Page 36

CHAPTER 36

ASHTON

"Are you nervous?"

"Nervous about what?" I say, feigning nonchalance. "Nervous to go back to GSU and play against my former team? Or nervous because Coach told us there would definitely be a scout from the Clippers there?"

"Yeah, you're right. Why would you be nervous? That'd be fucking dumb."

His chest shakes with laughter, making the top part of my body that's currently sprawled over him shake, too.

"Whether we win this one or not, we've still made it to the first round," Marcus points out. "The team has been on fire the last couple of months."

He's right. The Cougars are on a record win streak for the school, dominating the brackets and soaring us to the top ten college teams in the nation. It's like the whole team came back with a new outlook and determination that was missing before. Or maybe it's my own outlook that's changing how I see everyone else.

Since the night we confronted my father, he's stuck to his end of the bargain. I haven't seen or heard from him once since Christmas Eve, and it's been a much-needed breath of relief. I feel lighter and freer than I ever have. This is the feeling I was chasing when I moved across the country to play for Golden State University. Even in just a couple months, I've proved to myself that I can stand on my own and accomplish everything I want. My grades are better than they've probably ever been, thanks to Marcus. Who knew that blowjobs were such an effective study technique? And let's not forget the day I aced an important test and came running to him like a kid with a finger painting to wave through the air and show off. In probably our second riskiest foray into public sex so far, Marcus bent me over the table in a study room and railed me so hard that someone knocked on the door to check that we were alright. I had to stand behind the door, pants around my ankles, while Marcus zipped up his fly and pulled open the door with a stoney-faced expression. He actually asked what all the noise was and complained that he was trying to study.

I chuckle at the memory.

School has been fantastic, not just because of the awesome study incentives, but also because I have a new interest in the business classes I've been taking. Basketball has been even more amazing than I could have hoped for. With the exception of one player, the team seems to have accepted Marcus, at least on the court. Most of them have accepted him outside of the team also, even inviting him to parties he'll likely never attend. We did go to a team dinner, and Marcus paid thanks to his first ever endorsement deal with a brand of earbuds designed for runners and athletes. The vast majority of the team was really excited for him, and Marcus took the good-natured jabs at his first endorsement being about his ears with humor.

"They're his second biggest asset," I said to hoots and hollers from the team that got so rowdy, the manager had to come out and warn us to settle down before they had to kick us out. Marcus' ears turned so red that it started another round of laughter that he couldn't help but join in on.

Life is perfect right now. And I don't want to sit here and wait for the other shoe to drop. I just want to enjoy this happy place we're in.

"Do you have any plans for the break?"

"I mostly intend to stay buried nine inches deep in my boyfriend for most of the break," Marcus answers. I can hear his smile. It took a little while for us to get used to the boyfriend idea. I'd used the word in front of my parents, but at that point we weren't actually official. Although that night was definitely pivotal. It's only been recently that we've been saying it out loud, trying it on for size. It feels like a silly, trivial word. But it's huge at the same time.

"That sounds like a perfect plan," I say, rolling over onto my stomach and kissing his stomach. "But how about we do it somewhere different?"

"I'm not fucking you on the court, Ash. We've talked about this. Maybe after we win the championship, so we can't get kicked off the team if or when we get caught."

I snort. "Noted, but I was talking about maybe spending our three days off in a vacation rental house somewhere secluded so we can play out some of our wild man fantasies?"

"Wild man fantasies?" His laugh is interrupted by a groan as I lick across the dips of his obliques.

"You know, getting chased through the woods and fucked in the dirt sort of stuff."

"That doesn't sound like you at all."

"What? I can get dirty. In fact, I can get very, very dirty…."

It's interesting how a place you've been many times before can seem so different. The Sol Coliseum, home of Golden State University Lions basketball, seems brighter and more energized. Despite it being an away game, more than a third of the twenty-thousand seat arena is purple. Fans have come from far and wide to watch us in our last game before the championship tournament begins.

