Page 33

THEO

I had no idea what to say to Maya. I wasn’t a talkative person in most areas of my life, but I was usually able to find the right words.

I was the captain of my basketball team—all I did, day in and day out, was make sure my team knew what was going on.

I gave them guidance and direction, I worked on building relationships between every member of the team.

But all of a sudden, I had no idea what to do.

I had no next step, no direction. It was like my team was looking at me during the fourth quarter, and instead of giving them anything at all to work with, I said, Actually, maybe we shouldn’t push for the win.

Do you guys want to? Are you sure you want to?

It was the dumbest thing I’d ever experienced in my life.

I’d partially hoped she’d reach out first with some kind of quip, but she never ended up texting. After Iris had pulled her away, that was it. I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the night. Or into the next morning. Or that evening.

We were starting to reach a critical point of needing to at least say something to each other.

It was obvious both of us were waiting to see what the other person was thinking, and I wasn’t necessarily afraid to reach out first. I did TV interviews.

I took on contracts with major athletic brands and had made hundreds of thousands of dollars—redirected into a savings account I told my parents to monitor until I graduated, because the amount overwhelmed me—in NIL money.

I navigated the press and fans and school, all in the midst of playing the sport that I loved…

Maybe I was a little afraid of having to reach out to Maya first.

But mostly because I didn’t know how she was feeling. I didn’t know what the next course of action was. It was the longest we’d gone without texting since we’d started and there was a small part of me that wondered if that was intentional.

But not getting answers in this case was the worst-case scenario. I didn’t mind mutual ghosting, but it had to feel actually mutual. If I let Maya go now, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering about her.

Throughout the week, it was obvious during practice how off I was. I was making my shots, but I fumbled through plays and kept overshooting or undershooting during assists. After messing up yet another drill, I groaned.

“I’m taking five,” I said, and one of our assistant coaches waved me off the court.

“Dude, you’re sucking ass,” GJ said from the court as I grabbed my water.

Mags bounced her the ball, and GJ shot it from the back corner.

I’d always been jealous of her range. I could shoot far—I’d always had theatrics to my benefit; people loved big plays—but GJ was better at tougher close-range shots than me.

“Thank you for the supportive words. ”

She turned over her shoulder and looked back at me. “What’s been up with you? Not that I don’t mind the reminder that you’re human like the rest of us and have off days. I just don’t like seeing it.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

GJ caught the ball from Mags again and tossed it up, an endless, effortless loop.

It swished easily into the net. “Girl related?” she asked.

There was a beat of silence between us, squeaky shoes and basketballs bouncing filling the void.

“I know you don’t get shaken up by basketball shit, so it has to be a girl. ”

I put my water bottle down. “Yes, fine. Girl related,” I said, unsure if I wanted to talk about it or pretend it didn’t exist.

“The girl from the pictures?” Mags asked from down the court.

“A and B conversation,” GJ shot back at her.

“Yes, the girl from the pictures,” I said. I didn’t really want everyone in my business, but everyone already was in my business—they’d been in it since that very first picture made the rounds in our group chat.

And no matter how Mags seemed to feel about me, we were still family at the end of the day.

I saw my team more than I saw anyone else.

Having Mags ask me about Maya was better than the whole of the internet—which still hadn’t loosened its grip on me.

GJ teased me about it periodically, keeping up-to-date on new headlines popping up or clips that were doing well online.

“You like her?” Mags asked, ignoring GJ .

“Of course, she likes her. Who else would be capable of making Theo McCall play like shit than the girl she has a crush on?” GJ said.

“I was just wondering. Damn,” Mags said and GJ casually flipped her the bird, just out of sight of the coaches.

I snorted. Mags and I played differently and didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I was usually diplomatic about it.

Both GJ and Mags had personalities that were too big for that.

They got along and played well together, but they bickered like siblings most of the time.

GJ tended to keep me out of it because I asked her to, so I never knew what they were doing to piss each other off so badly.

Sometimes, it didn’t seem like they really needed a reason; they just needed someone to pick on.

I didn’t understand it, probably because I’d grown up as an only child and both of them had siblings.

“You should text her,” GJ said.

“I didn’t even tell you what happened.”

“You don’t need to. You should text her and figure it out. Get it out of your system before you go insane. Or squash our chances at making it to the finals.”

“If there’s anything keeping us from the finals, it’s your inability to get a rebound,” Mags said to GJ.

Neither of them missed a beat in the drill they were running; the ball passed between their hands and the net as easily as breathing.

We’d been practicing these shots for most of our lives to the point that we could probably do them in our sleep if we wanted.

At our level, the challenge usually wasn’t making the shots at all; it was making the shots while we had a bunch of six-foot-tall women trying to steal the ball from us.

