“Couldn’t have done it unless you pulled down all those boards,” I pointed out, sharing the glory of the game. “I actually felt bad for them once we went up twenty-five points.”
“Not me. They can go back home and maybe take up knitting jockstraps or something,” Collin added.
Chad and I laughed. Collin was ruthless on the court. It was what made him a great player. You had to be aggressive to make plays, and he could be a game changer when he wanted to.
We were still trading insults about the other school when Courtney returned with our drinks. Our voices had gotten loud, and several tables around us had joined in on the roast. I was in the middle of laughing at an inappropriately mean comment about the only balls they should be dribbling when my eyes met Courtney’s. Her animosity was hard to miss. It was clear she was pissed. Maybe she had turned into some religious nut that was easily offended by swearing and harmless razzing.
The laughter dried up in my throat. I tried smiling to let her know we were kidding. She, of course, didn’t return it. This chick was seriously hard-core immune to flirting. Her nickname should be the Brick Wall.
“Are you guys ready to order?” she asked impatiently, placing our cups on the table harder than necessary. Coke sloshed over, soaking the stack of napkins she had set down. “Oh, fuck me,” she muttered, wiping up the mess before it covered the entire table.
“Is that an invitation?” I said the words without giving conscious thought to them. It was like an instinct.
“No, thanks. There’s no telling what I would catch.”
Chad hollered as the rest of the guys erupted into laughter. “Shit. That’s harsh. You just got served, dude.”
Courtney ignored his comment and stood disdainfully, waiting for us to place our orders. It was as if one of our moms were standing in front of us.
Chad, Dave, and Collin cleared their throats and put in their orders, leaving me for last.
“I’ll take the half-court burger with extra cheese,” I ordered without opening the menu.
“Fries or tots?”
Chad grinned widely but refrained from commenting when I kicked him under the table again. “Tots,” I answered.
“Anything else?”
“How about your number?” I figured I might as well take the shot since she had already blasted me in front of everyone.
“Why?” For the first time, I had her undivided attention.
She didn’t say no, which was a small victory. I savored it for a second before answering, “Normal reasons—talking, for example, and so I can ask you out sometime.” I flashed my full-wattage smile, taking advantage of having her attention.
For a moment I thought I was making headway until she looked like she wanted to puke. Was the idea of dating me really that appalling?
“I don’t date jockstrap wearers.” She turned to leave before I lobbed back my response.
“Lucky for me, basketball players don’t wear jockstraps.”
She paused midstep but didn’t turn back to look at me.
“Bro, I’m going to fuck you up if you kick me again,” Chad threatened once she was out of earshot.
Collin snorted, clapping him on the back. “You wish. Dalton would wipe the floor with you. One time when we were all playing a game at the rec center, some dipshit thought he could keep pushing our man Dalton here. Dalton tolerated his shit for the first fifteen minutes or so, but then the dickhead knocked Dalton out of bounds with a cheap shot. My boy didn’t even hesitate. He clocked him so hard he was out for the count. It was classic, baby. Dalton is the fucking man.”
“What are you, his manager? Or maybe it’s something else. I didn’t know you swung from that tree. Do I need to leave you two alone?”
“Shit, I’d make you my bitch, fool. Believe that. Everyone wants a piece of the Collin Man,” Collin bragged, making a show of kissing his own biceps.
“Right. You and Tater Tots here are both shooting zero-for-two at the moment. I don’t need to kick Dalton’s ass, ’cause Courtney is doing it for me.”
“Fuck that,” I piped in. “I’m just getting started, Smalls. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be closing that shit soon enough.” It wasn’t meant to sound cocky, just confident based on my experience with the ladies.
chapter five
Courtney
I pushed through the swinging kitchen door and leaned against the wall, trying to clear my head. The dirty dishes slid off my tray, crashing to the floor. Mercifully they didn’t break. Dalton Thompson had just asked for my number. He had to be screwing with me. He’d never looked in my direction the whole time we were at Grant High together and now suddenly he was interested. I felt like I was being Punk’d.
“Wow, my princess. You break-a my dishes, you break-a my heart. What has my little tigress so upset?” Jimmy asked, drying his hands on his apron and slinging a fatherly arm across my shoulders. “Whose ass do I need to kick?”
I bit back a shaky smile. “Just some jockstrap who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. He can’t seem to take a hint.”
“Someone harassing you?” Chuck asked as he joined us. Standing six foot three, Chuck was a beast. His frame was like a grizzly bear’s, so when his chest puffed up, he was quite intimidating. I briefly entertained the idea of what Dalton would do if I sent Chuck out in my place. The thought definitely had its merits, and would give me some satisfaction.
At least it might dim his inviting smile, that hypnotic voice, and those warm eyes. That was the part of him I remembered the most. I’d always loved his eyes. There was something about seeing him in person again, and the sparkle in his eyes, that didn’t project from any of the banners hanging around campus.
I patted Chuck’s arm, smiling. “Easy, big fella. I’ll handle him.”
“Maybe I should go out there and emphasize that when a lady says no, she means no,” he added, cracking his knuckles. “Tell me who needs a little reminder.”
I laughed at the thought of Chuck confronting Dalton in my honor. That was all we needed, to start a brawl with the school’s basketball savior. Chuck’s sentiment was sweet but would be the end of Gruby’s. “It’s Dalton Thompson, but don’t worry. I can handle him.”
“The Dalton Thompson? All-American, conference champion, future lottery pick—that Dalton Thompson?”
“Seriously? You, too?” I snorted with disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not riding the Dalton bandwagon like everyone else around here.”
“Honey, I’d drive that bandwagon if they’d let me. Dalton is one of those once-in-a-generation types of players. He’s got more talent in his pinkie than everyone else on the team combined. We were lucky he chose to come here to play ball. Trust me, that kid has a huge future.”
“Oh Lord. So the guy is good at basketball. Why put him on such a pedestal?”
“Dalton isn’t just a phenom on the court, he’s a good guy. Believe me, with his talent he could be a prima donna, but he seems to have a good head on his shoulders. My nephew went to his basketball clinic last summer, and let me tell you, that guy has the patience of a saint. I love my nephew, but let’s face it. Seven-year-olds can be little shits. Any guy that can tolerate a gym full of rug rats at one time is some kind of kid whisperer. Trust me. There’s probably not many other players of his stature giving up their spare time to give free basketball clinics to kids.”
I digested Chuck’s words. Grudgingly I had to agree. It was a decent thing for Dalton to do.
“Do you really not like him?” Chuck inquired.