Page 51 of On Merit Alone

Mostly. It hurt sometimes too, but usually people didn’t notice. Ira did, and he let his fingers work into the sore flesh in steady motions. I swallowed a groan as he ran his strong grip over a tender spot.

Ira scoffed, still focused on my earlier declaration. I gave him a slight glare, but he looked away briskly avoiding my eyes. “I said what I said.”

“There’s no place for the arrogance or self-inflation of a best player on a team, Ira. Especially when we all know we need each other in order to get where each of us want to go. I don’t think about that stuff. I just think about doing what I can do for the team.”

He grumbled a little. “Well, they need to also do what they can for you. I’m not suggesting they throw you a parade, just give you some fucking time to catch your breath.”

“It’s okay.” I reached out, my hand going to his hair reflexively to soothe before I realized what the heck I was doing and retracted it.

He smiled at me. “You can touch me, Six. I touch you.”

I felt nervous down to my bones. My core curling around on itself as I actually contemplated it. But as he just pointed out, holding onto my wrists as we spoke, he touched me so much more. He was comfortable with it; I was the awkward one.

Extending my hand again, I let my fingers brush through his curls in the gentle petting motion I had been originally going for. Then that same shyness took over and I pulled back, smiling softly at him before returning my hand to my lap.

I cleared my throat. “It’s okay. I’m not really worried about the playing time. It’s hard, but it’s only for a handful of months, not like your season.”

“ I’m damn sure worried about it,” he grumbled, but continued. “But what is worrying you then?”

“There’s been a lot of pressure attached to my comeback,” I breathed and it was in saying it out loud that I finally felt this unfurling weight settle on my shoulders.

It had been hovering there for weeks now and I refused to let it settle in fear of not being able to handle it.

I don’t know if I felt okay admitting it now because Ira was there, promising he’d shoulder some of it with me, but I was suddenly okay.

I was okay being scared and uncertain and nervous for myself around him, because he managed to somehow be all those things while also being strong and confident and believing too.

Patting my knee, Ira said, “Let’s switch.”

We did, him sitting in his locker and me apparently designated to his lap.

I tried to pull the stool over to sit in front of him, not sure of what he even wanted to do, but before I could get more than a couple steps away, his long arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me down to the edge of his knees.

There, he began working on my hair. Tapping my shoulder, he directed me to tip my head back and slipped off my headband.

Next he untied my ponytail carefully, loop by loop.

It was when his hands slipped into my hair and started rubbing my scalp in a slow, soothing massage that I jerked, surprised that it felt so good.

I never knew touch like this could feel so good.

It was intimate in a way that wasn't sexual.

Hardly even romantic. It was just… special.

And it was hard not to groan as he worked those mesmerizing circles into my head.

“I’ve noticed the pressure and I don’t agree with it.

It’s crazy to have an entire season riding on one person’s back,” he said softly as if he knew my brain was half here and half in the clouds where head massage heaven was located.

“But I’ve also learned some things about you, Mer.

And I know about half of that pressure is coming from yourself.

I know it’s going to take you a while of hearing this, but I’ll keep saying it until you get it.

You are not basketball. Win or lose, you’re still Merit.

You’re still kickass and determined. Still sweet, too.

And you’re still becoming one of my favorite people.

You are never going to be perfect, none of us are.

So give grace when you fall and if you can’t give yourself grace, come to me and I’ll give it for you. ”

I swallowed. His words landed somewhere between my heart and my soul.

I wanted to melt into him. To believe every word and the meaning behind them.

But I still wasn’t sure. So I sighed, “I know what you just said was profound and stuff. But I honestly can’t think straight with your fingers in my hair. It feels really nice.”

He chuckled. “All you need to know is you’re doing amazing, Merit. So be a little softer on yourself.”

“Mmm,” I hummed and he laughed some more.

“Has anyone ever done this before?” he asked, voice husky and low.

“Nuh-uh,” I answered in my own moan. He hummed right back, appreciative and approving. Making me ask, “What?”

“I both hate and love that I’m your first,” he admitted, adding, “To take care of you like this.”

I agreed. “In a long time, yeah. How’d you know I’d want to talk?”

His hum was genuinely thoughtful this time. “I like to sulk in my feelings when a game doesn’t go the way I wanted it to. I like the time to think things through myself because I’m constantly having other people talking my ear off.”

“Mhmm,” I agreed, remembering how hard it was to get in contact with him when he tweaked his knee. Another moan was mixed in with my response.

I think Ira smiled as he laughed in a single breath. But my eyes were closed so I couldn’t confirm it. “I remember you tried to get a hold of me right after. You were the first person to message me. I figured being there for people might be one of your languages.”

“Languages?”

“Love languages, Merit.” And damn if he didn’t sound sort of shy as he said it.

Clearing his throat, he powered past it as he extricated his hands from my hair and replaced them on the tops of my thighs.

He pulled me into him, my butt slipping into the cradle of his hip and thigh like it had done once before.

Softly he asked, “How are you feeling now?”

“Like a puddle,” I said truthfully, not fighting as my body seemed to melt backward into his. I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed.

He gave me that warm chuckle again, shaking us together with his laughter before supplying a soft, almost heady, voice. “You’re wonderful on a guy’s ego.”

“You hardly need more of that,” I said.

“Oh,” I felt those eyebrows raise along my skin as he peered down his cheek at me. “So she gets talkative and sassy after games. How about hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Where do you go to celebrate a win?”

“I usually just go home.”

There was a pause the size of a continent before he asked. “Do you ever go anywhere other than home, Merit?”

I stiffened. My heart immediately felt heavy in my chest. Embarrassment and shame weighing it down. In a hoarse whisper, I tried my best to answer steadily, “No.”

I heard him swallow. And then he turned me in his lap so I was perpendicular and I could see his face clearly.

Dark eyes overtook mine as he gazed at me seriously.

His expression was soft, his face open, and his words a promise.

“Well then, I have a lot of places to take you. How does tacos sound tonight?”

I wrinkled my nose. It was mostly to keep the stinging that was suddenly plaguing me there at bay, but I played it off. “Hmm, I’ll be missing chef Ira’s famous potato of the day, but I guess I could stomach a taco or two.”

His laugh was like medicine. The sound rich and healing, quickly becoming the only thing I needed to assure me things were alright. Quickly becoming the only thing I needed to be alright, period .