Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (30 page)

We sat right under Tiberius Jones’s photo. He stood tall and proud in his Brooklyn Nets uniform, but wearing a Hafton hat. He’d inscribed the photo along the bottom.

To the gang at the diner, where I took my lady on our first date. The ball was in my court.

Tiberius Jones, Hafton Ball Proud

Blane’s legs were stretched out under the table, mingling with my shorter ones.

“Hungry?” I asked as he studied the menu.

“Um, yeah. I worked up an appetite, Miss Oh-My-God.”

I kicked his shin. “Shhh. Shit, everyone is going to hear you,” I said through clenched teeth but with a smile. We really had worked up quite an appetite.

“Hi, Blane,” the waitress said, leaning over the table so her boobs practically spilled out of her uniform.

“Hey, Cassie,” he said without looking up.

“Who’s this?” She pointed her pen at me. “Study partner? Tutor for Mr. Heading-to-the-NBA?”

“A friend,” I said cheerfully. No need to go and give anything a label.

“More than a friend,” Blane shot back.

She frowned. “Oh, is that why you haven’t been in for weeks?”

“I didn’t know you were keeping track,” he said, still not looking up.

“Does Sonny know? I saw him last week, and all he does is run off at the mouth over you two and your antics.” She flipped her hair to the side, revealing a Hafton
H
tattoo on her neck.

“Sonny isn’t part of this.” Blane didn’t get a chance to finish because the bells over the door chimed and a loud, “Steele!” echoed through the diner.

“Yo, Mo,” Blane called back, finally lifting his head out of the menu.

“I’ll be back,” Cassie said in defeat, and left. Not without shaking her ass, which Blane didn’t notice because he was too busy staring down Mo, who had said, “Slide over,” to me.

Mo rolled his eyes. “I’m practically hitched, Steele. Cool your dick. Sorry ’bout the language, missy.”

“No problem. I use the word dick frequently,” I said, unruffled. Swearing I could do.

“I love this one. She’s a fucking firecracker.” Mo tossed his arm around me and pulled me close. “You eating?” he asked Blane.

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Good, me too. Saw your truck out front.”

“Y’all always barge in on people’s dates?” Blane eyed Mo, his green eyes narrowed and laser focused on his teammate.

“This ain’t no date. The fuck, the diner?”

“He took me to Geno’s the other night,” I said.

“Did you now?” Mo asked Blane with a raised eyebrow.

“Look, it says right here that this is a date place.” I pointed at the picture of Tiberius
.

“Yeah, when you’re Tiberius Jones and you got yourself hooked up with some slice of crazy.” Mo jerked his chin toward the picture. “Nah, just kidding. Tingly’s cool, but she was fucked up six ways to Sunday by her parents.”

“How do you know?” I shifted in my seat so I could focus on Mo.

“My bro was roommates with Ty. Witnessed the whole crazy love affair. Now Trey works for the Nets, and Ty plays for them. Jamel too.”

“Really?” I said. “I’m a Knicks fan.”

“No shit? Your woman’s a ball fan, Steele?”

“She is,” Blane admitted. “Been sneaking in to watch us play.”

“No way,” Mo said. “I’m gonna get you some tickets.”

Cassie and her boobs stopped at our table to interrupt. “You guys decide?”

Mo went first. “Protein breakfast with sausage, eggs over easy, and full stack of hotcakes, no whipped cream. And a large milk.”

“Breakfast for dinner. Sounds good. Give me the same,” Blane said without even glancing at Cassie.

“Um, can I have the pecan roll hotcakes?” I bit my lip, waiting for a reaction. It wasn’t exactly what women ate on dates. At least, I assumed they didn’t.

“Can I get a bite?” Mo asked me, nudging my shoulder with his.

I nodded.

“You want a drink?” Cassie asked, giving me the evil eye.

“Coffee.”

She turned and sashayed desperately as she walked away.

“So, what’s up?” Mo looked at Blane and then me.

“What do you mean?” Blane’s eyes remained evil slits.

“What’s the deal-i-o with you two? On or off?”

