Hooped #3 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series, Book #3) (7 page)

When Devon’s gaze connected with mine, I felt a little
electric jolt, a crackle down my spine that warmed me up all over. I felt
myself grinning—unable to help myself—even as I cheered for the team in
general. Devon grinned back, changing the way he waved at the
crowd in general
to the way he waved at me in
particular before going back to his hyped-up bouncing.

The team stripped out of their sweats, revealing their
jerseys and shorts, and the sight of Devon’s legs, his arms—knowing what was
underneath as well as I did—made me shiver again. I watched as he chatted with
Miles, as he talked to other members of the team, stretching and flexing,
getting ready to head out to warm up on the court itself. He looked so happy;
happier than I had ever seen him at another game.
It’s because of you. He’s this happy, this excited, because of you. He
loves the game, but he’s
really
—genuinely—glad
you’re here.
The thought made me smile even more.

Devon glanced at me again, giving me a little flirty
smile as he ran out onto the court with the rest of the team. They took up
their positions on the opposite side from the other team and began to run their
drills, warming up as the crowd cheered until I was certain that the entire
arena of people would be hoarse the next day. I was cheering and screaming
right along with them, though I couldn’t make myself cheer specifically for
Devon like some of the girls behind me were doing; the thought of calling
attention to myself that way was just too much. I completely forgot about the
other team on the court, watching my own team—and the man I loved on the
team—as they went through their drills, passing and darting around, making
shots. It was not quite as exciting as the game itself would be, but it was fun
to watch them, to notice the little refinements to their techniques from the
practice I had watched before.

The two teams went back to the
sidelines,
and the packed arena went quiet as the announcer came
back on, informing everyone that the national anthem was about to start. I took
advantage of the lull to catch my breath; my heart was hammering in my chest,
but at least I could slow down my breathing, get myself a little calmed down.
Northwestern had a reputation for having a tough team—I had looked them up long
before, interested in their players as competition for Devon and the team as a
whole. The game was going to be exciting and probably long; I needed to
conserve my energy.

I stayed standing during the national anthem, hand
over my heart, even though my eyes sought out the sight of Devon on the
sidelines, barely fidgeting. I smiled to myself, thinking that of course he was
trying to be respectful—but he wanted more than anything to get the game
started, to be on the court, showing off the way he always did, scoring points,
running back and forth on the boards. He wanted to be out there like five
minutes ago; anything that made him wait was going to be difficult for him to
deal with, even if he wanted to be polite and proper.

The national anthem ended, and the two teams’ opening
lineup took the floor for the tip-off. I stood as close to the edge as I could,
along with everyone else in the court-side seats. I found myself holding my
breath as the ref came out, ball in hands,
the
crowd
absolutely silent as we waited for that one instant. I pressed my lips together
as the ball went up.

Northwestern got possession of the ball; the opposing
team’s side of the arena erupted in cheers, and I watched as our side scrambled
into defensive positions. Devon moved across the court like lightning, dodging
and darting until he grabbed the ball out of one of the players’ hands in the
midst of a pass. Then the play flowed to the other end of the court, and Devon
glanced at me quickly, giving me another one of his little grins. I found
myself smiling back even as I watched him dodge the grab from a member of the
other team,
feinting
away and moving into
position.

Devon scored the first basket of the game—a two-point
throw that sank beautifully through the net, making everyone on my side of the
arena cheer. A Northwestern player intercepted the ball but only got halfway
across the court before Miles managed a steal, passing it to Devon who passed
it back to him at the three-point line. It was already obvious that the game
was going to be a high-scorer—at least to me, and to the announcer, who was
barely keeping up with the two teams’ movements.

I watched as the first quarter of the game heated up,
jumping up and down and cheering as the two teams moved from one end of the
court to the other—stealing, rushing to get to the other net, losing the ball,
regaining it. Devon was at the peak of his performance, getting shots and
assists left and right, stealing the ball whenever there was an opening. I
cheered, still not daring to call out his name, but just as excited as the
rowdiest fan-girl in the stands watching him. By the time the first quarter
ended, the score was 15-12 in our favor, and Devon dashed to the sidelines to
rehydrate. I bit my lip, watching him; he was already drenched in sweat,
glowing with it, looking as close as he could to the way he had in bed with me
the night before—it was as if, for a moment, the crowd around me and the game
going on had disappeared. I felt my body heating up, and flashes of memory
flitted through my mind at the sight of Devon. He looked up into the crowd and
found me in an instant, and held my gaze for a long moment, his lips curling
upward in a knowing little smile.

Devon sat out the first half of the second quarter,
catching his breath, throwing me
little,
flirting
glances as the game went on out on the court. Then the coach
changed up, and Devon took the floor again, running out and flashing me a
little grin as he went into position. It seemed like every time he stole the
ball, or scored a basket, or managed to evade the other team’s defense, he
managed to find me in my seat and grin at me—as if to tell me that I was the
reason he was playing so well. I kept my cheering up all through the second
quarter of the game, getting drenched in sweat as I jumped up and down in front
of my seat, not sitting down for even a minute. We scored fifteen more points
to
Northwestern’s
eight, giving us a fairly solid
lead heading into halftime.

I slipped away from my seat when Devon and the team
left the court to head into the lockers, knowing there was no real point in
sticking around for the halftime show. I had seen it so many times before, and
if Devon wasn’t there playing—and my throat was already hoarse from cheering
and screaming—I might as well take advantage of the break to get something to
drink. I bought a soda and a water, deciding on some cheap nachos at the last
minute before I hurried back to my place, cramming the food into my mouth so
that I would be ready to cheer once more when the teams came out again.

