Full Court Love (Love on the Sidelines #1)

8. Jordan

CHAPTER 8

JORDAN

I meant it when I said she shouldn’t have to take care of herself. I desperately want to take on that position if there’s a vacancy.

I also meant it when I said I hoped I would see her sooner than Monday. Even though it would only mean spending Sunday without seeing her, it feels like a waste of a day.

I walk out of my room feeling more refreshed than I typically would after a night out. Probably because I barely drank anything and was in bed by midnight, thanks to my romantic stroll with Lucy. She’s already making me better by ensuring I didn’t have a hangover.

What a saint.

I wanted to see a new side of her last night, and I certainly did.

It wasn’t the sexy, social one I had predicted, though.

It was the soft and vulnerable one.

And it melted me.

I’m not a macho guy. I’m not the one who goes around getting in fights. That’s more my dad’s speed. He’ll pick a fight over the smallest perceived injustice. I’ve always been relatively laid back, but when I saw Lucy in trouble, something inside me snapped. It made me want to break some necks. Or at least some noses.

I keep replaying the way her voice cracked when she tried to tell me she was okay. This girl is carrying more than I realized. She’s the face of her program, and the face of the entire athletic department at this school. Any misstep has massive consequences, and she’s well aware of that. So, she puts on a facade that all is well all the time, but she shouldn’t have to. I want to take away the burden–or at least help her carry it.

Damn, I’m definitely getting ahead of myself. I don’t actually know if she even likes me. She was trying to tell me to get lost when those guys pulled up. I just happened to be an available shoulder to cry on–not that she actually cried, although I could tell she was close.

I know that I like her, though. Her sass keeps me on my toes. Our conversations are like poker games. Neither of us is willing to tip our hand, but we both keep coming back to the table. I’m already antsy for another round.

As I get the coffee machine brewing, my phone pings. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize. My heart sinks–this happens every once in a while with my dad. He gets in trouble and needs a new phone or loses his and uses a stranger’s to try to get in touch with me. Normally he just wants money, but thanks to him, I barely have any right now.

When I open the message, my heart does a one-eighty. I don’t even fight the smile as I read.

Hi! This is Lucy:) I got your number from Tyler.

I just wanted to thank you for last night. It meant

a lot to me. Hope you have a great Sunday!

So, she went out of her way to get my number? Yeah, I think my read on the situation is correct. I write back .

Don’t mention it. Just glad I could help.

Are you feeling better this morning?

The little dots disappear and reappear like four or five times. Apparently, that was a more complicated question than I thought. Finally, I get a response, and it’s not at all what I was expecting.

Hi! This is Britt and AJ and Kya. We stole Lucy’s

phone and would like to cordially invite you to

our Friendsgiving celebration later today as a

thank you for rescuing our precious little Lucy

last night. The theme is “bake what your mama

gave ya.”

I chuckle as the next message rolls in.

Basically, just make a family recipe. We are really

proud of the title, though, so you better appreciate

it.

Another message.

AJ needs it to be known that she came up with it.

And another .

Tyler is also welcome to come!

Well, he’s going to be more than pleased—if he ever wakes up. A few minutes pass with no new messages. I guess these girls have said all they needed to say. I just hope the one girl I really care about is happy about my invitation. I sip my coffee and consider what to make. Then my phone pings again.

This is Lucy again. I’m so sorry about that! You definitely

do not have to come if you don’t want to. My roommates

are insane. Again, don’t feel obligated.

I can’t tell if she’s just embarrassed about her roommates, or if something about our interaction made her want to push me away. But after last night, I just want more of her.

I can’t wait.

As I set my phone down, pulse picking up at the thought of seeing Lucy later today, Tyler stumbles out of his room looking like the walking dead. Normally a very put-together guy, his sandy hair is sticking out in every direction, his shirt is on inside out, and he’s only wearing one sock.

Wordlessly, I pour and hand him a cup of coffee. He plops down on a chair and proceeds to guzzle it like a sailor coming in from a day at the docks. After a few minutes and even more coffee, I decide it’s safe to speak.

“How did your evening end up? ”

He stares off into space and mumbles something incoherent. I decide to pretend I heard him.

“Awesome. Well, we might need to head to the store for some ingredients. Like, soon.”

I guess this innocuous statement snaps him out of his hungover stupor. He groans and turns to stare at me.

