Page 15 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Nine

Merit

It would seem that Ira would ask me to do something insane.

The next day after practice, I was on my way into the locker room when I heard the stir before I even saw the commotion.

Usually, excited energy and playful laughs were the norm after an adrenaline-filled session.

It was nine in the morning after a seven AM practice block.

The guys had their third finals game today, and we had to be out of the facility by ten so preparations could be made for the big event.

It was safe to say it was way too early for them to be chirping like birds at dawn. I tuned into them anyway, opting to listen to whatever was exciting them so much rather than think about the fact that I tried Ira’s newest advice and was having a shit time at it.

Yesterday—you know, after he told me he was a Merit Jones fan like he didn’t think that would make my heart fall right out of my chest—we continued to run drills. This time, I tried to trust my knee as much as I used to before the injury.

I struggled with it to start, but with repetition and Ira’s encouragement, it started to get better. By the time I started getting a groove, there was a voice calling from the court entrance, startling us both mid-drill.

“Cap?” Emily’s even-toned voice called from the doorway. She was fully dressed for practice, a familiar tattooed player at her side. “Warm-up’s soon. Gotta hustle.”

“Shit,” I said, looking down at my watch. I’d lost track of time. Turning to Ira, I hoped my gaze was pleading as I asked, “I gotta go, like now. Do you mind cleaning up?”

Like the smartass he was, he raised two fingers to his hairline in a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Cap .”

“Shut up,” I said but thanked him with a soft tug on his shirt sleeve as I jogged past and out of the gym. When I peeked over my shoulder just as I was about to exit and found he was still looking at me, I gave him a mock salute back that had him laughing and turning away to start cleaning up.

“Was that Ira fucking King?” Emily had asked as we jogged up the stairs to court B, where our schedule said we were practicing that day. Em was a mixed-race beauty with caramel skin and naturally sandy, almost blonde hair. She was also Australian and had the coolest accent.

I liked her. She’d always been nice and inviting, even when I came in as a rookie not long after her. Charlie too, with her blunt personality and take no shit attitude. The way she was eying me alone, as she jogged up the stairs beside us, all but demanded I speak.

“Yeah,” I just mumbled. I didn’t want to answer her question; I didn't want to make it a thing. But she’d obviously already seen him, so I couldn’t lie now.

“Are you two friends?” she continued.

“Um.” I cocked my head, thinking about it for a second. “Not really.”

She snorted. “ Not really? Then what were you doing with him? I’ve never seen you speak to him before. ”

“I, uh, owe him a favor,” I said, conveniently remembering that fact at that very second. Not to mention that I still didn't know what that favor was.

Now, as I rounded the corner to the lockers and saw everyone gathered around mine, I realized that I was causing the chirping—or, more accurately, something at my locker.

“What’s going on?” I asked, easing in closer to the bundle of my teammates.

“You’ve got mail!” someone said excitedly.

Mail?

Walking up to the group, I moved straight to my locker and immediately noticed the white envelope placed in the middle of my stool. On it, written in black marker, was the word, “Favor.”

I frowned.

Of course I knew what this meant, hence the reason my stomach was suddenly flipping all over the place. But what did they know? Testing the waters, I turned my gaze up at the women around me. “What's so exciting about an envelope?”

“We can see the tickets inside, Mer!” they said. “Who gave you the hookup for playoff tickets? Championship tickets! ”

Lifting a shoulder, I said, “I dunno.” But inside, my body was rioting. Tickets? This was his idea of me owing him a favor? Giving me playoff tickets that were more than likely more expensive than some people’s rent?

Calm down, Merit. You don’t know for sure what they ar e.

Picking the envelope up, I reached in and in fact slid out four tickets to tonight’s game.

Well then. That settles that.

“Look, look. There’s a note,” Charlie said as she bent over and retrieved a fallen piece of paper.

I could tell she read it even before I asked her not to by the wide look in her eyes.

Passing it back to me, I didn’t even try to hide it from the rest of them as I read it.

I didn’t mind. I knew whatever it said would just get around the group sooner or later.

On a ticket-sized strip of white paper, the note read:

Pay up, stalker.

