Page 1 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Grant

The late summer heat beats on the back of our necks as we run up and down the court, and I think about how until a few weeks ago, I’d decided this would be my last season. How I was going to walk away from?—

Will fucking Chapman barrels into my side as he runs past me and the shrill blare of Alex’s ref whistle pierces our eardrums.

“Why the fuck are we stopping?” he says, dropping his head back impatiently.

“Uh,” Alex looks at him, brows scrunched. “Because we’re calling fouls, right?”

Will’s annoyance rolls off him in waves as he turns toward the stands before fixing his gaze back on our ref. “Didn’t mean to run into him. He was in my way.” Will barely looks back—just shrugs.

A scoff escapes me just as I’m about to ask him where the fuck he gets off, but Alex blows that piercing whistle to resume the game.

I brush it off, like I do most things with him, and get back into it.

But he’s reckless with the rest of the team, too, like his sole purpose is to hog the ball instead of functioning with his teammates.

We’re up court, attempting to intercept Andy, but he outmaneuvers us; Will’s ball swishes in the net, breaking our tie and pulling them slightly ahead.

And I usually couldn’t care less, except that suddenly, I hear someone clapping.

When I turn around, I have to temper the disbelief that’s probably written on my face as I spot Dan Chapman applauding Will’s basket, a man in a dark polo sitting next to him.

A woman’s to his left, head down as she furiously types into her phone.

A scout; maybe his assistant. Un-fucking-believable.

If he was even a slightly decent person, he would’ve told his team—the one he’s captain of—that there might be a scout at today’s typically casual pick up game.

That we should all be aware so we can perform the way we would if we knew someone was watching.

Instead, he just bulldozed the guys he’s supposed to be leading, because his daddy brought an important friend to watch him play.

He lingers on the court once we all file off to shower, and I find myself watching as Dan pulls Will in and turns him toward the scout. I catch a glimpse of the polo and sure enough, he’s scouting for the Nets.

“Deep breaths, bro,” Mateo says, slapping my back once we’re back at the lockers, Will quickly jogging in behind us like he wasn’t just talking to a scout.

“If you don’t, your jaw’s gonna lock like that.

” The resignation painted on his face pisses me off even more.

The fact that these guys aren’t worth even a heads up should be enough for our coach to reconsider our team's leadership. But he’s not here. Because it’s a pick up game .

Will knows that. Manipulative fuck.

Deep breaths . It’s probably a good idea .

Just one more year of dealing with his shit, and then…it’s the big leagues. Hopefully.

Most of these guys have had their sights set on the draft since freshman year, but until now I was set to follow in my dad’s footsteps and join Fielder Foods, the largest luxury grocery chain in the country.

The wrongness of that has been lodged in my throat for weeks now and I’ve been avoiding my dad’s calls because of it.

I haven’t figured out how to tell the man who adopted me, the family who gave me every opportunity, who gave my sister and I this incredible life, that I won’t do the one thing he’s dreamed of me doing.

That instead, I’m going to do the one thing he’s always warned against. The idea of being a retired athlete, of having performed at the D1 level and then saying I left without a fight to go be a corporate overlord? It depresses the fuck out of me.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a rap at the door just before it barely opens.

“Are we decent?” a voice that always seems to pull my attention calls out.

Will shouts for her to walk right in, even though half the team is showering, and Genevieve Dupont strides over to his side without so much as a glance at the rest of us.

And it’s typical, but it never ceases to amaze.

The way she’s laser focused on ballet? Copy and paste that drive, but make it about Will.

She pulls a phone out of her bag, her brows rising as she waves it in front of him.

“You’re lucky I checked my back seat,” she says, the ghost of a smile on her lips. Her dark curls are pulled back into a bun and a pink, criss-crossy sort of one piece disappears beneath her black spandex leggings as she stands there, legs slightly crossed, and it’s hard for any of us to look away.

“Shit, I didn’t realize,” he says, taking it from her. “What would I do without you?”

From where I stand, I can see the blush that creeps up her soft brown skin, can see the way she playfully rolls her eyes at him. So I finally look away, busying myself with organizing the invisible mess in my locker. My phone lights up, the vibration sending it across the bottom of the locker.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

I click the ringer and ignore the call.

“Great question,” I hear Gen tease back.

“Where you off to, Gen?” Scott cuts in, shutting his locker. I move to sit on the bench and wait for a shower to open up, my attention landing right back on our little intruder.

Her eyes crinkle slightly, a pained expression flitting across her face, and I fail to stifle the small laugh that escapes me.

She gives me a slow once over, the line she tracks burning into me, the way it always does.

I wonder if I’m the only one who feels so seared by the attention she rarely gives anyone but Will.

Rolling her lips together, like she’s contemplating not even answering, she clears her throat. “The studio.” There’s that bored expression she always wears, intensified only by the disdainful glare in her eyes. It’s one that could cut a man, but Scott is incapable of taking a hint.

“You know, there’s this really great?—”

The severity of Will’s glare cuts him off before his words do. “I’ll catch you later, Genny,” he says directly to her, and she offers him this small, grateful smile that, for whatever reason, gets right under my skin. As soon as she’s gone and the door shuts, Scott lets out a low whistle .

