Page 70 of The Girlfriend Game
Thirty-Three
Zeke
Although I’m basically running on fumes, depleted of all energy I had when I began the game, I’m on a high as I flop down on the chair on the sidelines. I accept the bottled sports drink and a towel from the team’s equipment manager and watch my teammates do their thing after I’ve tapped out of the game with sixteen points, ten rebounds, and four assists.
Not too shabby for a veteran player with jetlag. But, thankfully, my body is in the best shape it’s ever been after a summer of regular workouts, a healthy diet, no booze, and a plethora of amazing sex with Kendall. Which means I’m playing in top form in tonight’s game and I’m off to a fan-fucking-tastic start of my eleventh season in the league.
The team and coaching staff are obviously impressed with my work, and I’ve been unstoppable against the French team tonight.
“Dayum, Forester. Who knew, for an old guy, you’d still have the juice?” Trenton Ashford crows at my side, thumping me on my sweaty shoulder with enthusiasm.
I give him a glare that says toshut the fuck up, but it has no bite. He’s just a kid with a lot of hot air in him and no court time to speak of. But it’s nice to know I’ve still got it and it’s noticed by the rookies.
Tipping my chin up, I give him a sly smirk. “Watch and learn, rookie. Until that day comes, you best avoid the smack talk unless you have something to back it up with.”
Trenton throws his head back in laughter and then flexes. “Oh, I can back it up, old man. Don’t you worry.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
Coach Green takes the opportunity to call a timeout and we all huddle around to listen to his instructions.
“Carch, you’re leaving your man open. He’s scored three out of four times on you after he passed you center court.” Coach lifts his eyes and pins me with a hard stare. “Forester, get out there and take him down. Get on that shit and stick to him like glue.”
We break on the whistle, and I head back out to the court where I post up against the seven-foot Frenchman, Claude Badeaux. We’ve nicknamed him Badass because he is one tough motherfucker. What he’s lacking in speed, he makes up for with his size and strength. And he’s notorious for dirty play, taking down a number of guys with an elbow to their nose or head.
But I’m on fire tonight and unconcerned over his lanky limbs. I’m ready to crush him.
Carver is on the sidelines to inbound the pass. I compete with Claude, swinging my arms out wide as we tangle and tussle. Carver fakes left toward Alan, and I sidestep Claude as Carver throws the ball toward me with the speed of a bullet.
Catching it with one hand mid-air, I spin and dribble it down court toward the goalpost, waiting for the team to get in position for our play. Claude’s defense is strong, but I outmaneuver him, spinning on my heels and shooting the ball off to Carver who’s at the three-point line to the side of the basket. He pump-fakes like he’s going to take the shot, as I run into the paint and he alley-oops the ball skyward. I take a gigantic step and jump in the air, slam dunking the ball into the hoop.
It’s a phenomenal feeling and with two minutes left in the game, I rush back down the court to this time defend Claude.
The French team’s guard dribbles the ball back down the court, setting up the play and calling out to his team. From nowhere, Carver sneaks past him and steals the ball out of his hands. Left wide open, Carver dribbles down the court and makes a layup that ends the game with a win.
Although it’s only a scrimmage game and means nothing for our season’s stat boards, it’s the first game we’ve won this season. With the numbers I posted tonight, I’m riding high on this win.
The team celebrates mid- court, the guys on the bench rushing out and doing a round of high-fives and hugs. We cordially congratulate our French opponents and head back to the locker room.
“Killer game out there, Edwards,” I commend Carver as we strip off our sweaty jerseys in preparation for showers and then press time.
Carver gives a hoot of agreement. “Fuck, this season is off to a great start. Plus, Logan and I just found out the sex of the baby today. I’m so fucking stoked.”
I grab my products from the locker and pick up a towel on my way to the showers, turning to look behind me. “Well? What is it?”
The biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen on a grown man appears across Carver’s face, the pure joy evident in the happiness he feels. “It’s a girl. We’re gonna have a baby girl!”
A chorus of whoops and hollers reverberates through the tiled locker room as everyone in a one-mile radius overhears Carver’s announcement.
I stand under the spray, enjoying the heavy stream of hot water cascading down my back, feeling happy for my friend, but unable to comprehend the level of enthusiasm Carver feels over this news. It’s hard to empathize or put myself in his shoes when I’ve never been in that situation. Nor have I wanted to be. I’m sure it’s an emotion most guys would feel, but I can’t seem to relate to it.
I’ve known the highs and lows of playing basketball. The thrill of winning a championship and being named MVP and holding up that trophy. I also know the devastating losses and discouragement of working so hard to win, just to end up losing it a few points short.
I also can attest to the debilitating and crippling anxiety that nearly drowned me and turned me into a shell of myself.
But I can’t relate to the joy of finding out the sex of a baby. That doesn’t stop me from congratulating my friend and sharing in his joy because that’s what friends do.
“Congrats, man. I’m so happy for you and Logan!” I slap a pat on his back after we’re showered and dressed. “The four of us will have to celebrate when we get back home to our ladies.”
