On The Rebound

by Alexandra Warren

  Settling into her special chair as I took the loveseat, she answered, “A pretty young woman fresh off a break-up, and you really don’t think there’s a line of guys beatin’ down her door with their sympathy schlong in hand ready to make her forget all about… what’d you say her boyfriend’s name was?”

  “His name is…” I started before I realized, “Damn. You really almost got me that time.”

  Giggling to herself, she advised, “All I’m sayin’ is, until you know for sure that you two are on the same page when it comes to how you’ll move forward, you may wanna consider keeping your options open. Now turn the volume up on the T.V. for me cause you know how much I love me some Hunter Gordon.”

  Shaking my head, I reached to grab the remote off of her coffee table and lifted it to the screen only to discover that Ms. Jeanine’s favorite wide receiver wasn’t the only one on the T.V. He was actually being interviewed by the subject of our conversation, a bit of a scowl on my face as I watched ol’ boy get a little too friendly for my liking even though Bleu didn’t seem to mind.

  She was just being her usual bubbly self; a sight I should’ve been happy about, especially considering this was her first Sunday segment since the whole accident situation. But instead, it had me questioning everything as I watched her look just as comfortable with that nigga as she tended to act with me, cracking jokes, sharing laughs, making him chase her around the field as they ran made-up plays…

  “Whew. I sure wish I could trade places with her,” Ms. Jeanine commented, only making me feel more jealous since it was clear she’d picked up on the same vibes that I had. Or maybe I was buggin’, reading too deeply into what was really just Bleu doing what she did best in being able to showcase athletes in their most comfortable, human-like state.

  “Nah, fuck that,” I thought after ol’ boy had the nerve to lift her off the ground in an unnecessary tackle, Bleu giggling, “And that’s a wrap on this week’s B.T.B. Sunday,” into the camera before the segment cut back to the morning sports anchors. But all I could think about was what happened after that shot, a bunch of hypotheticals playing in my head as Ms. Jeanine sighed, “I just love the way she gets all you boys in a tizzy.”

  “All what boys?” I asked, nervous that I’d made my feelings about that shit too obvious until Ms. J answered, “Every one of y’all who’s done an interview with her.”

  Even though that list still included me, I continued to play it off by asking, “What you talkin’ about, Ms. J?”

  “I saw the way you were acting around Miss. Bleu when she came to the city to film that day, Kage. And you just saw Hunter acting the same damn way; totally smitten,” she explained with a chuckle, making me give a subtle roll of my eyes as she continued, “I bet you twenty dollars he asked her out right after they were done. And didn’t she and that one dude just break-up recently? Ooh, maybe we just witnessed the beginning of her something new.”

  Her excitement only had me more annoyed about the situation, trying to mask my true feelings as I hopped off the couch while telling Ms. J, “Aight, enough of your love connections. I gotta get to the arena.”

  “You wanna take a plate to-go?”

  “Nah, I’ve already loaded up on enough carbs,” I answered with a rub of my abs, leaning down to give her a hug in her chair as I told her, “But I appreciate you though, Ms. J. And I know you and your squad are gonna kill it at halftime.”

  “We also got us a T.V. timeout routine,” she shared with an excited grin, the fact that she was surely the one who’d bargained with the organization for the spot and choreographed the entire thing making it easy for me to smile back as I told her, “Break a leg then, superstar.”

  After walking me to the door, Ms. Jeanine wished me the same good luck before sending me on my way, the drive to the arena leaving me way too much time to think about what we’d just watched. On one hand, I knew Bleu was just doing her job. But on the other hand, I knew what it was like to be in Hunter’s shoes, ready to risk it all long before the camera even started to roll.

  The real question was if Bleu had given him any play or not.

  I mean, I knew her rule about not dating athletes used to be strict. But the fact that we’d messed around a little bit meant it wasn’t totally true. And now I couldn’t help but wonder if she was exploring the field, keeping her options open the same way Ms. Jeanine had suggested I do.

  To be real, I hadn’t even planned on entertaining that advice since Bleu was the only one I wanted. But something about that interview had me giving it more thought, especially once I got to the arena and watched it back a second time on my phone.

  Bleu had done her thing, and the internet was talking like they always did. But there was one tweet in particular that caught my attention.

  “Bleu Taylor already snagged the highest-paid wide receiver in the league after all that mess?! We love to see it. #ReboundQueen”

  Whether that was true or not, the possibility had me charged up as I put my phone away so that I could get started on my pregame routine. And even though it was tempting as hell to pull it right back out and dig deeper into the situation, I knew it was best for me to focus all that energy on tonight’s game instead, completely locked in as I ran through drills with Dre, did all my muscle activation shit with one of the trainers, and then just vibed out to some R&B until the arena began to fill with fans.

  For a Sunday game, the energy from the crowd was electric, making it even easier for me to just do what I did best in hyping the team up before we headed out to the court. And once the ball was tossed in the air by the referee for Zeb to tip my way, the only thing that mattered was getting the win, my squad making it look easy as we found ourselves on the cusp of a blowout by the time the fourth quarter rolled around.