“Bro,” Scott says, grinning from ear to ear. “I know that Liv is Liv and she’s hot as fuck but how have you never …” he drifts off, waiting for Will to complete the thought. He doesn’t though, just shrugs him off. “Come on, man,” Scott almost begs.

“I don’t buy it either,” Josiah chimes in. “No way you’ve never hit that.” He shoots me a look, a question in his eyes. I just roll mine, not wanting any part of this conversation.

“I would’ve by now,” he mouths for Scott and I to see, like he knows he shouldn’t say it.

“Bro, I’m saying,” Scott says, his exasperation over this almost comical were it not for how much he’s annoying me by drooling over her. Remember the guys who had a Sport Illustrated Swimsuit cover as their phone background in high school? That’s the energy Scott gives anytime a woman walks by.

“It’s not like that,” Will laughs, making an effort to be anything but convincing. Like he wants to leave room for that to not be true. I put my head back down, trying my hardest to listen for a shower while tracking the endless scroll on my phone.

“I’m just saying—missed opportunity, Cap.

I’m shooting my shot if you won’t.” Scott’s voice is greedy when he says it and it makes my skin crawl.

My hand stills, no longer scrolling, as I realize I’m waiting for Will to say something.

Instead, I hear him bark his amusement and look up to see him leaning back on the lockers, laughing in disbelief.

“And when she rejects you, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Josiah says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ve seen her checking me out.”

Will gets himself together and takes a deep breath, his smile spread wide across his face. “She’s not dating either of you fuckers.”

“Okay, asshole—says who?” Scott’s arms are crossed as he takes personal offense to what is just true. Gen’s been unavailable from day one.

The two of them—Will and Gen—showed up tied at the hip their freshman year, and the only person who’s managed to get between them is his girlfriend, Liv.

And even then… barely. It’s a toxic situation, one that I can’t imagine anyone wants to get involved in.

I guess other than Scott. And maybe Josiah.

“I’m just saying that I know Gen. It’s never gonna happen.”

Scott’s jaw sets as he squints over at our captain, a decision happening in real time in his gaze. “Okay. Bet. And what do I get when I do get her to go out with me?”

Someone rounds the corner, and I realize there’s a free shower.

Will’s scoff grates like rug burn, even though it’s not directed at me. But it’s the disdain he has for his teammates, the lack of confidence he has in the men he considers his friends—the men he’s supposed to be leading to a championship this fall—that eats at my ability to tolerate him.

“You get Gen to go on a date with you,” he looks at Scott before glancing at Josiah, “and I’ll sit out the last two games of the season.

” His eyes practically sparkle, knowing how much of an opportunity that would be—the chance to shine without him stealing all the attention away.

It’s an insanely idiotic thing for him to promise.

Of course, he knows that. Just like he knows Genevieve Dupont isn’t looking at anyone but him.

Everything Will does is disingenuous. His charm might fool the rest of the guys, might fool Liv and Gen, might fool the scouts salivating over him in the stands—but it doesn’t fool me.

“You sure you wanna bet that?” I challenge him, the blood roaring in my ears because who the fuck does he think he is? First it’s keeping us in the dark about scouts, now it’s this. The thing is, I don’t think anyone checks him. He’s surrounded by yes men or silent ones.

When Ben told me his younger brother was coming to Astor, that he was a wild-card, had been kicked out of too many training camps to count but was insanely talented with a ball, I honestly thought he was exaggerating.

And maybe things would’ve turned out better for Will if Ben hadn’t up and left right before his brother was meant to start—no explanation or warning for even me, his best friend.

But we’ll never know; all I do know is that while Will may be the best player on this team, he’s easily the worst person I’ve ever met.

I lock eyes with him, finally stepping up to defend…Gen? The guys? I don’t know who, if I’m being honest, but I can’t help but feel like Will is a loose cannon and that, at some point, his carelessness is going to fuck someone over. And he won’t care one bit.

“He speaks,” Will says to me, his mouth set in a mocking grin, his posture shifting. “You want in?” There’s a cautious glint in his gaze. Like maybe, I make him a little nervous. So I let his question sit there and watch him grow more and more uncomfortable as I turn it over in my head.

When I think about him sitting out for two games, forfeiting the exposure that would bring, when I remember how much the rest of us would have to gain, I almost say yes.

But then I think about that girl who looks at him with stars in her eyes, who’s constantly pulling my attention even though I’ve never had hers, and premature guilt jackets me, reinforced by a fresh wave of anger.

I push up from the bench and get close enough to confirm that, yes—he’s intimidated. I barely look down at him, and give him a bored smirk.

“Not playing your games, Chapman.”

His throat bobs and relief accompanies his scowl. I don’t hear what he says back; I pop my headphones in and head to the showers, turning the water up high enough to scald the rage simmering right beneath the surface.

My phone slips off the soap holder as it lights up and I catch it, UNKNOWN NUMBER appearing on the screen again. My stomach turns the way it used to as a kid, and I click the ringer off again.

She only calls when she needs something , I tell myself.

I don’t have time for her antics. Don’t have time for Will’s antics.

I don’t have time for any distractions, truthfully. I’m already late to the game as it is.