Page 9 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Six

Merit

A touch so light, as if it only consisted of fingertips, is what tipped me off that it was Ryan. Aside from handshakes, Ry was sparing with his physical contact, which I didn’t mind. I wasn’t all that touchy of a person either.

“Are you here for me?” he asked by way of greeting.

Locking my phone and tipping a look over my shoulder, I gave a small shake of my head. “No, I, uh, had a meeting with Kristy. She’s going to get me an interview or something with Chelsea Cherry in hopes of smoothing all this over.”

Nodding, he whipped out his phone and was scrolling through his calendar before I even finished my sentence, but he answered as if he’d been listening to every word.

“That’s probably a good plan, though I'm suspicious. I’ll talk to Manzinni and see what’s going on.

Is there any particular reason you’re hanging around the lobby if you’re done with your meeting? ”

Um, yes, but it was over my cold, dead body that I told him the actual reason I was hanging around. So, pasting on my sarcastic look, I said, “Ryan Carmen, is that you? Actually caring about something other than your schedule? ”

Smartassery is the only thing that ever got him to look up at me, and when he did, he glowered.

“You’re right, it’s none of my business.” Locking his phone, he slipped it into his pocket and pivoted. I wondered absently if he moved on some kind of track, all mechanical and sharp. Case in point: the pin-sharp look he stabbed me with. “Make sure to keep it that way. And stay out of trouble.”

“Okay,” I said easily, not bothered by his threats. It’s just the way he communicated.

Looking me up and down, something the size of an atom probably softened in his features. “Good game last night. Get some rest.”

Another fingertip tap on my shoulder, and then he was off.

I bit my lip. Should I get going too? I really had come to talk to Kristy, the Dynamite’s PR manager, about doing some interviews to salvage my “image”, as Rob eloquently put it. It seemed that with the maternity bashing and recent string of losses, it was taking a nosedive as of late.

And Manzinni was on my case about it.

All that aside, I’d stuck around for a different reason. One that didn’t seem to be working out all that great as I stood there loitering like an idiot.

Five more minutes. Whipping my phone out, I resumed my previous scroll. Five more minutes, and then I would give it up.

The screen I peered at was nothing new. The only thing I’d been able to look at or think about since seeing it in the locker room was number eleven.

Right now, I flipped between the two photos I found the other night online and the newest tidbit of information I found on him.

An interview he did after that fateful game.

Not the one from the other night, but one he had done almost directly following his injury.

Before he’d even gotten surgery or started recovering or even spoken to the doctors about his chances of ever picking up a basketball again .

It read like normal, with all the usual questions and answers common in our industry. But the answers still stuck with me.

There was something about the surety of everything he did that was inspiring.

Admirable. I wanted to take a piece of it and bottle it up for myself.

All I ever felt was unsure. Like some kind of driftwood, just floating around waiting until the next uncontrollable wave came to knock my life upside down again.

Holding onto these little tidbits, they were helping me.

So I snipped parts of the interview and saved them to the secret folder I was now harboring of this man.

Bottling up his confusing presence in the way I knew how. God, I hoped no one found out.

“Stalking me?” an easy, familiar voice asked from over my shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Turning, I was met with the same surrendering hands I had encountered in the gym that night. I glared. The memory of him standing over me reminded me that before the guy was inspiring to me, he was annoying.

I led with the more familiar of the two first.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I happen to do business here too, in case you forgot.”

“I know.” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth wobbling in a smirk that said he knew something I didn’t. “Wasn’t talking about that, though.”

Fidgeting with my clothes, I stood up a little straighter. Had I accidentally liked one of the photos of him on the team's social media accounts? Had I shared one of the many articles I found? God, I hoped not.

I hated suspense, and I didn’t want to stay in it, so I came right out and asked, “Then what are you talking about?”

He took a step toward me, tipping his chin as he looked down over my shoulder. At the phone I had clutched in my hand. Open .

“You were looking at me.” He smirked, obviously teasing .

Glancing at my phone, I saw that not only was it open, but it was open to the worst possibility—the brightest possible setting on and the picture of his celebrating face plastered right across my screen.

Heat crawled up my neck and overtook my face at the realization that I’d been caught. I was mortified. The only saving grace was that he couldn’t see the embarrassment on my skin, though I’m sure my expression gave it away.

Clicking the phone shut, I pocketed it quickly. “I was reading an article about the team. That picture’s everywhere right now.”

Denial was a helpful tool. Too bad he was having none of it.

“That was saved to your photos,” he countered. Not accusatory, but definitely amused.

I narrowed my eyes. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to see you scroll through five screenshots and back again,” he admitted. And damn, did I appreciate that he just told me instead of leaving me to guess and obsess over how much of a fool I was making of myself.

Unfortunately, though, I was still making a pretty big one. I winced, peeking a look up at his face and quickly away. He didn’t seem to be weirded out by catching me staring at photos of him. But then again, he still had time to process and come to that decision later.

Staring down at the cute little red and white shoes I slipped on this morning, I mumbled, “Well, it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?”

“What’s it seem like?”

“Honestly, Six. It kinda seems like you’re obsessed with me.”

My head snapped up. “I-I’m not obsessed with you! How arrogant can you be?”

He smiled a shit-eating grin that took up his whole face. Then he motioned down at something on the ground. “You’re standing out here waiting for me, and you’ve got on my shoes too. I’d say that’s bordering obsession.”

“What?” I sputtered again, tipping a look down at my feet. “What are you talking about?”

