Page 13 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Eight

Merit

I liked Ira’s smile way too much for my own good.

How did I know? Because ever since the last time we met, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

Okay, let’s be real. All I’ve been able to think about is the fact that the very same man who had irritated the heck out of me not two whole weeks ago had so easily invited me out to play with him after only a brief explanation of why I was stalking him.

While he said he was no coach, I begged to differ.

The encouragement he offered as soon as I picked up a ball was almost instantaneous.

He had a knack for making regular shooting drills fun .

When I pointed it out to him, he just said that he was used to cheering on his teammates as captain and that over the years, as teammates came to him for small pointers here and there, he picked up the habit of guiding them through drills.

I felt welcomed just by playing with him.

He had an attentive eye. Making quiet but firm suggestions on my footwork, my positioning, or my urgency in specific movements all while just playing around with me during pre-practice drills.

If I hadn’t known any better, I would have called the thirty minutes we spent on court a full-blown lesson.

That is if I didn’t have so much fun.

Was it normal to want to smile so much when playing basketball?

I mean, don't get me wrong—I loved basketball.

I obviously loved it, but I had absolutely no business wanting to curl over and start giggling at the way Ira teased, joked, and poked fun at almost all times.

Well, after I realized that was just his personality and it had nothing to do with me.

He wasn’t making fun of me, he was being friendly. That relieved me for some reason, but why?

Did I want to be Ira’s friend?

Another win later, I was dribbling at the free throw line absently, contemplating that very question while trying to get that annoyingly no longer annoying smile out of my head. When I got the idea to ask Ira for his help, I’d wanted to picture his game in my head, not him .

Not his golden skin or his dark brown hair that curled at the top of his head, or even the little peek of a silver necklace he wore underneath his clothes. Not the way his big hands handled a basketball. The way they’d touched me…

God! He was messing with my head!

“Thinking about me?” a voice asked from right beside my ear. I jumped, squeaking slightly as my heart rate racked up. Startled, my next dribble landed on my shoe, and my feet crossed over themselves, tipping me off balance.

I was an athlete on most days. I liked to think I would have caught myself, but there was no need. Strong hands caught onto my shoulders and steadied me easily. A familiar laugh accompanied the assistance.

“Easy, Six,” Ira said. My senses went on high alert. Easy, Six.

“Don’t scare me like that.” I pushed him away from me in what I hoped to be a playful nudge. He continued to laugh, his stance casual.

I frowned up at him. He was such a weirdo, I was coming to realize. How could someone be so laid back about everything ?

Noticing my frown, he sobered and raised his hands in immediate surrender. He was always surrendering first, yet such a competitor. “What? Okay, in my defense, I called your name like six times on the way over here,” he said.

“And when I didn’t answer, you decided scaring the life out of me would be your next best option?” I asked.

“I didn’t think you were that zoned out,” he chuffed. “What were you even doing? I know I’ve been gone for a while, but surely you have other people to follow around when I’m not here.”

Rolling my eyes, I moved to retrieve my ball. “What are you doing here, Ira?”

“I came for compensation,” he said. “Your good luck didn’t do shit.”

“That bad?” I asked.

“You didn’t watch?” he asked back.

I hitched a shoulder. “I did, but you know how it is. There’s always more to the story than just the final score.”

Instead of coming back with an immediate quip like he usually did, he paused for a second, hitching his own shoulders. “Yeah, well.”

And that’s all he said.

I nodded, totally understanding. The Defenders had lost both games on the road to start the final round against Texas in the championship.

It was a rough way to begin, even for this team, who had spent the entire tournament pulling off record-breaking wins.

It was always rough to start out behind.

Trust me, I knew. I think my grimace said as much. “That bad, huh?”

“Yup,” he said, the word trailing off lamely.

I don’t know why, but something like irritation or annoyance seemed to peek through his evasive tone.

Like he’d rather be talking about anything else.

I knew it wasn’t about me, though. I could tell.

He just hated losing, plain and simple. I understood.

Which is why, as I swooped up my rogue ball, I turned right around and passed it to him.

“Wanna play some?” I asked.

He smiled.