  Coach Kirkwood let me stay in the game a little longer than the other starters so that I could hit my stat averages and continue my quest for All-Star status. But with seven minutes left on the clock, I was checked out to give our reserves some real live-game experience, that extra time spent on the bench allowing me to scan the crowd to see who was all in attendance.

  Not that I recognized a whole lot of people.

  But there were a few familiar faces.

  Season ticket holders, random celebrities, the Georges, my teammates’ family members, and… damn, who is that?

  She wasn’t in the familiar category, but she was fine as hell. And the smile she shot my way only made her finer, my eyes locked on her intently as she leaned over to whisper something to her friend - somebody’s girlfriend - before they both started giggling.

  Giving her a nod of acknowledgment, she waved back just as the buzzer sounded to signal the end of the game. And after going to say what’s up to some of the guys from the other team, I was glad I wasn’t tasked with the on-court postgame interview since it bettered my chances of being able to catch up with ol’ girl from the friends and family section, mad when I looked back into the stands and saw she was no longer sitting in the same spot.

  “Damnit,” I hissed as I gave hi-fives to a few fans on my way towards the tunnel, giving one last peek back to see if I could spot her before I decided to let it go. And with a towel over my head, I continued walking towards the locker room until I heard someone ask, “You looking for me?”

  Glancing to my left, I found the girl from earlier leaning against the wall, an instant smirk on my face as I approached her and answered, “Maybe. Is that aight wit’ you?”

  “I mean, I guess since you played a good game and all,” she replied teasingly before extending her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Keilani.”

  “Kage,” was the natural response that made her giggle as we shook hands, a reaction I didn’t understand until she asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t know who you were if you didn’t tell me your name?”

  Smirking, I insisted, “I was just tryna do the polite thing like you.”

  “Are you always so polite?” she inquired, the sensual undertone to her question ma
king me lick my lip before I answered, “Depends on the circumstances.”

  “Well if you’re not too busy tonight, maybe we can get ourselves into some… impolite circumstances.”

  Admittedly, it’d been a minute since I’d engaged in this kind of back and forth with someone other than Bleu. But I appreciated not having to guess what Keilani was on, her straightforwardness intriguing me enough to tell her, “I might have a little time.”

  “Only a little?”

  “Guess you gotta take my number so you can find out,” I insisted, watching her smirk as she unlocked her phone and extended it my way for me to do myself. And when I handed it back, her smirk only grew as she mentioned, “Looking forward to getting more acquainted.”

  With that, she went on about her way and I did the same, only to bump into Zeb who was standing at the locker room door waiting to ask, “That’s you?”

  Shaking my head, I told him, “Nah, but I might see what it’s talkin’ ‘bout later on tonight.”

  “My nigga,” he applauded, dapping me up before we settled in for a little postgame word from Coach Kirkwood. But I was much more interested in what had my phone buzzing in my bag, the fact that my mind immediately went to the usual congratulatory text from Bleu making it feel like a bit of a letdown when I was finally able to check it and read, “It’s Keilani. Save my number ;).”

  Lowkey, it felt like a sign; the universe’s way of confirming what Ms. Jeanine had told me earlier about keeping my options open. And even though I didn’t have any reason to be completely off Bleu, I also wasn’t about to set myself up by continuing to let all my eggs chill in her basket.

  Nine

  Working the sidelines in Nashville always felt like home.

  The fans were always so welcoming. The layout of the arena was easy for me to navigate after spending an entire season here. And I could always count on seeing some familiar faces; though there was one face in particular I was most interested in seeing since we hadn’t been talking as much as I’d gotten used to.

  I mean, now that the season was really in full swing and I was back at work, it wasn’t a total surprise that the communication between Kage and I had fallen off a bit. But honestly, I was starting to miss our frequent conversations about everything and nothing, secretly hoping that a little in-person correspondence would be just the thing to get us back to normal.

  Whatever that was.

  Before I could give it too much thought, I heard someone behind me say, “Still waitin’ on the call for my Sunday segment.”

  Turning around, I was met with a pleasant grin from the lady who’d made me a fan of hers on day one when I’d watched her hoop from a distance. But today, she’d traded in her Silver Spartans basketball uniform for a cardinal red sweatsuit that had a “Golden Geras” logo embroidered on the chest, the fact that she was involved in both programs only making her that much doper to me as I responded, “Ms. Jeanine, right? It’s so good to meet you.”

  My hand was extended for a handshake, but she pulled me into a hug, squeezing tightly as she asked, “Good to meet me? Girl, it’s good to meet you! You’re the celebrity!” And while I didn’t really see myself as such, I also wasn’t about to correct her on it, only smiling along as she stepped back and continued, “Interviewing all those fine young men. Mmm. Who looked the best in person? It was Hunter, right?”

  Chuckling, I answered, “Hunter is very handsome, but I was just doing my job.”

  And that was the truth no matter how much Hunter had insisted on taking me to dinner afterwards.

  According to him, it was the hospitable thing to do since I was in his city. But I knew better than to get caught up in a non-professional setting that could be taken the wrong way, a choice Ms. Jeanine apparently didn’t agree with according to the way she groaned, “Chile, you’re better than me, cause I certainly would’ve made it an all-access situation, okay?”

