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

[39] Dark Lord of Hoops

When Preston joined in, ya girl broke down.

"Not you too." I moaned, scrubbing a hand down my face. Preston nearly choked. "Is Roscoe putting you up to this?"

He blinked at me in confusion, then cleared his throat. "Errr... to what?"

Sighing, I rolled my hand at him. "All this. You guys are being hella weird lately. You guys won't stop looking at me, you stand too close and... you haven't thrown your crusty socks at me in like two months."

Preston pursed his lips in thought, considering, then nodded his head. He gave a regretful shrug. "... Yeah... he sure did."

My mouth fell open. What was wrong with him? If Roscoe didn't want to chill with me anymore, cool, do you bro. But why go through all this petty shit? Where did he get the time?

I patted Preston's cheek. It was meant to be condescending and he was supposed to slap my hand away, but he did not. I slyly wiped my palm on my pants, my mouth twisted into a scowl.

Now I had a date with the devil and I had no idea which way he would play it, so I clung to Katie's arm for support as we filed back into the gymnasium.

Most, if not all, of the men's team were already in attendance, goofing off along the front row of the bleachers. Unsurprisingly, Taylor Arroyo was regaling them with some tale that had them bursting into fits of laughter, his guffaw loudest of all.

Yep. You heard that right.

Apparently, all those extra inches, raw athleticism, and years of playing under Roscoe's tutelage had earned him a spot. Preston said he'd likely never play varsity, but hey, I wasn't complaining.

Devonte smiled when he saw me and wandered towards us a few seconds later. I curled my leg up under my chin and just as he drew near, extended it across the bench as far as I could reach.

Devonte cocked his head at me, a grin simmering beneath his copper skin. "Oh it's like that, huh?"

"You can sit here for a price..."

He cupped the back of my knee with cold fingers and slowly lifted my leg. I was a little thrown off by the unsanctioned touch, but I rolled with it. "What... like a massage?"

I wrinkled my nose, yanking my leg away. Katie's fingers dug into my arm. "Uh... no? I don't want your mangy hands on this, that's what the athletic trainer is for, you dunce."

Devonte sucked his teeth, raising his hand like he had been burned. "Ouch, no need to be so cold."

I gave him the side eye, but didn't have time to inquire after it, because the coaches strolled in, Ronald Drew at their heels.

Mr. Drew was finely-dressed, in a tries-too-hard-to-be-trendy sort of way. His gingham navy sports coat was layered atop an even darker navy polo. In the two seconds it took to walk to the center of the court, the man twisted his wrist six times so that his Rolex watch caught the light.

The cacophony of voices fizzled as the athletic director called for attention. The boys that were loitering on the hardwood turned and dispersed across the bleachers.

The men's and women's basketball teams did not mix. Unlike the men's basketball team, being on the women's team did zilch for your social standing. If you were a man, it was an automatic ticket to the upper echelon, not so in the world of women's sports. It was a class divide that kept us apart, not a gender one.