The second half of the game started, and I was on my
feet once more, cheering my head off, jumping up and down. Devon was just as on
fire as he had been before, moving fast on his feet, ducking and dodging,
passing and taking passes. Within the first minutes of the second
half,
he and Miles had extended our lead on
Northwestern by nine points—making it even harder for the other team to try and
even contemplate winning the game. Even better, Devon kept looking for me in
the stands, grinning at me, showing off seemingly for me alone—though I knew
objectively that he would have shown off even if we weren’t dating, even if
we’d never even met before, it still warmed my heart that he seemed to be
looking to see how impressed I was.

The crowd was absolutely wild as Northwestern managed
to score another three baskets in the third quarter, bringing the score closer
to even—but not quite close enough. The fourth quarter
began,
and our team shifted into defense; the coach knew as well as
anyone watching that as long as we kept our lead, we would win. Devon still
managed two solid, beautiful shots—increasing the lead—but for the most part
they were playing a defensive game, stealing the ball back, running out the
clock. Devon’s moves became even flashier, misdirecting the other team’s
players, darting back and forth, weaving his way across the court.

The game came to an end with our team as the winners,
and the entire section lit up—cheering, screaming, jumping up and down until
the whole seating area seemed to shake and tremble. The team celebrated out on
the court, jumping up and down, high-fiving each other and chest bumping. I
laughed at the sight of Devon and his teammates running around, cheering, and
accepting their accolades from the crowd. I managed to sit down finally, out of
breath and hoarse, exhilarated from the game. I needed to use the bathroom and
get to the lockers. More than I had all night, I absolutely wanted to be with
Devon as soon as humanly possible.

Chapter
Nine

I went to the bathroom quickly, threw away my trash,
and decided to head for the lockers as quickly as possible. Most of the crowd
was starting to come out of the stands, heading for the exits rather than the
locker rooms; it was like trying to swim upriver, getting through them and
moving
against
their herd-like steps to
get to where I wanted to be. I was already tired, almost exhausted from my
cheering; but I knew that I needed to see Devon—I needed to hug him, kiss him,
and as soon as possible, I needed to be alone with him in his room.

When I arrived at the locker room area, I saw that
there were more than a few girls who had made their way there, along with some
of the local newspapers. Our team was keeping up quite the winning streak—and
Devon was the reason why. I stood off to the side, away from the basketball
bunnies, fidgeting as the sweat cooled and dried on my skin.
At least you’re not wandering around
aimlessly looking for him this time,
I thought.
No chance you’ll miss him. No
one’s
come out yet, and if Devon had, he’d have found you first.
I pictured him
in my mind, showering as quickly as he could in the locker room, in just as
much of a hurry to get to me as I was to see him.

The crowd gradually thinned, and while I didn’t know
for sure how much time was passing as I waited, it seemed like a long time
indeed; the people heading for the parking lot, heading for parties on campus
or just their dorms, were trickling out. Some of the fan-girls even started to
wander away as the minutes dragged on, and I started to feel anxious. There was
no way that I could have missed Devon; I hadn’t taken that long to use the
bathroom—and he would have definitely stopped to shower. I wondered if someone
might have been injured, I wondered if that someone might have been Devon. He
had been showing off—but he hadn’t shown any signs of being hurt throughout the
game. He hadn’t taken any falls; he hadn’t been in any fights. I caught up my
bottom lip between my teeth and worried at it, looking around for some sign as
to what was going on.

Some of the other players started to come out of the
lockers, and my worries seemed to both dissolve and
deepen
at the same time. I smiled at the players who I’d met at the
frat as they came through; the journalists hanging out around the entry to the
lockers were asking questions I didn’t quite understand—but none of the players
were commenting, except to say that they’d had a great game, and they were
going to wait and see about the tournament. I fidgeted, looking around
constantly, wishing I had some idea—any idea—of where Devon was inside of the
lockers, and what he was doing. Surely it wasn’t taking him this long to shower
and change. I couldn’t help feeling like something had to have gone wrong, and
I thought back to the last time I’d waited for Devon, when I’d ended up seeing
him wrapped in Kelly’s arms, though I hadn’t known it was Kelly.

The basketball groupies started to filter away, some
of them wandering towards the exits with the players who came out. I tried not
to feel the panic that was rising up inside of me, the worry that was growing
deeper and deeper as I waited longer and longer for Devon to appear. I
swallowed against the lump in my throat, counting the number of players who
came out, trying to do the mental math to figure out who was missing. Evans
talked to me for a few minutes, stopping short. “Hey, Jenn, how’s it going?” he
asked, giving me a polite little smile.

“Pretty good,” I said. I remembered that Evans had
been one of the guys playing video games in the living room when I’d visited
the Phi Kappa house before. “Is—is Devon okay?” I glanced around, lowering my
voice so that none of the few journalists and fan-girls hanging around would
hear me. Evans glanced sideways, making a face before he met my gaze once more.

“Yeah, he’s okay. Should be out soon.” The expression
on his face—that little flicker of uncertainty—made me think that I wouldn’t
like what would happen when Devon came out.
Oh
god. Oh god. He’s with some girl in there, just like Kelly said—just like everyone
said.

“Heading back to the frat?” I asked, keeping my voice
as light as possible. Evans nodded.

“Yeah—yeah, I’ll probably see you there.” He patted my
shoulder and sauntered away after giving me another friendly smile.

After a few more
minutes,
the coach came out looking at the journalists. “I’m going to need you all to
head out,” the coach said, keeping his voice carefully level. “No one has
anything to say about the game you haven’t heard already.”