Page 16 of On Merit Alone

“The fuck are you out here harassing people for?” the tall one who had a hold of his shoulders asked. Using that hold to move the shorter man, he nudged him back in the direction of their locker room. “Go get ready for shootaround.”

My eyes bounced around as they watched the exchange go down. Once they disposed of the rude guy, my gaze clashed with Ira’s.

He was looking at me with a slight tilt to his mouth. A downward tilt, the frown he’d sported with the guy before lingering as he took me in.

His eyes had my attention, though. They were turbulent and unlike the ones I was used to seeing. It only took one look at those eyes for me to rethink everything I was about to ask him and just leave.

That 180° turn I contemplated before was looking better and better. Decided, I turned around and started heading back to my own locker room where I belonged. However, steady hands caught me by the shoulders and turned me right back around. They were Ira’s, though he didn’t speak to me right away.

“He’s an idiot, don’t let him bother you,” Tall Guy said, a huge smile plastered across his face. I nodded slowly, swallowing to work myself up to saying thank you, but he was already shoving a big hand at me. “I’m Mike Stephens, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Merit,” I said. Reaching forward, I took his hand in a short shake—or what should have been short, if he would let go.

He didn’t. He just held on and continued to smile, saying, “I know.”

Shooting a quick glance at Ira, I smiled awkwardly and kept the shake going. I guess I’d just wait it out, then? Luckily, Ira got sick of waiting and used his hand to split the two of ours up before giving Mike another cutting look.

Was he in a bad mood ?

Maybe, because almost too rushed, he said, “Stephens is the real idiot, Mer, but he’s harmless, don’t mind him. And this is Rogers. There. Everyone knows everyone.”

Oh, I was Mer now?

A moment lingered as we all looked at each other awkwardly. I slipped a quick glance at his two companions before wincing up to Ira at this painful interaction.

Was it sad that I didn’t know what to do during a simple introduction? I didn’t know these people or what they were supposed to be to me. So I didn’t know how to act.

Ice Queen .

The envelope I had clutched in my hand crumpled a little in my grasp and it brought Ira’s attention down to it. Clearing his throat, he murmured, “ Guys .”

“Well, gotta go. Nice to meet you,” Rogers said quickly. A little more dejected, Stephens followed suit, “Nice to meet you, Merit.”

And then they were gone.

And I was alone.

With Ira.

I’d been alone with him plenty of times before, but why was this making me feel so nervous?

Ice Queen .

“Mer?” Ira said softly. The nickname made me look up at him.

On contact, he searched my face with quick, assessing eyes, his face pulling down into another frown.

Maybe I really was an ice queen if I could make this guy frown.

He never frowned, not for real. Stepping a little further into my space, Ira lowered his voice, “Did he say something to you?”

Ice Queen.

Quickly, I shook my head. Over my dead body would I run to him about that little comment.

“No, I came over to ask you about these,” I said, holding up the tickets .

He looked down at them but only for a moment before returning his gaze to my face. What was with his attention today? “What about them?”

“What am I supposed to do with them?” I asked.

He scoffed. The first semi-smile touching his face since I’d appeared. “It was my understanding that you liked basketball games. So I suggest you go.”

“You gave me four tickets.”

“I know how to count, Six.”

“I only need one. Here, take three back.” I started opening the envelope ready to return his expensive tickets.

“Merit, hey. Easy, easy .” He laughed as he laid his hands over mine. Swiping the tickets away from me, he started tucking them back into the envelope. “I know how many I gave you. They’re yours, bring whoever, just make sure you’re there.”

Bring whoever . Ice Queen .

I fidgeted slightly, and his face fell into that serious expression again. “What, you don’t want to come?”

“I—” I started but thought better of saying the first thing that came to my head.

This man had practiced with me for over an hour yesterday, given me advice, and cheered me on.

He said he was my fan. I’m not sure if he said it just to be nice or if he meant it sincerely, but I was beginning to believe it was the latter.

Now he was inviting me to go see one of his championship games…

I couldn’t just spaz out and say anything because of my own hesitations.

I should honor his effort with an equivalent response. But still…

Sighing, I started over. “I do, I just… why?”

And just like that, just like Ira , he let a slow smile creep across his face. “I told you, your good luck the other day didn’t work. Last time you came to a home game, we won, and I’m superstitious.”

“So this is the favor you wanted?” I asked .

“Yup,” he said. “I got you seats exactly where you were last time. Like I said, bring whoever you want.”

“I don’t—” I cut myself just short of admitting I had no one to bring. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said and reached between us to give my shoulder a squeeze. “Look, I gotta go, but don’t sweat it, Six.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He lingered for another second, dipping at the knee and surveying my gaze before letting me go. “Later, then.”

“Oh!” Moving quickly, I reached out before I forgot. Giving his shirt a gentle tug from the back. He stopped, looking down at my hand then at my eyes. “Good luck, Ira.”

He smiled. Not a half-smile or a crooked smile or even that cocky little smirk he often wore.

No, he smiled big and bright and blinding as he reached around and hooked my finger with his own.

He only squeezed gently before letting me go, but he might as well have grasped my whole hand the way it was tingling.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking backward. “Just leave your binoculars at home this time, stalker.”

Oh, that little—he’d said that way louder than necessary. And of course I turned around to see my entire team hanging out of the locker room doorway, shamelessly watching us.

Carefully, I picked my way back toward them. I could tell by their gaping faces that they had so many questions, but I spoke first. Holding up the envelope of tickets lamely, I hunched my shoulders up and down in a universal ‘I dunno’ movement, saying, “Who wants to go see a playoff game?”