“Try hitting a three ever in your college career and then come talk to me,” GJ said. She turned back to look at me. “Seriously though, dude. You should talk to her. Just like…invite her out or something. Doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Just vibe check her. The worst that happens is she says no.”

GJ was right but it didn’t make it any easier to think of something to say. I spent the entire rest of the day thinking through variations of texts I could send. All of them either felt too forward or too passive. I was halfway to texting that kiss rocked! just to get it over with.

It was so weird not having anything to say to her. Since we’d met, it’d been impossible to shut us up. And now, when it really mattered, I was stuck.

I took a deep breath, thinking back to the kiss. It’d been so unexpected. I’d picked up on a little bit of something during the game, but that was who Maya was. She was fun and flirty and had a bigger personality than me. I didn’t think she’d actually go for it.

But I was glad she did. I kept volleying between embarrassment it wasn’t as good for her, nervousness she didn’t want to hear from me again, and the undeniable truth that I wanted to kiss her again.

By the time I got home, I knew it was time. I couldn’t put it off any longer. We’d already been down this road once of waiting to see who would text first, wondering what the other person was thinking the whole time. I needed to nip it in the bud; it was fucking with my routine.

Hey—would you want to hang out again? I have One Tree Hill at the ready.

I cringed. It was the dumbest text I’d ever written in my life. It was so bad that I wouldn’t be surprised if Maya blocked my number altogether in response.

But after almost a full day of thinking it over, it was the best I could do. And it was better than nothing. At least this would get me an answer about how Maya was feeling.

I put my phone down and paced, then dropped to the floor to do push-ups to keep my body busy. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she didn’t respond—probably keep doing push-ups until my arms gave out.

My phone vibrated and I got up immediately to check. Let’s do it.

I let myself celebrate for only about a second before I realized she didn’t give me an actual plan. The only thing worse than having to text to initiate a hangout was having to follow up and say, Okay, so, when are we doing it?

My phone was quiet for another beat, but her text bubbles reappeared. I watched the screen to see if she was going to send the follow-up for me or not. After a few more seconds, another message appeared. When are you free?

That was the million-dollar question. I never knew when I was free.

Or, I knew exactly when I was free, it just didn’t feel particularly flexible.

I had the girl I had a crush on basically standing in front of me—virtually—and agreeing to hang out again.

There was a very good chance we might kiss again in the process, or possibly do something even more than that.

This was not the time to hit her with a two-hour time block suggestion, which was about what I was visualizing in my head.

Between classes, training, games, and travel for away games, there wasn’t much room for fooling around all night.

There was nothing that could kill a mood like, Are you free from exactly 5-7 p.m. on Tuesday? What about 8-10 p.m. on Friday?

I didn’t really know what to expect, other than that I offered One Tree Hill as an activity.

It was too broad to know exactly what to expect of hanging out again post-kiss.

But in anticipation of the possibility, I wanted to pick a night where we could theoretically stay up together and it wouldn’t completely throw off the entire next rest of my day.

The biggest issue being that I was someone who liked my schedule and had maintained basically the same one the entire time I’d been in college.

I mentally thought through my calendar and then sighed. I had to volley it back to her. It would be easier for me to move things around based on her than try and find time I already had free in my calendar.

I have away games coming up again. When are you free? I’ll base my schedule around you .

Where are the away games? she wrote back.

Utah and Kentucky .

My heart thudded in my chest, my palms sweaty.

We were slowly back in our old routine, but it felt fragile.

Saying the wrong thing could ruin it all, but I didn’t know what the wrong thing was.

I didn’t know if I should be implying the kiss was a mistake or leaning into it.

Or maybe we were supposed to pretend it didn’t happen at all.

I wished I could somehow telepathically communicate with her that I was following her lead, that I would do whatever she wanted me to do.

Did you want an audience?

My lips turned up in a smile. I love an audience .

Her text bubble popped up and then went away. I waited to see what she meant, wondering if she was actually asking for the reason I thought she was asking.

I’ll come see you play. It’s been a while since we’ve gone viral.

The fame is getting to your head.

Sorry, it’s the aspiring WAG in me. You’re my new means of retiring. Already looking forward to becoming a housewife.

You’ll have to go NBA for that. W rookies don’t even make low six figures most of the time.

I’m investing early .

I smiled at my phone, unable to help myself. The rhythm was there like it always had been. Everything was fine between us, even if I still had questions.

I thought back to Maya leaning in toward me at the party. The way she’d asked if I thought a kiss between us would ruin everything. The way she’d kissed me.

Her perfume had been light and sweet and her hair was soft in my hands. I didn’t just want to take her home to see her naked; I wanted to be with her. Hold her, take care of her, somehow find the time to spend days in bed together.

See you in Utah? I wrote, the best I could offer for now. It wasn’t exactly a big romantic gesture or the promise of time alone, but it was time together.

See you in Utah.