Full Court Love (Love on the Sidelines #1)

16. Jordan

CHAPTER 16

JORDAN

I like hearing Lucy be called “my girl.” I also can’t take my eyes off her. As we walk hand in hand toward the restaurant, I trip on a groove in the sidewalk and almost take her down with me. But I can’t help it.

She looks like an angel, which sounds like a compliment from a five-year-old. It’s a true statement, though. With the white dress, her gorgeous hair, and that smile, I’m half expecting her to sprout wings and fly away from me.

My eyes haven’t left her, and finally she stops and looks up at me.

“I can feel you looking.”

She’s smirking ’cause she knows exactly why I’m staring.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She puts her hands on her hips, emphasizing her incredible figure even more. I desperately want my hands to replace hers right now. My eyes travel from the curve of her hips, up her body, and finally settling on her gorgeous lips. When I find her eyes, they look amused.

She laughs and I realize I’m caught red-handed, blatantly checking her out once again .

“All right, fine, you got me. But like, can you blame me? Seriously, Lucy, have you seen yourself?”

Her gaze immediately turns toward the ground. She’s noticeably embarrassed at the compliment and doesn’t know what to say. Her quiet humility, even in this little moment, is so endearing. I close the space between us and pull her into my chest. Then I whisper as I kiss the top of her head, “You really are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I just feel really lucky.”

Her mumbled response is once again an attempt to deflect. “Well, you picked out the dress, so this is actually all your doing.”

I take a step back, hands intertwined with hers, and meet her eyes with a genuinely concerned look on my face.

“Wow. I thought you were one of the smartest people at this school, but that argument was just straight trash. If you’re going to give a rebuttal, at least make it a legitimate point. Man, I’m disappointed.”

Her eyes flash with the thrill of competition, and the shy, humble Lucy is replaced by the cutthroat version.

“So, just because you’re a pre-law major, you think you are the arbiter of truth when it comes to evaluating the validity of an argument? I would beg to differ, sir.”

I try to fight the grin spreading on my face, but it’s no use. Everything that comes out of her mouth is either a huge turn-on, adorable, sassy, insightful, or some combination of all of those. I could talk to her for hours.

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders once again, I usher her toward downtown Maverick City.

“Come on—we don’t want to be late. I have a reservation.”

“Wow, really?”

She actually sounds impressed, and it makes me so glad I did it. Not because anyone has ever needed a reservation in the history of Maverick City dining, but because I wanted her to know this wasn’t just an off-the-cuff date. I put thought into it. If anyone deserves that, it’s Lucy.

As we stop in front of the Parlor, the fanciest restaurant in this little town by a factor of about three hundred, I pull open the door. As she brushes past me, I utter in a low tone, “And so we’re clear, it’s definitely not just the dress. You could be wearing a potato sack and still be the most beautiful person here.”

We walk into the dimly lit room, and I’m reminded just how grateful I am for the few small sponsorship deals I’ve been able to accept over the last couple weeks. I’m not making crazy money, but it’s enough that I can bring Lucy to a fancy restaurant and not be concerned that I can’t afford it.

It’s also enough that I have a savings account for the first time in my life, and I’m shoveling as much money as possible into it. The best part is that all of it has been done without huge media attention, so my dad hasn’t caught wind of it–yet.

I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

Right now, I’m more concerned with crossing the floor of this place without being bombarded for picture and autograph requests. Not from me, of course. From Lucy. Every eye in here is locked in on her.

To her credit, she’s taking it all in stride. Literally. She’s smiling and gliding through here, fully aware that all the whispers are about her and me and the two of us being together. When we finally find our table, I pull out her chair and before she sits, she whispers into my ear.

“Are you okay? That was a lot of eyeballs and a lot of muttering behind hands. It’s like a frickin’ farm show.”

I choke out a laugh. First of all, I have absolutely no idea what a farm show is, but of course this born-and-raised Nebraska girl would reference it. Second of all, the fact that she’s worried about me says everything about her.

I’m not the one under the public microscope all the time. I mean, I get my fair share. I’m an athlete here, so people know who I am. But she is the athlete here. The one who is going to play in the WNBA and probably get deals with Nike and Gatorade. She’s the one people have followed since her youth, the one little girls dress up as for Halloween. But she’s worried about me.

I sit across from her and smile.

“Yes, I’m great. Look at you. Everyone here is probably wondering how this schmuck landed a date with you.”

She actually snorts in response.

“Ahh, yes. No one could believe that a humble schmuck who looks like a model could land a date. Don’t get me wrong, I love humility. But plain stupidity and denial of objective fact is a huge turnoff.”

“Hmm. Okay, fair enough. And what would constitute a turn-on?”

