Page 13 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“Draw it is,” Grant said, nodding to Raphael. “Good game, everyone.”
“Good game,” Sam said, shaking hands and nudging shoulders with different players as she ambled off the court toward the bench. She could already feel her thighs starting to scream from all the defensive squats.
“For someone who had to be dragged here, you sure played like you cared,” Duke said, sidling up beside her and taking in her sweat-soaked jersey.
“Ha. Ha. For someone who said they wanted to play, you sure spent a lot of time chitchatting.”
Duke snorted and grabbed his bag. “Fine. But if I see you chatting and jogging at the next game, then I know that you are on some petty hustle shit.”
“Oh. That hustle was absolutely about being petty.” Sam laughed as she slipped into her sandals. “You don’t even need to wait for next week. I just had to put Grant on notice.”
“You played that game like it was the 1996 Bulls versus the Sonics playoffs. ‘Back That Azz Up’ was basically your theme music,” Duke said, hoisting his bag to his shoulder and waiting for her to stand up.
Sam chuckled and shoved herself off the bench, feeling her muscles whine. “That’s just a hazard of playing close defense. Grant knew.”
“Grant knew something,” Duke said, smirking.
“What are you saying?” Sam asked, arching an eyebrow at him as she scooped up her bag.
“All I’m saying is y’all were awful close.”
“How far away am I supposed to be when you have Evan playing clown defense and Theo shooting moon balls?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is—”
“Hey, Sam.” Grant’s voice cut down the hallway, echoing off the concrete floors.
Sam was irritated with herself for not feeling more irritation over being interrupted by him. This person was not her friend. No matter how pained he’d looked over knocking Danny out. “Hey, Grant. What’s up?”
Grant pulled even with them, and keeping one hand wrapped around the strap of his gym bag, he extended the other to Duke. “Good game.”
“You’re pretty good,” Duke said, shaking his hand.
“Not as good as her.” Grant nodded at Sam, and Duke laughed.
“Sam didn’t even want to play. I had to beg her to join. Next thing you know, she is all competitive. I played with guys in the D-League who had less hustle.” Duke snorted.
“I don’t see the point in playing unless I’m gonna play to win,” Sam said, glancing over at Grant as they began walking to the parking lot.
“Fun,” Duke deadpanned.
“Winning is fun.” The laughter in her tone betrayed her. It was hard to be petty when Duke was cracking jokes and Grant had just nailed a guy in the face like a stunt in a Three Stooges movie.
“Intense much?” Duke asked.
“Says the guy who lives and dies by our cleaning schedule.” Sam rolled her eyes.
“Housemate rules are a different thing. You gotta be intense about those.”
Grant laughed at the pair of them as they reached Duke’s busted car. Belatedly, Sam remembered her lie about the car being a two-seater, then decided to tuck her shame into her pocket. For all Grant knew, Jehan had an equally shitty car that only held two. At least, he would think that until he saw Jehan in the hospital parking lot with her bicycle.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say good game to you.” Grant held out his hand to Sam and smiled. San Francisco was absolutely frigid that evening, but his smile could have warmed up half the parking lot. It was the kind of smile that made her feel like he meant the gesture just for her ... which Sam knew was absolutely not true. Exhaling a chilly breath, Sam shook his hand, the sureness of his grip matching the confidence he exuded. His hands were warm but not clammy with sweat like she would expect from someone who’d just played a basketball game. It was funny: she had brushed, pushed, and even once elbowed him all night, and she had never noticed the static that buzzed off his smooth skin. It was disarming but not altogether unpleasant. Sam released his hand before she could think any more about it.
“If you care for your patients with as much heart as you play pickup basketball, you are gonna be a great addition to SF Central.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Sam said, wishing her surprise hadn’t rendered her so ineloquent. It wasn’t that she had expected a repeat of the planeincident or anything. But she hadn’t expected to give someone the full-court press and walk away with a new friend. Not that this was friendship. Grant’s eyebrow twitched up, and Sam remembered to smile. “I’m sure you’re at least as good a doctor as you are a basketball player.”
“Let’s hope. Seeing as I concussed a guy tonight.” Grant half smiled at her, then pulled out a set of keys from his sweatshirt pocket. “See you both tomorrow.”