“On.” Blane’s face finally relaxed as a smile formed.

I swallowed down my excitement—and regret—and raised my eyebrows.

“Definitely on,” Blane repeated.

It was news to me. Not unwelcome, mind you, but it definitely deepened my regret about my actions over the last few weeks.

I didn’t have long to dwell on it because Mo slapped my shoulder and said, “Well, thank you. He’s been in a better mood. He wasn’t good with all that . . . stuff . . . backed up.”

“Maurice,” Blane growled.

“I’m just kidding, bro. So tell me, darling Catie, why aren’t you on the air anymore?”

“Um, I sort of lost my way and I was pissed at Sonny, but I’m rethinking it.”

He nodded. “Good girl.”

“And how’s your girlfriend?” I asked.

“Angie’s good. She’s starting to show, so I guess I’m having a kid.”

“Ya think?” Blane leaned forward.

“Shit, man, this is not real. Me a dad, but it is.”

“You seem like a good guy,” I told Mo.

“Why, thank you, Catie.”

Our food arriving at the table interrupted our conversation, and the guys dug in. Mo made good on his wanting a bite of pancakes.

When the check came, Mo snatched it.

“Hey, it’s the least I can do after crashing your date and all.” He pushed Blane’s hand away and got up to pay.

Blane stood and helped me put my coat on, and then draped his arm around me.

“I didn’t know we were a thing,” I whispered in his ear.

He tugged me tight and said, “Oh yeah, we are, and I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

I gulped down the lump lodged in my throat and snuggled a little closer into Blane’s embrace, committing the feeling to memory before I went home to get ready to meet Sarina and the gang.

Every single encounter with the ladies further jeopardized Blane’s career, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from seeing them.

Or him.

Blane

“T
urn it up,” I yelled to Ashton after a grueling practice on Thursday.

Coach had us going hard at the hoop in preparation for the upcoming game, and we were all taking our time in the locker room. I’d come out of the ice bath when I heard her.

“Hi there, Hafton. Catie P. here, back on the air at 96.9. Have you missed me?”

A grumble came over the air, and then a bang.

“Haftees, it’s Sonny B. I had to grab the mic for a hot second. There was no not allowing this little missy back. Plus, that other dude was junk, and of course, Catie begged. Give my girl Cute Catie a big hello, and tell her to turn up the heat.”

With a towel wrapped around my waist, I sank onto the bench and listened as if it were a post-game interview.

“Thanks for allowing me to have the mic back,
Sebastian
, but this is my show so you may exit the booth,
mister
.”

Zing. Good girl.

“So, let’s see,” she said. “I took a little break and missed you all. Not Sonny, but don’t tell him that. Today, I’m going to play some music and, of course, take some calls. Not dating advice, though. How about this . . . Have you ever felt pressured by a professor to do what they wanted? Write what they wanted? Call me. Don’t use your name, just fill us in. While we wait, here’s a new one by the Dirty Souls. Remember how good they were at the music fest?”

Mo slapped my back with a towel. “Aw, shit, that girl likes to poke the bear.”

“Christ, Steele, when you decided to snatch one,” Alex teased, “you picked one that’s a handful. The bitch is ready to take on the whole school.”

“Fuck off, White, and don’t use bitch when you’re talking about women,” I shot back, but agreed she was going to get into some shit.

He gave me the finger and walked toward the steam room.

I dressed quickly while the song played and plopped down on the couch for the rest of the show. Holy shit, were there a lot of discontented people.

“Hi, Catie. Thanks for having this discussion. By the way, are you getting back on Twitter?”

Cate laughed into the mic. “Go on.”

“So, my professor asked me to redo a paper, taking a different stance, one that was more in line with their thinking. It was a big part of the final grade, so I did it.”

“Did they now?” Cate asked, and the caller went into all kinds of detail without revealing names, but it was pretty obvious. It sounded like she was some type of business major, and the prof didn’t agree with her business plan.

Finally, Cate said, “Listen, all you have are your convictions, darling, so I say stick by what you wrote and see the head of your department. But don’t tell them I sent you.”

