“What did you…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because I immediately noticed the old, ratty tee. It was one of the shirts I never got when we were in Spain, when I was being isolated for being the odd one out. “No fucking way.”
Nola left the room while I was distracted. I traced my hands over the faded print of the t-shirt. The words half peeled off and the cotton so soft from the countless times it’d been washed and dried. The smell of Nola enveloped me, warmed me up and settled me in a way I never knew I could achieve. My head was usually too loud to quiet down.
“Are you sniffing my shirt?” Nola came back and put my bonnet over my curls.
“Naturally.” I didn’t bother hiding it, I wanted her to know how much I adored her. “Am I sleeping in your bed, Young?”
“Naturally.” Then she removed her clothes, down to her sports bra and boxers and climbed into bed. She hovered over me in a push up to kiss me on the forehead before she laid down. Our chests and stomachs pressed against each other, my face in her neck.
“You’re perfect,” I mumbled off before sleep took me quickly. But not before I heard back, “So are you, honeybee.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Nola
I’d have a hard time believing Bee was finally my girlfriend if I hadn’t memorized how it had felt to wake up with her in my arms this morning.
The picture she posted of us in my bathroom was platonic in nature; just two people brushing their teeth with both of us giving a thumbs up. A message for those watching, waiting to see how we’d do today, this season. But what wasn’t platonic was the way my hand gripped her ass, out of shot for the camera to capture.
For the first time in two months, our morning routines were the same. It was our first day of training camp for the Miami Waves and there was a lot of writing on how our first practice would go. But neither of us were moved by the pressure to perform. We both knew our roles, what we weresupposedto do, and how we were supposed to act.
I felt the phantom of the kiss Bee gave me this morning as soon as I walked into the arena. We chose to drive separatelybut everything else we were not shying away from—just watered down to a certain extent. I would be my usual serious self, Brittney would be the life of the party, and we would show our teammates the days of us wanting to rip each other’s heads off were long in the past.
I didn’t even make it ten steps into the arena lobby before I saw Marcello and his video equipment. He, once again, waved at me like he wasn’t beholden to expensive technology. I gave him my finest tight-lipped smile and waved.
Tashi stood at the threshold to the locker room, feet wide and shoulders squared. She meant business, and so did I.
“Young.”
“Coach.”
“Let’s knock ‘em dead, shall we?”
We started training camp as a team in the locker room. Tashi stood in the center and introduced the coaching staff, then made everyone go around in a circle to introduce themselves like it was another day at summer camp.
I hated icebreakers with a burning passion; always had and always would. I always panicked over what to say; what was honest versus entertaining. What did people want to hear from me versus what I actually wanted to speak about? Today’s prompt was to share the best thing we did during the offseason.
I wanted to choose the farthest seat from Brittney because it was the best place to be able to stare at her while making sure no one knew I was watching. It was also the farthest from the various groups of players huddled. As soon as I stepped in the room, every conversation stopped, and wide eyes swung between Brittney and I. As if we were in a western and the bystanders were trying to memorize this moment to be able to retell accurately to future grandkids.
But the minute I dropped my bag off at my locker, Bee patted the seat next to her like I was a dog and she had my favorite snack.
“I saved you a spot! Come on, roomie,” she announced with a playful smile on her face. Her lips quivered to keep from laughing like a mad woman in front of everyone. The room was still quiet, everyone watching, waiting on how we’d interact.
And I needed to make sure I didn’t give them a show or a story.
I plopped down on the empty seat between her and the Waves first rookie pick from the most recent draft, Gia Vincent. She easily cleared both Bee and I in height, at six foot six inches, perfect for her position as a center. She had a quiet, sun-kissed face filled with freckles that matched her auburn hair and made her hazel eyes pop. I was hopeful she could form a good relationship with Courtney Banks, our current starting center, so the transition from the starting team to the bench was seamless.
“Hey, I’m Nola Young.” I reached out my hand to shake with Gia’s, her lips tried to fight a smile that bubbled up to the surface. I knew that look—everyone’s given me that look. She was excited to meet me; and possibly more excited for the chance to meet my parents. I also tried not to notice how the room went back to speaking as soon as everyone saw how nonchalant I was.
“Gia.” Her grip was strong.
“Welcome to the league, Gia.” Bee hovered at my shoulder, her citrus scent tickling my nose. I almost gave into the urge to fall back onto her just to touch. I didn’t have to look at her to know she was showing Gia every ounce of kindness in her body, like she was a little sister, whether or not Gia wanted that title. It was a skill I wouldn’t have assumed she had until we started living together.
“How are you liking Miami over Indiana?” Farrah asked from across the room.
“I haven’t stopped eating Cuban sandwiches if that answers your question.” Gia laughed, adding another layer of warmth to the locker room.
“Wait ’til I bring you some good ass tacos from the Bay.” Poppy Crane butted in, a white and Japanese forward, two years older than Gia, who kept her hair long to her butt in a high ponytail. She was from Kansas City, voted the sixth player of the year before she got selected in the expansion draft.