“Did you enter us in a cooking competition? Dude, no one is going to believe we’re brothers, and I refuse to pretend to be your lover. You’re not my type.”

I choke on my coffee. Who knew this guy could spit jokes when a minute ago he could barely speak?

“Excuse me—first of all, I would blow your mind. But sadly, no, that’s not the reason for the ingredients. We have been cordially invited to–”

I pull out my phone and hold up the text.

It takes his eyes a good ten seconds to focus, and another twenty to actually read and internalize the messages. It’s obvious when it finally clicks because he springs up a little too quickly from his chair. Instantly recognizing the mistake, he sits back down and lays his head on the table. After some slow, deep breaths, he looks up at me without lifting his head.

“I know I just said you aren’t my type, but I might just come around.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and nod knowingly. “They all do, eventually.”

He sits up slowly, so as not to further anger his hangover. Rubbing his temples, he finally cracks a small smile. “But until I fully realize that, I think I’ll be going after someone else.”

“Britt.”

He narrows his eyes. “How’d you know that?”

I shrug. “I have a sixth sense about these things. And also, I saw you with her last night. But enough talk about girls. We need to head to the store and get cooking. Which is something I’m terrible at, so I definitely need extra time to make some fatal mistakes and restart.”

Clearly relieved at the change of topic, he nods and reaches for his shoes. I catch one whiff of him and shove him toward the bathroom.

“You know what, I think we have ten minutes to spare for you to wash off the stench of fifteen whiskey shots. After all, if you and I are ever going to make our cooking show dreams a reality, I need you smelling your best.” I duck as he throws a shoe at me. “Also, I bet Britt would appreciate it.”

He grumbles and throws the other shoe at me before shutting the bathroom door. Smiling into my coffee cup, I realize that something is already different here.

I’m actually building real friendships. With every bridge my dad burned, I lost hope that that would ever happen again. He would so often berate my teammates for not being willing to stick around for me. I couldn’t even blame them. He only ever saw dollar signs and viewed my teammates as barriers to getting that money.

My phone pings with a new message from the old man himself. Speak of the devil.

Hey. Keep me posted on any potential partnership deals.

Want to make sure we are maximizing what you can get.

Can’t waste another opportunity.

As sad as it is, I just laugh.

He doesn’t address me by name. He doesn’t ask how the transition has been. He doesn’t congratulate me on the win. I’m a means to an end. He knows enough to know that I had a solid game last night. I played well. In his head, that automatically equates to more money.

This is why I made a promise to myself that no matter how much money or opportunity came my way at this new school, I would have to turn it down. For the good of keeping this school free from his greed and chaos, I can’t accept anything. Which is fine with me, truthfully, although it would be nice to actually fix up my car and buy some furniture. Really, I just want to play basketball and win.

And maybe be with Lucy. Although, even that’s an added motivator to keep him away.

She’s destined for the WNBA and has lots of sponsorship deals at her fingertips. I don’t even want to imagine what he would do if he caught wind of something between the two of us. The thought makes me shudder.

I delete his message. Then I start grabbing what I need for the store in an attempt to stop my hands from shaking. I need to keep my mind busy and distracted. Tyler comes out, and we head to the little Kroger grocery store down the street from us.

He refuses to tell me what he’s preparing, but I know that his mom is an amazing cook. I’m sure whatever he’s making is delicious and has been handed down through generations. Mine, on the other hand, will take a little more imagination to fit the criteria.

As shocking as it may seem, we never had a lot of family meals, so I have almost no family recipes. But there are some significant foods that got me through my childhood, and I can certainly incorporate those. My mom cooked when she could and those were some of my favorite meals–unfortunately, I don’t have any of those recipes. Which reminds me, I need to call my mom. Not right now, though. It’s time to get creative.

Tyler and I make do with our giant frames both trying to fit in our tiny kitchen, resulting in multiple collisions and unnecessary spills. But by 4:00, we’ve both made something edible. After a quick change in clothes–we both walk out of our rooms in flannel, definitely looking like we planned it and neither of us caring enough to change again–we head over .

The drive is silent. Tyler is maybe more nervous than I am, which is saying a lot. I appreciate that he doesn’t try to force conversation. We walk up the little sidewalk, and I have a flashback to last night.

Lucy, nestled into my side. Her bright blue eyes gazing up at me. My stomach does a flip. I get to see her again in about five seconds.

I knock on the door, and the first thing I see when it swings open is a can of whipped cream hurtling toward my head.