He gave me a weird look, and then he wordlessly whipped out his own phone. Tapping around for a few seconds, he pulled up some kind of image and handed it over to me.

I noticed he didn’t keep the phone in his hands or hold it in front of my face like some people do.

I swear they acted as if I was going to snatch it and sprint away or something.

Not Ira. He just deposited the whole thing into my hands like we knew each other, and he trusted me.

I sealed the irrelevant but interesting information away with all the other information I’d been stockpiling on him. Then I looked at his phone.

Right there was a photo of him in his uniform with my shoe outstretched in his hand. A big smile was plastered across his face, and the text above him read “Featuring Ira King” with the logo hovering over it.

I gaped. Lifting my foot sideways, I ping-ponged my eyes between his phone and my shoes. They were, in fact, an exact match.

Cursing under my breath, I slowly lifted my eyes to meet the laughing ones beside me. That blushing heat returned to my face tenfold. “I didn’t know they were yours. I swear.”

He looked skeptical but nodded. “Sure thing, Six.”

“I-I’m serious,” I said. My embarrassment was growing by the second.

God, he’d already caught me looking at photos of him.

Now he thought I was wearing his merchandise too?

How. Embarrassing. “They left them in the locker room for us, like, a year ago. This is only like my second time wearing them.”

His eyebrows rose. “So you’ve worn them before?”

A miserable sound left my throat as my face fell. No! This was coming out all wrong. He was taking it all wrong. Taking a step toward him, I held my hands up. “No. I mean, yes, but no, it’s not like that.”

“Which is it? Yes or no?” he asked, arms sliding to cross over his chest.

“No,” I insisted. “I’m not obsessed with you!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, looking pointedly down at my hands and the phone clutched in them.

“ Jesus .” I winced and forcefully shoved my hands out to return his phone. He must really be weirded out by now. It was a miracle he wasn’t calling security?—

Large shoulders started to shake as his quiet laughter filled the space. Arms uncrossed, his big hand coming to rest over his chest while he chuckled at my expense.

Oh .

He was joking…

And now he was laughing at me.

If I thought I was embarrassed before, I was beyond that now as the sting of getting laughed at snuck under my skin.

Suddenly, I had no desire to be there. I actually lost all recollection of why I had waited for him in the first place.

And nothing sounded better than exiting this building and going home.

Turning on my heels, I started toward the other end of the hall.

“Woah, hey,” I heard him call, accompanied by the soft thump of large feet jogging behind me. He overtook me in seconds, slipping into my path and holding out a hand to stay my escape. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just kidding around.”

“Funny,” I said. I wasn’t laughing, though. I was still trying to escape, sidestepping him in an attempt to get by.

He just stepped with me, giving me an intent look. “Don’t you ever kid around, Six?”

Bitterness stung my heart at his question.

It was a much harsher question than he would ever know.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask either.

But to answer something like don’t you ever lighten up, don’t you ever take a break, “don’t you ever kid around?

” I’d have to first answer, with who? Which set me down a dark and lonely tunnel I had no desire to take a trip through.

At least not without a therapist present.

So, instead of answering that, I went with, “My name is Merit, by the way.”

He looked at me, his gaze appraising. “I know.”

“Oh,” I said, looking away from him. Picking at the bottom of my shorts, I mumbled out, “Well, I saw those pictures of you because of Sunday’s game. I just thought they were kind of cool.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said and by the ease of his voice, it sounded like he truly meant it.

Which gave me the courage to look at him again.

His mouth raised up in a one-sided smile.

“I was just poking fun. I know they gave everyone in the complex those shoes. Even the hockey team walked around with them for a while.”

I nodded, looking away from him as this strange feeling engulfed me. I guess the situation was kind of funny. It didn’t mean I was going to laugh or anything, but it was funny.

“Well, thanks for watching the game,” he said slowly, filling the silence.

“I only saw the highlights,” I said, kicking at nothing. “We had a game too.”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “Good job, by the way. You guys are on the board, only a matter of time until you turn it around.”

I wrinkled my nose. That was awfully optimistic of him. Yet somehow, it was fitting of everything I’d learned about him so far. Risking another glance his way, I said, “I tried out what you said in the gym the other day.”

“Yeah?” he asked. My stomach flipped.

I nodded. “Yeah. It worked.”

Sneaking a glance at him through my eyelashes, I was unsure what kind of reaction I was looking for when I told him this, but whatever I received was unsatisfying. Whatever that even meant.

Nodding, Ira slid his hands into his pockets as he smiled politely. “That’s good.”

Disappointed and not sure why, I nodded too. “Okay, well, I better get going. Great work out there, um?—”

“Ira,” he said, filling in where I paused.

I snorted. “I know your name.”

He smiled wickedly. “Well, of course you do. You’re obsessed with me.”

Oh my God . I just glared, which had him laughing in that same easy way he’d done before. And then he was turning his shoulders and heading back toward the other staircase that led to the lobby.

Something felt strange just letting him go like this.

“Um, Ira?” I piped up, my mouth working without my brain’s permission. His name tasted foreign on my lips. Even though I’d been reading and hearing it over and over again, this was the first time I was speaking it out loud. The mere act of it made me blush.

He stopped, his head lifting over his shoulder at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”

Ripping off the band-aid, I just went for it. “Good luck tonight. It’s amazing what you guys are doing out there.”

The smile he let spread over his features did things to my insides, his words scorching me yet again. “Merit, if you’re trying to tell me you’re my biggest fan, just say that.”

It was me who turned and walked away this time.

And yep, I walked away burning .