The air is thick with anticipation as the bands play, hyping the crowds up for the game to begin. We've been introduced and out on the court warming up. I didn't get near as many boos as I worked myself up for, or maybe our cheering section was loud enough to cover them. Everyone knows I transferred from GSU, and the rumor mill hasn't been kind about my time here. Maybe even more than the upcoming championship tournament, this game is everything I've worked for. This is my redemption.

As we take our starting positions for the first tipoff, the crowd pulses with energy, every beat of their chants and stomps reverberating off the stadium-stye seating and echoing in my chest. I take slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, calming my nerves without making it obvious that's what I'm doing. Pressure mounts in my chest, tightening my lungs. Every second leading up to game play feels stretched, the anticipation causing me more anxiety than I know it's worth. My mind keeps drifting back to my time here. To my old team, my old life, and the mess that brought me back to Cumberland Valley. To Marcus.

This is more than just a game. It's my chance to prove myself. Not just to the scouts sitting in the stands for tonight's game. Not just for the fans wearing purple, or the fans wearing rainbow sweatbands on their wrists—A Marcus staple I've adopted since we made our relationship public. This is about proving to myself that I'm more than the guy I was when I transferred out of desperation. I'm a team player now, and better for it. Win or lose, this game is a pivotal moment where I prove to myself that I'm the man Marcus sees in me.

Glancing over at him, he gives me a wink and mouths, "I see you."

Tip-off happens fast, and the ball is already in Marcus' hands. He looks at me with fire in his eyes, the one that always ignites something in me. It's more than basketball—it's us. The partnership, the rhythm, the trust we've built with each other.

"You ready, Princess?" Marcus says, barely audible over the roar of the crowd as we make our way, side by side, towards half court.

I nod, my pulse quickening. "Always, baby."

We separate, spreading out among the team. The five of us on the court, Marcus, me, Jackson Montgomery, Spencer Nolan, and Cade Beckett, work like a well-oiled machine. We've perfected these plays, tested them against GSU's known tactics and skills during practice, and the start of our game is seamless. By the end of the first quarter, we've managed to put up twenty points to their fifteen.

In the second quarter, we fall behind, the score evening up. Not wanting to leave the half in a deficit, I nod towards Marcus. It's time for a little A&M magic.

On a rebound, Marcus gets possession. He passes me the ball in a perfect arc, and I grab it mid-air, dribbling into the Lions' zone. I brace to shoot, but instead of launching the ball towards the net, I pass it to Marcus, who is wide open on the three-point line. Without pausing, he launches the ball and sinks through the net just before the buzzer sounds.

The second half is a marathon of sprinting back and forth across the court, but our stamina is holding out. We're neck and neck, neither team able to pull ahead enough for a significant lead. I've noticed GSU's players are getting a little testy, pushing boundaries that I’m surprised the ref doesn't call. On one play, we're making a drive towards the basket, the ball flying from one teammate to another. Marcus passes me the ball, and then drops back, the signal for the play he wants us to try.

Their defense is tight, but I see an opening and slip through two players, faking left, then whipping the ball behind my back as I shift right. The misdirection works, and the Lions' guard stumbles before he can adjust. I launch myself toward the basket. The rim is right there, the ball palmed in my hand on a perfect trajectory to sink the basket, but a GSU center, a hulking beast of a player who’s even taller than I am and just as wide as Marcus, steps forward with a brutal shove to my midsection. The ball hits the backboard too high, and I fall back, hitting the ground hard. I scramble to recover, but the whistle blows just as Wilcox, my former teammate that just blatantly fouled me, growls out something about me being a snitch and a loser. I don't catch it all, as a chorus of boos echoes across the crowd.

All of it is drowned out by the adrenaline pumping in my veins. My head spins, my fingers curl into fists. That foul wasn't just flagrant, it was targeted.

Marcus appears at my side, and I let him pull me up. My chest heaves as I lock eyes with him. He saw the whole thing and was close by. Did he hear what Wilcox said?

