ELLA
Today was both the anniversary of Jackson’s death and the day of the annual memorial. There was also another Cyclones home game tonight. I was going to the game, and I was determined to enjoy every second of it. I was taking my dad’s advice and living for me. I was so serious about it that I’d texted Jackson’s mom in the middle of the night to let her know I couldn’t make it.
Her reply: Why?
I didn’t provide an answer.
I couldn’t.
I awoke early that morning to take a call from my agent regarding a booking for a magazine spread. Afterwards, I fixed breakfast and contacted Rhode, my St. Louis makeup artist, to see if she could fit me in before the game. I didn’t go to any event without my hair laid and face beat. I’d had my hair braided before Fashion Week and it still looked good. All I’d have to do was make sure my edges were on point.
I’d just hung up with Rhode when a call from an unknown number came through. “Hello?” I answered as I stuffed a piece of avocado toast in my mouth.
“Hey, good morning.”
That voice! That damn voice! Armand Daniels’ voice was deep and somehow smooth and rough at the same time. He had my coochie throbbing at dinner last night just from saying hi to me.
“Good morning, Mr. Daniels. You’re up early.”
“Gotta game tonight. Leaving for the shoot around in like thirty minutes.”
“Ah, I see. Well, thank you for taking the time to call me.”
“No problem. Uh…why did you want me to call you?”
“Because I think you like me. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you like me, Mr. Daniels?”
“Why? You like me or something?”
I smiled, took a sip of orange juice, and admitted, “I do.”
“Word? Well, yeah…I like you.”
“That’s good to know. Mr.—”
“Armand. You can call me Armand.”
“I can’t call you Boogie?” I teased.
“Full disclosure, you can call me whatever you want to call me, and I won’t be mad.”
“Ohhh, so you like me like me? That’s good to know, too.”
“Is it?”
“It is. I know you’ve got to go.”
“Yeah…I can call you later if you want.”
“I want.”
“Bet. Oh, and Ella?”
“Yes?”
“You coming to the game tonight?”
“Yes, I plan to be there.”
“Don’t sit on the floor. I don’t wanna have to kick anyone else’s ass for running into you.”
“Uh, I don’t think the guy tried to run into me.”
“Maybe he didn’t, but accident or not, I’ll fuck the next dude up, too. Don’t sit on the floor tonight.”
“Uh…okay,” I said slowly.
ARMAND
I loved game days, especially home game days. Sure, I still got a little nervous before a game, but there was nothing like going to war for a win. I hated losing, but I loved the battle. I was good at this shit, too, a versatile player, which was why I was still in the league. Yeah, I was seen as a liability, but I was also seen as an asset.
I usually played power forward but possessed small forward skills as well. I was mean at making shots in the paint, but I wasn’t shit to sneeze at beyond the three-point line either. I wasn’t just being cocky. It was the truth. I knew it and so did everybody else.
This game, though? This game was a cluster fuck if I’d ever seen one. We were playing like shit. I mean, the Bulls were putting their collective feet up our collective asses. At home! The shit was embarrassing as hell, and I could feel my anger building with each second that ticked off the clock and we were still down.
Then my teammate, Riley, lost control of the ball while heading downcourt. It was quickly recovered by Tim Olguin from the Bulls who made a three-pointer. That did it. Somebody’s ass needed to be kicked ASAP, and my hands were itching to pummel Riley. We were going to lose. Wasn’t but a damn minute left in the game and we seemed to be playing worse and worse.
Fuck!
Coach called a timeout, and while I stood there with ice in my veins, my right eye twitching, and malice in my soul, I looked up, my gaze crashing into hers, Ella’s. As I stared at her, she slowly shook her head and I felt…I don’t know, chastised? Like if I kicked Riley’s ass, I’d disappoint her, and for some reason, the thought of disappointing her felt wrong, strongly unappealing.
“Daniels, you’re out for now. You look exhausted,” I heard Coach say. “You’ve been playing your ass off tonight.”
I frowned, wanting to protest. I didn’t feel tired at all, but again, I looked up and into Ella’s eyes. Another headshake from her. So I just nodded at Coach and rode the bench for the remainder of the game.
This team really was different. In the past, it seemed like my teammates fed my anger, but these dudes? Although we lost, they each made it a point to tell me it was a good game for me, that my performance was on point. I honestly didn’t know what to do with that, so I just nodded.
As I left the locker room, headed to the cryo room, I texted Ella: Why you shake your head at me?
I’d made it to the room and had eased into the ice bath by the time she replied: Because you looked like you were about to kill someone.
Me: Nah. I was just gonna fuck someone up.
Her: That would’ve been counterintuitive, Armand.
Me: Being intuitive ain’t exactly my claim to fame.
Her: I know but that can change.
Me: So you tryna change a nigga?
Her: No. Never that.
Me: Seems like it to me.
Her: What I’m trying to do is help you see the bigger picture. You could’ve kicked someone’s ass and you still would’ve lost. The only difference would be you’d have lost and owed a fine, possible suspension, lost your job. See what I mean?
I rolled my eyes.
Me: Yeah, I see. You sound like my agent.
Her: I also sound right, don’t I?
I grinned. I liked her energy, that bad bitch energy.
Me: Yeah. You do.