Is it what I want?
The question catches me off guard. A week ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now…
“What actually happens when players get traded?” Nicole asks, pulling me back from my thoughts. “Do you really just … pack up and go?”
“Pretty much,” I say. “You get the call, and within days, sometimes hours, you’re expected to report to your new team.”
Cocoa returns from his exploration, jumping onto the couch beside Nicole. She absently scratches behind his ears, her brow furrowed in thought.
“What’s that like?” she finally asks, her voice soft with curiosity. “The practical side of it, I mean. Do you ship your stuff from city to city? Store it somewhere? Buy new every time?”
Her questions aren’t what I expected. Most people just want to talk about how lucky we are to make millions playing a game. Nicole seems genuinely interested in the mundane logistics—the stuff no one thinks about when they imagine NBA life.
“Storage units in two cities,” I answer. “Most of my real stuff is in Birmingham. I ship the essentials and figure out the rest when Iland. The teams usually help with temporary housing at first, but then you’re on your own to find an apartment with a lease flexible enough for someone who might disappear overnight.”
Nicole glances around my living room, then back at me—at my legs stretched out, my shoulders pressed a little too close to the arm of the couch.
“And those places,” she says slowly, “are they ever… actually built for you?”
I laugh. “Goodness, no. My feet hang off every bed. Shower heads hit me at chest level. Kitchens are useless because we’re either traveling or on strict meal plans.” I pause. “But beyond the apartments themselves, you’ve also got to figure out which neighborhoods make sense based on practice facilities, learn where to buy groceries and where to get your car maintenance done. It’s like being a professional visitor. You learn just enough to get by, but never enough to belong.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“I think the hardest part is realizing how fast everything can change,” I admit. “One call, and suddenly you’re the new guy again. New city. New teammates. New expectations.”
“They always make it seem like players land somewhere new and immediately thrive.”
“That’s what’s expected,” I say. “You show up grateful. Locked in. Ready to go. But … it’s weird, you know? You spend your whole life chasing this—playing at the highest level. And then you get here and realize talent isn’t the hardest part.”
“What is?”
“It’s … the loneliness.” The admission feels raw, like I’m exposing something I usually keep carefully hidden.
“I guess I never considered how isolating it must be,” Nicole says quietly. “Constantly starting over.”
“Most guys cope by creating bubbles—team friends, maybe a couple locals who get it. But it’s usually temporary.”
Nicole nods slowly, her eyes distant like she’s processing something. “It almost seems like athletes could benefit from housing specifically designed for them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like … a dorm for grown men who make millions?”
“No.” She laughs. “More like luxury apartments with flexible leases. Built for athletes but designed to feel like home. Community.”
“So instead of being the weird giant guy in a normal apartment building, you’d be surrounded by people who get it.”
“Exactly!” Nicole’s eyes light up. “It could offer flexible lease terms. Furnishings that actually fit. Built-in security. Soundproofed walls for when you need to rest while your neighbor is hosting a mop concert…”
I can’t help but laugh. “And doorknobs high enough that certain dogs can’t open them.”
“See? I’m providing market research through my most embarrassing moments.” She grins. “It could have recovery facilities on-site. Meal prep services that understand nutrition requirements. But most importantly, you’d have a built-in community of peoplewho know what it’s like to be traded overnight or live on the road for weeks.”
I lean back, picturing it. A place where I wouldn’t have to hunch under shower heads or get side-eyed by neighbors. A place where I’d have access to everything I need under one roof, surrounded by people who get it. A place where I could belong.
“We could customize based on each athlete’s unique needs,” Nicole is fully animated now, talking with her hands. “Base apartments with add-on options. Need a hyperbaric chamber? We can install one. A sauna? We’ve got space for it.”
“We?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Nicole blushes slightly. “I mean, hypothetically. The theoretical company that would do this.”
