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THREE

BECCA

Turns out Papa was serious.

Even worse, the meeting with my advisor didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, even though I spent all morning visualizing the outcome I wanted.

Sabrina tells me when you speak to the universe, the universe listens, so I closed my eyes and imagined Dr. Tooley saying there was an open position in the admissions office. Instead, he told me I’m shit out of luck. Said I’ll be lucky to find anything since the semester’s already started. My stomach sunk to the floor with every word he spoke, until I remembered what Jeremy said about the basketball managers, which is why I’m in Waycor Arena, ready to beg on my knees to work with the women’s team.

I’m anything but excited about it, though. My knowledge of basketball is close to nil. The only experience I’ve ever had is courtesy of Lee’s older brother, Eli. He was known as the next big thing around Sugarlake—had the biggest head around because of it, too—and he always had a ball in his hands…unless he was throwing it at me. Dick.

But then he left for college and never looked back. Not even when Lee cried, begging him to come home after their mama died.

I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him for the way he abandoned her.

A large woman walks by me in the hallway. She’s wearing a green-and-white tracksuit that brings out the pink on the apples of her pale cheeks, and her blond hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, a whistle hanging around her neck. Is she the coach? She stops in her tracks, turning around to face me.

“You the girl Tooley sent my way?” Her round eyes narrow.

“Sure am. I’m Becca. Nice to meet you.” I stand from my spot on the floor, straightening my tank top before grasping her hand in a firm shake.

She waves her arm. “Come on, let’s see what we can find for you.”

I follow her into her office and sit down. There’re mounds of paper all over her small linoleum desk, and I wonder how she finds anything in the mess. I hope she doesn’t want me to sort through all that.

She sighs, the chair creaking as she leans back, steepling her long fingers. “I’ll be honest, Becca. I know you’re here looking for some type of team management position, but all the spots have already been filled.”

My smile droops. “Maybe you can make another spot?”

Her lips turn down and she eyeballs me, her gaze trailing from the curls on my head down to the high heels on my feet. “Do you know anything about basketball?”

I cringe. “Not really.”

“Why’d you want to work with the team, then?”

“Honestly, I’m lookin’ for a job on campus so I don’t have to spend all my paycheck on gas money and beg someone to work around my schedule.” I lock my gaze on hers. “I just need my foot in the door…to be given a chance.”

She cocks her head. “Why you over all the other kids on this campus?”

I glance down at my hands before looking back up at her. “Because I’ll be the one who’s in your office every day tryin’ to change your mind until you say yes.”

I’m feeling like I just made a mistake in admitting that, but after a few moments of tense silence, she surprises me. “You know what? Let me make a call to Coach Andrews. He usually waits until the start of the season to bring on students, so he may have something for you.”

I perk up, my spine straightening. “That’s okay? For me to be on the men’s team?”

She shrugs, picking up her phone. “It’s a little unorthodox because you’re a woman, but there’s no rule against it.”

My knee bounces while I watch her dial a number and start talking to someone on the other line. While she’s busy, my mind wanders, thinking about how I didn’t even realize basketball had a season, let alone that it hadn’t started yet.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

She hangs up, her lips stretching into a thin smile. “You may be in luck. He said you could stop by on your way out.”

Hope fills me up like helium. “Really?”

“Now don’t get too excited. I can’t promise anything, but I hope it helps.”

Nodding, I jump up from my seat and reach across her desk to grab her hand. “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She smiles, waving me off. “Yeah, yeah. As long as you’re not in my office bothering me every day for a spot I don’t have for you, we’ll be good.”

After getting directions to Coach Andrews’s office, I make my way, heels clicking on the concrete floors and echoing off the walls. This is a gigantic building, but there’s no way to miss when you enter the men’s part of the arena. Where the women’s was modest and small, tucked away in a back corner, the men’s is damn near ostentatious. Rows of trophy-filled cases line the halls, jerseys hanging proudly above them. There are a few offices with their doors open, showcasing the floor-to-ceiling windows that look to the outside.

Clearly, men’s basketball is where the money is.

I find Coach Andrews’s office and knock.

“Come in,” a gruff voice says.

