to Ira, I hoped my gaze was pleading as I asked, “I gotta go, like now. Do you mind cleaning up?”
Like the smartass he was, he raised two fingers to his hairline in a mock salute. “Whatever you say,Cap.”
“Shut up,” I said but thanked him with a soft tug on his shirt sleeve as I jogged past and out of the gym. When I peeked over my shoulder just as I was about to exit and found he was still looking at me, I gave him a mock salute back that had him laughing and turning away to start cleaning up.
“Was that Ira fucking King?” Emily had asked as we jogged up the stairs to court B, where our schedule said we were practicing that day. Em was a mixed-race beauty with caramel skin and naturally sandy, almost blonde hair. She was also Australian and had the coolest accent.
I liked her. She’d always been nice and inviting, even when I came in as a rookie not long after her. Charlie too, with her blunt personality and take no shit attitude. The way she was eying me alone, as she jogged up the stairs beside us, all but demanded I speak.
“Yeah,” I just mumbled. I didn’t want to answer her question; I didn't want to make it a thing. But she’d obviously already seen him, so I couldn’t lie now.
“Are you two friends?” she continued.
“Um.” I cocked my head, thinking about it for a second. “Not really.”
She snorted. “Not really?Then what were you doing with him? I’ve never seen you speak to him before.”
“I, uh, owe him a favor,” I said, conveniently remembering that fact at that very second. Not to mention that I still didn't know what that favor was.
Now, as I rounded the corner to the lockers and saw everyone gathered around mine, I realized thatIwas causing the chirping—or, more accurately, something at my locker.
“What’s going on?” I asked, easing in closer to the bundle of my teammates.
“You’ve got mail!” someone said excitedly.
Mail?
Walking up to the group, I moved straight to my locker and immediately noticed the white envelope placed in the middle of my stool. On it, written in black marker, was the word, “Favor.”
I frowned.
