Page 9 of Keeping Busy
He nodded proudly.
“Show me what you got.”
About eight of them followed Jaylen and me out onto the turf. They stood in a very formal formation, I just stood...somewhere. I listened to Jaylen say some random things that obviously meant something to the rest of the offense, but meant nothing at all to me, then yell “Huuut.”
I took off running. Jaylen had a good arm, he floated the pass, a surprisingly tight spiral, into the air and right to me. I caught it effortlessly (thanks to growing up with a twin brother who never seemed to realize that we weren’t the same gender). Quickly, the energy on the field changed, and nine little bodies were heading for me, including the quarterback.
I was never the fastest runner, but as a highly trained dancer body control and movement were my specialties. I was able to out maneuver the kids and make it to the endzone without breaking a sweat. I spiked the ball, then did a little Milly rock, followed by some footwork, and finished my celebration dance with a little renegade.
I was smiling and feeling pretty good, when a voice boomed out over the bullhorn.
“Break time’s over. Get in formation.”
The children jumped, and sprang into action running off the field. I turned to see Maddox holding the bullhorn, looking stern. When our eyes met, he winked at me and grinned with his tongue sticking out. It happened so quickly that for a second I thought I’d imagined it, but when I looked back over at him, he winked, again. I walked back over to the sidelines, thinking “uhm, so he has a silly side.”
Maddox
3
Luckily for me, Sydnie set everything up with the photographer. She even sent an assistant to make sure that we knew what shots to get, and everything. That was a relief, because I had no idea what images played best with an audience when you were trying to do damage control, after having your reputation murdered and outlined in yellow tape. Besides that, seeing Mecca on the field interacting with my athletes disrupted my focus. I knew she worked with kids, knew she was a dance teacher, but there was something about seeing her with my kids. It made me feel a way. I liked it.
I watched her standing on the field from the corner of my eye while the photographer’s assistant went over the plan for the day. Mecca was undeniably pretty. Always had been, with her honey colored skin, and eyes that seemed dyed to match. Her cheekbones were high and sprinkled with dark freckles. She usually wore her sandy brown hair straight, hanging loosely at her shoulders, but today it was pulled up into a ponytail that gave her a youthfulness.
When we were kids, she was long and lanky, sprouting up the way most girls did during puberty, but tapering off just as quickly. She wasn’t tall, now. She was 5’6 at most, and she wasn’t skinny anymore, either. She had a dancer's body, but better. Mecca was slim-thick as hell. Sexy as hell. Fuckable as hell. I immediately tabled that thought. That wasn’t what I needed to be thinking about. She was here to help me redeem myself, as a favor, not for me to try to bag.
I didn’t know a lot about her, but I knew some, because she was my grandmother’s favorite Watson girl. She was the one who would be at my house, hanging out with my grandmother in the kitchen when I came home from those grueling summertime practices in high school. She was also the one who would be at my grandmother’s house when I would call after a game when I made it to the league. She spent a lot of time with my grandmother, in return my grandmother spent a lot of time talking to me about her.
“You know Pudding is graduating from Hampton University with a dual degree, dance and entrepreneurship.”
“Pudding decided to go back to school. She’s getting her MBA this time, Busy. Accepted to Northwestern. Smart and gorgeous. Plus she’s choreographing for the NBA, now. She’s doing big things, Busy.”
“Pudding’s graduating tomorrow, Busy. Remember I told you she was getting her MBA? She did it. Her daddy is throwing her a huge party out at his mansion. He’s gonna send a car and driver to pick Miss Bo and me up and take us out there. I’m so proud of that girl. You should look her up on the social media, and congratulate her.”
“Pudding’s single now. You should send her some tickets to one of your games, Busy. You two could have a little reunion.”
My grandmother was “un-subtle” as hell. I got the picture. She wanted to push me and “Pudding”together. I couldn’t take that thought seriously, though. If she wanted me to get together with one of the Watson girls, she shouldn’t have spent so much time pushing me away from them when we were growing up. I wasn’t interested, so I never took any of her suggestions. Yet, it was like she was still trying to push me and Pudding into the same orbit from beyond the damn grave. And here I was, playing into it. Letting Miss Bo talk me into pretending like Mecca was my girl, bringing her to practice with me, fantasizing about having those strong dancer legs wrapped around my…What?
Cut that shit out. I told my subconscious. That was a problem I didn’t need. Still, flirting with pretty girls had always been a character flaw of mine. I guess that’s why when I caught the expression on Mecca’s face after I yelled at my players, I couldn’t help shooting her a wink, or laughing with my tongue sticking out.
“How old are your athletes?” She asked me on the ride back to my grandmother’s house. I was surprised when her voice cut through the heavy silence of my truck. She hadn’t said one word to me the entire time we’d been together, so I guess I was expecting that to continue.
“Eleven through thirteen.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why a couple of them were so flirtatious.”
I had to laugh. “They were flirting with you?”
“Not all of them. Actually, mainly just your quarterback.”
“Jaylen Talib. He’s...a lot.”
“He has a good arm.”
“He does.” I agreed with a slow nod. “With the right coaching and work ethic, he could make some noise. So, your response to him flirting with you was to get him out on the field? A little redirection?”