-Ira

Quickly, I clutched the paper close to my body. I was wrong. I did care if someone saw. But as I looked around at everyone, I knew the damage had already been done. Silence stretched for way too long not to be awkward as we all just sort of looked at each other.

Then, finally, somebody called out, “I told you she was with him yesterday!”

And then the questioning began.

“You know him?”

“Are you two friends?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Can we meet him?”

“Why is he giving you tickets?”

And a million more. I shook my head at it all, holding the tickets and the note out in front of me as my eyes scanned and scanned again. “Guys, guys . I don’t know. We’ve just shot around a couple times, and I owe him for some pointers he gave me about my knee. But I have no idea what this is.”

“They’re tickets, Merit.”

“Obviously,” I clipped. “But what does he want me to do with them?”

“Go to the game!” Emily laughed. “He gave you tickets to a game so you can go to it!”

“But why?” I asked, suddenly feeling my anxiety skyrocket. Because why would he want me at one of his games? And why would he give me four tickets? That was way more than I knew what to do with. I didn't want to go alone .

And again, why would I go at all?

“Guys, I think she’s malfunctioning. I can almost hear her brain thinking itself into mush,” Charlie said dryly.

“Mer,” Emily called from far away, probably the doorway. “If you want to ask him, now’s your chance. They just showed up.”

My head snapped up. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Hurry, or you’ll miss him!”

Blame it on the urgency or excitement in her voice but without another question I was jogging out into the tunnel.

Em was right. The entire men’s team was currently filing into their locker room, probably coming in from film or some other meeting and getting ready for their day.

Ira was taking up the back, smiling easily as his teammates talked animatedly around him.

The taller guy was one I remembered seeing the day his teammates walked in on us practicing together.

And the other one, who wasn’t much taller than me, was Rogers—Ira’s right-hand man.

My stomach dropped a little as I noticed he was surrounded by people, because of course he would be .

He was Ira freaking King. Basically a literal king, or at least when it came to basketball.

On top of that, he was charismatic and funny, and though it had taken me a while to admit it, he was so, so nice.

It was stupid of me to think I could catch him alone like I had all the other times.

“You gonna go or what?” Charlie asked in an incredulous tone, sending me into action.

I wanted to turn back. I could feel eyes on me almost as soon as I left the locker room, and I immediately felt uncomfortable.

I wasn’t really shy, but I knew sometimes I could be awkward around new people.

That’s why I always shied away from small talk and passable interactions.

If I chit-chatted with everyone who tried to say what’s up to me, the whole industry would be let on to the fact that I was unsocialized and awkward.

But it was too late. Just as I was seriously contemplating doing a 180° turn and slithering back to the hole I’d crawled out of, I was spotted. And not by the man I was on my way to see either.

“Don’t tell me we even got the Ice Queen’s attention,” a good-looking guy my height with short dreads and deep brown skin said, stepping into my path.

I almost didn’t notice him as I headed straight for Ira.

Halting in front of the guy, confusion must have been written on my face, I’m sure.

But he smiled crookedly at me anyway and asked. “Looking for me, baby girl?”

“Excuse me?” my voice came out sharper and more offended than I meant it to, but seriously? Baby girl?

Throw up.

The guy just scoffed, a smirk still pasted on his face as he rolled his eyes. “Ah, there she is. Denver’s sweetheart; not .”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked, and I knew my face was all messed up solely by the look of disdain he gave me in return.

I didn’t ask it to be snarky. I genuinely didn’t know this man, and here he was, borderline insulting me out of nowhere.

I mean, I was used to being criticized, insulted, judged, the whole nine—just not usually in the confines of this tunnel.

My own territory . I guess there was a first time for everything.

Like how this was the first time I was hearing the nickname Ice Queen . It brought a sticky feeling to the back of my throat, fogging up my mind and making me draw a blank on why I was even over here.

Ice Queen ?

Probably opening his mouth to be offensive again, the guy started to say something. Only he was cut off by a hand slapping across his chest. Two more grasping onto his shoulders.

Blinking up, I was met with the sight of Ira. And he had no smile on his face. Weird.

He was looking at dreads guy with stern eyes and a set jaw as he used the back of his hand to push him slightly away from me. “Have you lost your mind? ”

“What?” Dreads asked.