“Tuh,” I scoff. “And mess up my hair? I just got these braids, Coach.”
The room breaks.
Laughter bounces off the lockers. Someone whistles.
Solace’s voice calls out, “Man’s got priorities!”
I grin, wide and unapologetic.
What I like and what I didn’t expect, is that no one groans. No one rolls their eyes like I’m too much. They just shake their heads and let it be what it is.
They put up with me. And my so-called vanity.
Coach snorts. “Next time, I want the header and the hair intact.”
Fuck humility.
“Say less,” I say easily.
He moves on, still talking formations and fixtures, until he ultimately releases us, ending the talking points. I clock the way a couple of the lads slap my shoulder as they pass.
Approval.
I don’t need it, but it’s…nice.
Nicer than I thought it would be.
I reach for my towel, drag it over my face, breathing in deep.
“Yo, you rolling tonight?”
I don’t even need to look up to know it’s Sol, and I could bet my arse Amir is right there with him.
I’ve gotten close enough to Solace and Amir to know who I’d trust with my life, and who I’d trust to pass the damn ball. Together, we’ve been the unholy trio the rest of the team calls the imports.
I don’t know why, but I don’t really care.
“Rolling where?” I grab my water bottle and take a long sip.
“Festive Fridays at Prodigy Lounge,” he says, like it should mean something to me.
“And that is?”
“It’s the spot.”
I look up at him with a confused glare.
“Music, lights, people dancing till 4 in the morning,” he explains. “It’s like carnival but with better AC.”
Amir looks at his phone and shakes his head. “You two enjoy. Haram, bro.”
Solace groans. “Ain’t nobody asking you to sin, my guy, just to show face.”
“I don’t ‘show face’ where people are drinking and grinding. My mum raised me with sense.”
I laugh. “You sure you’re not just scared of the temptation?”
Amir smirks. “I’m scared of explaining to Allah why I was out watching you make bad decisions.”
