Page 8 of On Merit Alone
“Okay,” I huffed as I picked my hands up off my knees. Instantly, another wave of fatigue slipped over me, and my body begged for a couple more minutes of rest. I gritted out my next words like a command. “Okay,Merit.”
My body wasn’t having it, though. It was over my mind trying to strong-arm it into action.
Gingerly, I slipped to the ground, letting my back lay flat on the cool flooring. My breath puffed loudly, pushing in and out of my lungs like a levy as my chest inflated and deflated rapidly. Letting my eyes slip closed, I began to count. Two more minutes of break, then I’d shoot these last ten shots, andthenI’d be done. Promise.
One, two, three, four…
The number quickly trailed off as visions behind my eyelids began to play like game tape. All reminders of mistakes I made this morning, all haunting me with the knowledge that I could have done better.Shouldhave done better.
Maybe thirty seconds was enough rest after all. My breathing had slowed and the ache in my muscles had become dull after finally letting them keep still for longer than ten seconds. I could get up now.
Slowly, I lifted up on one elbow and then the next. I was still utterly exhausted but was already on my way up. Might as well get this over with.
Correction. IthoughtI was on my way up. That was until I peeled my eyes open and was immediately met with the looming figure of something dark and huge standing over me.
“Agh!” I yelped and bounded upward, trying to get away. The night was not on my side, however, because as I rose, my quads pained hard and sat me back down. A deep ache overtook the muscle and left me nearly immobile. I found enough mobility to scoot back several paces on my ass, anyway.
Sore muscles be damned, I couldn’t get ax-murdered tonight. I had a game in the morning!
But the further I got from the figure, the less it looked like a scary glob and instead started looking like a person. A man.A player.
I only turned on one light when I came out on court. The one right over the hoop. It wasn't too dark in the immediate circle near the basket, but it got dimmer the further you stepped away. I couldn’t quite make out who was standing there, but I could tell by his stature—tall, lean, and athletic—he had to be on the men’s team. That much was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious? Why he was standing over me like that. What did he want?
“Uh, sorry,” the man in the shadows said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I scoffed.
“So, just what did you think standing over me while my eyes were closed would do?” I asked, pressing a hand to my racing heart. It was already beating hard from exertion, I didn’t need it giving out on me from being scared to death.
“You’re the one practicing in the dark,” he pointed out.
Across the floor, the big body shrugged, his hands slipping into pockets in a way my brain clocked as familiar, but I didn’t know why. I didn’t know any of the men’s players. Knewofthem, sure, but aside from bumping into the legendary Ira himself, I’d never actually talked to any of them. So why was this person making conversation with me now?
“It’s just a few baskets. I didn’t need to turn on the whole stadium for it,” I mumbled.
“You’ve been out here for an hour,” he pointed out again. And yes, he was pointing these things out like they were ticks on my record or something. Like he was keeping track of me. The strangeness of it had me closing my mouth, my molars grinding as I forced myself not to say anything I didn’t exactly mean. Apparently, I’d been doing that lately. Taking my silence as an invitation, he kept going. “Didn’t you just have a game?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you have another one tomorrow?” he asked.
I would not be impressed that he knew the women’s schedule.
Although…
Okay. Iwassort of impressed. Those conceited jerks didn’t pay attention to anything that didn’t have to do with themselves.
Shifting my limbs more comfortably under myself, I said in a more rushed tone, “Yes, so what?”
“So shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked, his body doing its own shifting on its feet, his movements fluid and coordinated. “Shouldn’t you be giving your body a break instead of working yourself ragged out here in the middle of the night?”
“It’s eight forty-five. That’s hardly the middleof the night,” I said, chancing a glance at my watch for accuracy. Shoot. It was actually nine-thirty. Had I really been going for that long? It was already past time to order my favorite pregame dinner. I guess I’d have to pick up option number two on the way home. Forcing myself up, I willed myself not to grunt in front of this guy. My muscles ached, but I’d be damned if I let the “Practice Police” over there notice. “I only have ten more shots anyway, but thanks for your concern.”
“And you’ve been out here for how long exactly?” he continued to question.
Scooping up a stray ball, I stepped to the line. Dribbled a bit. Stopped. “Didn’t you just say an hour?”
He huffed a small laugh. “I don’t believe that. How long?”