I push the door open, the hinges creaking slightly as I move into the office and glance around.

The room itself, while extremely large, isn’t too fancy. It has a conference table with a projection screen at the head, and Coach Andrews’s desk sits on the other side of the room. He’s behind it, glasses on top of his buzzed brown hair, hunching over a stack of papers.

He snaps his head up when I stop in front of his desk.

“You Becca?”

“At your service.” I grin. “Nice to meet you.”

He straightens in his chair, peering at me with his muddy-brown eyes. They’re a little small for his head, and he looks like a bronzed statue with the tan on his white skin. I imagine he’s normally pale and spends a lot of time out in the sun, the way so many Floridians do. Maybe he owns a boat.

I hold his gaze. If I’ve learned one thing from Papa, it’s that not holding eye contact is the first sign of weakness.

“Luanne says you’re looking to be a student manager for the team.” He gestures to the chair on the opposite side of his desk, and I move forward and plop down, perching myself on the edge of the seat.

“That’s right, I sure am.” I nod.

His lips twitch and he drops his pen on the desk. “Southern girl, huh?”

“Born and raised in Tennessee, sir.”

He sighs, rubbing a palm over his face. “We’ve never had a female team manager before. It’s just not really done.” His hand drops from his forehead down to his chin, his fingers scratching at his jaw. “You know anything about basketball?”

My eyes grow wide and I straighten my spine, uncrossing my legs. “Yessir. I know the season hasn’t started yet. And I know there’s a hoop…and a net. I reckon there’s a ball somewhere in there, too.”

His head juts back from his loud, boisterous laugh. “So that’s a no, then.”

I grin, my cheeks tingeing with heat. “That’s a no,” I admit. “But I grew up workin’ for my old man in his church, and I know how to focus in and learn quick.”

“Well, that’s something, at least. You even know what a student manager does?”

“I figure I’ll find out once you give me the opportunity, sir.”

He chuckles. “Sure of yourself, huh?”

“Just hopin’ to nudge you into the right decision.” My smile grows.

“It doesn’t pay much.”

I lift my shoulders. “If it’s enough for rent and ramen, I’ll survive.”

He leans back, clearly assessing me. “Okay, here’s the deal. I usually have three student managers on staff. You can’t be in the locker room with the guys, except for before games, because frankly, you’ll be a distraction. But you can help with practices and anything else the coaching staff may need.”

Relief floods through me. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and I don’t intend to waste it.

He clicks the keyboard on his computer, his printer whirring to life. Swinging his chair around, he grabs the freshly printed papers, laying them in front of me.

“You need to fill out the paperwork and turn it in so you’re official.” His knuckle taps the forms. “Practice doesn’t start for a month. In the meantime, I want you here, learning the basics. I can’t have someone working for me that doesn’t respect the game. Can you make that work?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make anything work.” I bob my head. “Thank you.”

“And quit calling me sir. Coach will do just fine.”

“Okay, Coach.” I stand up, grabbing the papers and saluting him like a jackass. But I don’t care. I did it. It feels good to accomplish something without Papa in the background pulling the strings.

“Oh, and, Becca?”

I swing around, my hand grabbing the doorframe.

“Get yourself some better shoes, yeah?” He looks down at my heels, raising his brows. “Last thing I need is a lawsuit because you slipped on the court and broke your damn neck.”

The grin cracks my face, and I feel it all the way to my toes. “Sure thing, Coach.”

I spin back toward the open door, eager to get home and call Lee with the good news when my face smashes into a hard wall of muscle.

Sonofabitch.

Backing up, I rush to cover my now throbbing nose.

“Whoa, you okay?” a deep voice rumbles. His breath whooshes over the strands of my hair.

My eyes are watering because seriously— ouch —so I don’t look up as I respond. “Other than a bruised nose and a broken ego, I’m fine. Sorry about that. Watchin’ and walkin’ is a learned trait I haven’t mastered.” Lifting my head, I attempt a grin.

My smile drops with a quickness when I see whose chest I greeted with my face.

Elliot Carson.

To everyone else, he’s the man. The myth. The legend.

But to me…he’s just the asshole who got too big for his britches and abandoned my best friend.