"Don't let them get in your head," he says, a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "They're getting desperate, and just made the stupidest move they could possibly make, considering my man's got the highest free throw record in the NCAA." He says that last bit loud enough for GSU's bench to hear. That gets some satisfying groans, and I hear Coach Callion's familiar disappointed tone chewing Wilcox out for being an idiot. Callion is a lot of things, but he's a fair coach and would never condone a dirty play like that.

With a deep breath, I nod and let it go. Marcus is right, it's just a foul and gives us an opportunity to not only tie the game up with less than a minute on the clock, but end this before we go into overtime.

"You've got this, Princess," Marcus murmurs as he crosses behind me to get on the line.

I step to the line and plant my feet firmly, feeling the vibration of the crowd's anticipation rising up through the soles of my shoes.

I sink the first free throw, the ball arching through the air and sinking through the net without touching the rim.

The second shot is almost automatic, muscle memory taking over. The weight of the moment doesn't hit me until the ball leaves my hands, and I hold my breath as the ball spins through the air and drops cleanly through the net.

The crowd and the rest of my team cheer. Marcus gives me a one-handed bro hug and slaps my back. That’s another one of our signals. It means it's time to end this so we can get somewhere private and make out like horny teenagers.

He moves into position, already thinking ahead to the next play. I know what's coming. The score is tied and the clock is ticking down fast. There's less than a minute left, the entire game hinging on this moment. This play could decide everything. It's what we've trained and practiced for. It's what we were made for.

The Lion's defense is suffocating. Surprisingly, Wilcox is back on the court. I thought Callion would have benched him for his display earlier. If he fouls me again, he'll be ejected from the game and won't be allowed to play in their first-round tournament game. One would think he wouldn't be dumb enough to play rough again, but who knows. I'm not going to shrink away or be afraid, though. Worst case scenario, I get a couple bruises and another free throw for the win.

Wilcox doesn't give me an inch to move, but I know Marcus has my back. I barely glance over my shoulder to confirm he's moving toward me, reading the play like he's inside my head. The ball bounces from my hands and up into his. He's wide open for a breakaway, but the defense closes in fast. It doesn't matter, I'm already running, putting distance between me and my hulking shadow, anticipating Marcus' next move. He cuts left, passing the ball behind his back in the opposite direction, and right into my hands.

They're on me. All of them, it seems. A wall of golden yellow uniforms circles me, cutting me off from the rest of my team.

The clock is winding down too fast. I need to make a play, and I need to do it now.

In a move based on blind trust, I overhand the ball toward the far corner. The sea of yellow bodies parts, spinning and taking off after Marcus before the ball is even in his hands.

The Lions' defense bears down on him, but Marcus doesn't falter. He spins, pulling a quick crossover, his feet planting firmly to ready himself for a hail-Mary shot at the goal. There's a slight hitch in his movements that I recognize, and I get into position, catching the ball cleanly when it flies towards me. Despite the dwindling time, I slow my dribble, letting the other team get closer to me. I wink at Marcus, and he grins. I reverse pivot and swing the ball towards Marcus. The ball leaves his hands almost immediately.

It's a long shot, too far. Too risky, but there was no choice. The Lions are effectively boxing us out, and we're ready to end this.

The entire arena pauses as the ball soars through the air, the seconds slowing down as it arcs towards the basket. The GSU players turn to watch, and I skirt through them, sprinting toward the basket.

The ball hits the edge of the basket, spinning around the edge and off the rim. For a brief moment, I think it's going to miss. Pushing forward, I jump high, stretching my arm out. The ball bounces off the rim and directly into my hand. I slam it home, the ball ricocheting off the backboard and through the hoop.

The buzzer sounds. Game over.

Chaos erupts around us. The CVU Cougars have just upset the number five team in the nation, and I was part of it. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I'm blinking sweat from my eyes, but when I turn around to find him he's there, making his way towards me, the pride and triumph of the win as apparent on his face as it feels on mine.

He launches into my arms. "You did it!"

"We did it."

"Fuck yeah we did."