  At that, I bust out laughing as Ms. Jeanine did the same, the two of us kiki’ing until Kage appeared out of nowhere and said, “Ms. J, whaddup? What’s good, Bleu?”

  “Hey… Kage,” I responded, immediately picking up on some weird energy between us as I watched him pull Ms. Jeanine into a hug before he extended his closed hand my way for a fist bump.

  A fist bump.

  “What the hell is that about,” I thought, trying not to be awkward as I met his knuckles with my own while Ms. Jeanine asked him, “How many you got for me tonight, hun?”

  “At least twenty-five,” Kage answered with his usual charming grin that turned into a laugh once Ms. Jeanine challenged, “Then I’m expecting thirty.”

  “Aight bet,” he responded, shooting another quick look my way as he took off towards the court to warm-up. But before I could even begin to process what had just happened, Ms. Jeanine said, “Well I’d better get to warming up myself so I don’t pull a muscle out there. But I’ll still be expecting that call, Miss. Bleu.”

  “I promise you we’ll make somethin’ happen,” I told her with a smile, a piece around her active lifestyle already starting to come together in my head as Ms. Jeanine made her way over to join her dance team while I finished reviewing my notes for tonight’s game. And as it got closer to tip-off, I ducked into the more private bathroom reserved for friends and family so that I could check and make sure everything was on point, the perfect lighting tempting me to sneak in a selfie until I heard someone coming out of one of the stalls.

  Once she approached the counter to wash her hands, I couldn’t help but notice the Gucci bag she was carrying since it was the same style as the black one I already owned and the red one Kage had sent me on a whim. But instead of either of those colors, hers was taupe, making me wonder if I should round out my collection with the same shade as I took a moment to compliment, “Ooh. Cute purse.”

  “Cuter outfit,” she responded with a grin, giving me a quick onceover before she said, “You’re killin’ it, mama.”

  There was something about compliments from random women in the bathroom that always hit different, damn near making me blush when I told her, “Thank you.” But as she held the door open for me to follow, I also peeped that she was wearing a jersey with Kage’s last name and number on the back, something that wasn’t really out of the ordinary but somehow also felt like too much of a coincidence as I made my way to the court to get in position for the start of tonight’s broadcast.

  From that moment on, everything directly involving Kage became an afterthought, my job keeping me on my toes as I first used the notes I’d collected during the pregame pressers with the head coaches of each team to give an on-camera preview of some things to watch for. Then once the game got rolling, I was tasked with bouncing back and forth between the two benches so that I could give off-screen reports on information pertinent to the flow of the game such as injuries, adjustments to game plans, coach and player demeanors, and whatever else got mentioned in the huddles.

  Between the first and second quarter, I was back in front of the camera to film a quick interview with the head coach of the visiting team who unsurprisingly didn’t have much to say since his team was already getting their asses kicked. And then it was back to off-screen reports until the end of the first half when I caught up with whichever player was having the biggest impact on the game thus far, the live interview I did with Zeb who was dominating in the post making for good T.V. after he gave a hilarious soundbite about it being a “barbecue chicken alert” that I knew the analysts back at the studio would have a field day with during their halftime show.

  Unfortunately for me, turning the reins over to them for the time being didn’t exactly mean I got a break since I still had to collect updates on what was discussed in each locker room as well as try to get a quote from each coach about their plans for the second half. But before I did that, I took a moment to watch the Golden Geras halftime performance, Ms. Jeanine leading her squad in a routine to “My Type” by Saweetie that had the crowd on their feet cheering them on.

&
nbsp; Thinking back to our earlier conversation, I couldn’t help but laugh at the song choice as I yelled, “I know that’s right, Ms. J!” giggling as the other old-timers tried their best to keep up with her high energy. But it was obvious that she was the star of the show, the other dancers circling around to hype her up as she finished off their performance with a solo that ended in the splits and made the crowd go nuts.

  As they exited the court, I dished out hi-fives to as many dancers as I could reach, their wholesome energy putting me in the best of moods as I started to make my way down the arena hall that would eventually land me at the home team’s locker room. But after passing the friends and family bathroom area, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following me, stopped dead in my tracks once I heard whoever it was mutter, “Couldn’t keep her man happy. But at least the bitch kept her job.”

  The petty giggles that followed forced me to turn around so that I could ask, “I’m sorry. Did one of you have something you needed to say to me?”

  After a second, the bolder of the two stepped up to suggest, “You know I did you a favor, right? You should be thanking me.”

  “And you are?” I asked, my eyes squinted as her sidekick replied from behind, “Don’t act like you don’t know her. Your boy Todd sure does.”

  After a second, longer look, I realized, “Ohhhh. You’re the crash dummy,” taking a step closer to give her a polite smile and a little pat to the shoulder when I told her, “Glad to see your face is all healed up, sweetie.”

  “Don’t play that nice bitch shit with me,” she threatened, giving a sinister grin as she crossed her arms and insisted, “Todd already told me how you really are.”

  Her ridiculous claims only made me chuckle. “I’m sure he told you a lot of things right before he almost got the both of y’all killed. But again, the liquid stitches were a good choice.”