She bites her lip, and the rosiness in her cheeks gets a little darker. “Walked right into that one. Okay, let me think…”

It’s quiet for a minute and then she begins her list of turn-ons, which she very matter of factly tells me includes but is not limited to: random gifts of flowers, me shirtless on a horse, love letters, me shirtless on a bike, wearing my sweatshirts, me shirtless on a goat, kissing in the rain, and me shirtless on any animal or vehicle.

We are both struggling to maintain our composure by the end of her rant as we snort with laughter into our water glasses. She then asks me what my turn-ons are, and I told her that pretty much anything and everything she does is a turn-on for me. Which is true.

“Well, that’s adorable. But what about me attempting to shave a cat? Or wearing a bald cap while doing an interpretive dance? Are those really turn-ons?”

I pretend to give it some real thought. “It would depend on the type of cat and the music for the dance.”

She shakes her head. “Lies. But I appreciate the effort, so you still pass. ”

The rest of the evening continues like this. The conversation flows so easily, with serious topics flowing into laughter that brings tears to our eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much in my life. I was known as being a serious kid and a notoriously locked-in athlete, but tonight, I’m a new person.

Every once in a while, I just sit and watch Lucy while she prattles on, and my heart feels like it’s growing. Is it possible to have the Grinch gene? Where your heart actually triples in size? I should ask Lucy because it’s definitely the type of question she would put careful consideration into answering.

Watching her face light up when she laughs or has a new idea is like looking at the sunrise. Her thoughtfulness blows me away, and her empathy for every person or situation we discuss is unmatched.

As the waitress–who has already taken a picture with Lucy–brings us our dessert of creme brulee, I’m convinced nothing could put a damper on tonight. And Lucy doesn’t even know I have a surprise planned after this.

I ask the waitress for the check, and she informs me it’s already been taken care of by a fan. Lucy and I look at each other and then around the restaurant in an attempt to locate our mysterious patron. We don’t have to look for long.

There’s a couple walking toward us who looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place them. I look at Lucy, but her face has dropped. She’s gone slightly pale, and I’ve only ever seen her have this type of reaction to one other person.

Like a perfectly timed dance number, that person steps out from behind the couple.

Sasha.

So, Sasha’s parents paid for our meal.

The only person who looks more uncomfortable than Lucy is Sasha herself. Actually, she just looks pissed off. It’s no secret that this act of generosity wasn’t her idea.

Mr. Pierson is exactly what you’d expect from a major donor who owns just about every car dealership within a hundred miles. He’s tall enough to match my eyeline, round in the middle, and he has the cheesy smile of a salesman. He greets me like we are old friends.

“Mr. Mitchell, I’m Jason Pierson of Pierson Automotive. My wife and I have absolutely loved watching you play this year. And of course, little Lucy-Lu, it’s so good to see you. Of course we are huge fans of yours.”

He shakes my hand like his goal is ripping my arm off and then gives Lucy a bear hug. Apparently, the hatred of Lucy infects only one member of this family. Sasha is wearing a completely blank expression during this entire interaction.

Mrs. Pierson is a petite woman with short blonde hair and a perfectly put-together look. She shakes my hand lightly and gives Lucy a small wave. That’s about all there’s time for as Mr. Pierson continues in his booming voice.

“We gotta get the two of you over to the dealership. I have a couple of cars begging to be leased by this basketball power couple–can you imagine the advertising we could do? Whew, those things would sell themselves. I’ll reach out to your people to set it up. Go, Lions!”

With a bone-slapping smack to my back, he walks out the door arm in arm with his wife. My stomach drops at his comment, but I push away the foreboding feelings that are bubbling up. I refuse to let anything ruin this night. Sasha gives us an icy glare as she walks past us and out into the darkness behind her parents.

I turn to Lucy, who looks just as baffled as I feel. “So, I guess Sasha’s parents don’t hate you, huh?”

I hold up her coat, and she slips her arms in.

“No, which is one of the weirdest parts. I actually think it makes Sasha hate me more. Her parents are huge fans of the team, but she doesn’t play, so they end up being diehard supporters of people she hates–AKA me. That takes the jealousy to a whole other, much more personal level because she feels like I’m stealing her parents or something. ”

The cold hits us like a brick wall as we step out onto the sidewalk. I pull Lucy in close to me while we walk.

“Dang, I suddenly feel bad for her. I never thought I’d say that.”

Lucy nods. “It’s one of the factors that has helped me not snap over the years. Every time I feel like I might bite back, I just end up feeling sorry for her.”

Damn, this girl is an actual saint. I lean over and kiss her head. “Okay, enough Sasha discussion for the evening. Let’s walk this way.”

I push out the thoughts of a new car for now. As awesome as it would be not to drive a piece of junk, I have no clue how I would keep this a secret from my dad. If he knew I had the pull to get a car in this town, I know he’d start gauging for more. It would be the beginning of the end for me here. I can’t afford that.

But for now, I push him from my mind too. I won’t let him ruin tonight.

“I have one more surprise for you. Spoiler alert: it’s not me shirtless on a goat. But I still hope you like it.”