And just like that, he was back. Simple, easy, predictable. Like me, when basketball was involved, he seemed all in.

“Actually,” he said, walking toward me as he met me half-court and dribbled absently. “I want to run something with you.”

I paused, my eyebrows climbing my face of their own accord. “Oh?”

“Yeah, line up with me,” he said, pointing at the free throw line. I did. Looking at me from across the court, he continued, “Alright, I'm gonna drive. You defend.”

“Okay.” I had no idea where this was going, but I couldn’t help the excitement that wormed through me at the prospect of it. Other than official team practices, I normally had no one to run drills with. Now, here was Ira out of nowhere, willing to jump in and play with me.

Giving me the ball, I passed it into play for him and that easily, Ira King was coming at me full speed. Letting muscle memory take over for me, I got low, taking a stance I’d known almost my entire life and attempting to guard him as he charged toward the basket.

I guarded. And much like usual lately, going right felt fine, but moving left on my injured side was…

off. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t tweak, it wasn’t even bothering me.

It just wasn’t the same. I tried to push through it, but what seemed like way too easily, Ira pushed past me on my left side and moved into the basket to execute a layup.

Damn . I screwed my mouth to the side as I watched him make his way back .

Dropping the ball into my hands, he asked, “How’d that feel?”

“Shitty,” I answered. “Why?”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head as he got into the opposite position from before, taking my place. “Not yet. Now you drive this time.”

I did. And almost immediately I noticed an opening on his right. My left . I wanted to take it. Oh, how it would feel so good to get a drive past Ira, too. But considering how I’d been feeling on that side, I went the other way.

That was obviously the wrong move.

He had the ball in a matter of seconds, stealing it and running it down the other side of the court. I frowned again, hands falling to my hips as I watched him go. My eyes followed more than just his technique as he stretched up to drop the ball right into the basket.

He was enormous. Not the biggest in the league, but definitely one of the taller players in his position.

As a result, he barely needed to exert any effort to gain air and reach up toward the hoop.

Even in his nonchalance, he glided through the air due to his powerful legs and all the painstakingly designed muscles grouped there.

He was impressive. This wasn’t the first time I’d thought so, but seeing it up close almost distracted me from the annoying feeling I got with myself for giving that shot away so easily. That’s what stuck in my mind as I watched him jog his way back to me.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, stopping right in front of me.

Tilting my head, I looked up at him and scowled, answering truthfully. “That you’re huge.”

This brought that annoying smile to his face. The one that had the corner of my mouth twitching too, making me want to smile along with him. “That’s no excuse. You gave up way too easily. Plus, I’ve seen you take on bigger .”

“Than you ?” I asked with a scoff. He started dribbling around me in a slow circle, and my shoulders followed him like I was attached on a string.

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Four years ago, Miami, Helga Vladimir.”

I glanced up at the ceiling, trying to remember the game he was talking about. When I did, I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “ Oh .”

Helga was a six-foot-seven hulking beast of a center who, I swear to God, wanted to eat me for breakfast. I was terrified when I learned she would be the one guarding me, though I wouldn’t admit to that out loud or even to myself at the time. She ended up being slow and easy to outmaneuver.

“Oh yeah, you remember that now?” he laughed along with me. He continued to circle me, pointing with a mock stern finger. “Light work on your part too. She had nothing on you.”

Tilting my head, I realized something. “You remember a game of mine from four years ago? You watched my games back then?”

“Honest?” he asked. When I nodded he winced. “I didn’t really know about you yet. I was watching because I heard about Helga .”

Another laugh slipped free from my lips. “You did not .”

“I did!” He laughed too, a strange expression lighting in his eyes. “Hell yeah, I did. I wanted to see Helga dominate. I was a fan before I even went to the game.”

“You went ? In person?” I asked, not sure why that surprised me, but it did. Unlike men’s basketball players, we weren’t household names. Unless you gained some kind of attention or recognition with branding or other accolades, people tended to overlook us for our male counterparts.

For Ira, even back then, to go out in public to watch a women’s basketball game... it must have been a whole thing. And he’d done it to see Helga Vladimir, who wasn’t even that great to begin with?