Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

| ROSCOE |

Aria DeLang was a giant pain in my ass.

Something had pissed her off, who knew what. Normally, I'd be delighted to see it — that wrinkle between her brows that only appeared when she scowled with her whole face. That expression was becoming easier and easier to elicit these days and it hadn't lost its luster yet. Except today. Things had gone too far, that lunatic had almost wrecked my baby over it.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I knew better than most what she was capable of. It'd been years since she'd flipped the switch on me — sending Whitney to tell me to come kiss her and then reacting like a feral cat once I did — and despite the passage of time, it still hurt my pride. 

Aria was the only person that had ever done me dirty. I hadn't missed her.

So when I walked in and saw her at my practice, saw her schmoozing with my coach — like she did with every other authority figure — I'll admit, I got a little salty.

We weren't kids anymore and I made damn sure she knew it. When a guy gets posterized, he knows it's more than just basketball — you've been disgraced, pommelled, conquered. If it happens more than once... shit, I guarantee every dude looks at you with sickened pity, like they look at the village drunk making a fool out of himself again.

Aria understood this play for what it was. She knew not to show her face round these parts. For a while everyone looked at her like the wad of chewed gum that sticks to the bottom of your shoe, but not anymore. They were starting to like her, it was those underdog vibes. I couldn't have that.

She needed to go.

I scratched my head and stared at the empty driver's seat. My ears rang and my head buzzed, and not for the first time, I regretted my decisions from the prior night.

Last night I could've sworn that she'd take me up on my offer. I thought she'd leap at the opportunity to boss me around. My friends had me so convinced I ain't even sleep, instead I posted up at her doorstep.

Damn, that's some simp shit.

I sucked my teeth and yanked on the door handle. I could go home and get a nap in, but the likelihood of waking up in time for practice was slim.

I couldn't afford to be late again, I needed Coach Brown to see that I was for real.

There were two things I carer about: basketball and my mama. Everything, and everyone else, could suck my dick.

It gutted me to hear that Coach was questioning my dedication. He knew me, he knew the hours I'd clocked with my old man to get me here. Ball was all I had left of him. Ball was my ticket out of here. I took that shit seriously.

But no matter what I did — I could score every point for my team, break every state record, bring home "W" after "W" — and Coach still wouldn't look at me the way he looked at Aria DeLang.

Damn I hated her.

... But that's exactly why I needed her.

I could endure her presence temporarily if it meant that Coach's believed in me again. I mean, it could be worse. She could be grating as hell, and an eyesore. Sometimes, when I caught glimpses of those long legs, I could almost forget who they belonged to. They probably only looked nice against the backdrop of hairy, man, legs. Yeah... that seemed more likely.

Grumbling under my breath I circled the car, crouching to check for damage. Luckily, she'd taken the curb at an angle so the bumper wasn't scratched. Once I was satisfied that my car was fine, I swung into the drivers seat, fired up the engine, and backed off the lawn.