“Thank you, Catie. I feel better with that off my chest.”

Then she played some more crap alternative music and took a few more calls before signing off.

I stood in a hurry and thought if I hoofed it, I could meet her by the station. After grabbing my bag and coat, I headed for the exit. Of course, Coach stopped me outside the office, wanting to check in on how I was feeling. I tried to make it quick, but it was no use. Conley was on a tear.

We needed to beat the crap out of Pitt, he said, “. . . make them never want to come back.” Rumor was he wanted a job there and they turned him down. I guessed it was true.

I kept nodding and agreeing all through his speech, but by the time he shut his trap, I was pretty sure I’d missed Cate.

Just in case, I drove to the studio and double-parked in the lot. Sonny was sitting in his cubicle when I rounded the back of the studio.

He looked up and slammed his laptop closed. “Steele? What do you need?”

“I was looking for Cate. How you doing, man?”

“I’m good. In fact, I was looking for her too. She came and asked for her gig back, and I let her have it right away. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“What the fuck, man? Don’t be a prick,” I yelled at him as I ran back toward the exit.

I faintly heard him yell, “Me? A prick?”

“Yeah, you,” I tossed back.

I jumped in my truck and headed toward her apartment. When I found Cate waiting by the bus stop, I pulled over to the curb.

Rolling down the window, I called, “Hop in!”

She jumped into the truck, her hair tucked into a beret and a coffee in her hand.

“Hey, you were good,” I told her as I checked over my shoulder. “How come you didn’t text me and let me know you were going on?”

“I had to make sure I didn’t bomb.”

“You were great,” I said, pulling out into traffic.

“You going home?”

“Yeah. I’m done for the day.”

“Wanna grab lunch?”

“I have to be back by three. Does that work?”

“It’s twelve thirty, so I’m pretty sure we’re good. We can have dessert too,” I said with a wink.

We would definitely be having dessert, just not the kind she thought. Well, we could have that too. My girl loved her sweets.

“What kind of dessert?”

When she interrupted my naughty train of thought, I dog-eared the sweet fantasies I was having. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

I drove to Chantilly, which was a big buffet located on the edge of campus. The normal meal plan didn’t include it, but athletes could go whenever they wanted.
Of course.

“I’ve never been here. Or heard of it.” Cate got out of the truck, taking in the red brick building.

“It’s a perk of ours; we can come anytime. It’s good.” I stole her hand and walked toward the entrance.

We walked through the big glass revolving door and shrugged off our coats. I tossed them in a heap on a table by the window.

“Come on.” I took her hand and led her toward the line. “Cathy, I have a guest today,” I told the lunch lady.

“Hey, Blane, sounds good. We have omelets today.” She pointed toward the back.

The buffet wound its way around the perimeter, with a large crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room above the beverage station.

“Wow,” Cate said. “This place is insane. How much is it? I should pay you back.”

“Like I said, we get to come anytime, as many times as we want. A fringe benefit of dating me.”

She punched my arm and said, “Fuck.”

“Not here, babe.” I winked and gave her hand a little tug.

She punched my arm a little harder.

“Hey, that’s my shooting arm.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to hurt that. Then we couldn’t eat here.”

I handed her a plate. “Hush and go get some food.”

I wandered over to the omelet station first. “Y’all got shrimp today, Murray?”

“As a matter of fact, we do, Southern boy,” he called back.

I piled my plate high with creamed spinach—hey, I needed my strength—and fresh rolls while waiting for my double omelet.

“Thanks, Yankee,” I called to my friend in the chef’s hat.

If I were honest, I didn’t want to leave this place. I could have last year, but a small part of me was scared to go out in the real world. Hafton was good to me; pampered me, even. Would the real world be as nice?

Cate stepped up next to me carrying a tray with a big salad piled high with fried chicken strips and loads of french fries on the side. The girl destroyed any worries I might have had, always making me feel like everything would work out. She was strong in a way I wasn’t. Look at how she’d lost her major and was finding new purpose.