Full Court Press

by Sierra Hill

  She’s not built the same way I am. Anika’s the dreamer, like my mom, and I’m the boring pragmatic. Determined to make it on my own. To support myself one day in the future because that’s the way it has to be.

  I shrug my shoulders as I place the lunch plates and silverware down on the table, setting five places for the residents. Just as I do, Mr. Forsberg comes limping in slowly on his cane, giving me a bright, cheery smile.

  “Did you have a good nap, Mr. Forsberg?” I stop what I’m doing and usher him into his seat at the table. “You’re just in time for your lunch and I’ve got something special for you.”

  I lightly pat him on the back and wink, turning back to the kitchen to grab the soup, sandwiches and fruit bowl.

  “I like the sound of that. Is it my favorite, Lemon Meringue pie? My Martha used to make the best pie in the county. That meringue was so light and fluffy, it melted on my tongue.” His tongue makes an effort to lick his dry lips.

  “Well, I’m sorry for getting your hopes up, Simon. But it’s definitely not pie. But it is extra pineapple in your fruit salad. Hopefully that will suffice for now.”

  He looks down to the table and then back up to me, his bushy white eyebrows nearly disappearing into his head of hair.

  “I do like my pineapple, dear.” He winks. Such a cute man. Everything about him is kind and generous. It makes me wonder why he never has any visitors or family coming by to see him. I know he has a daughter and a few grandchildren, based on the pictures I saw the other day. But maybe they don’t live in the area.

  “Do you mind adding another place setting for lunch today, Ainsley?”

  I whip around to face him again and see the pure happiness brighten his wrinkled face.

  “Of course. Who will be joining you for lunch?” I ask, eager to find out about Simon’s friends and family.

  Simon places the folded paper napkin in his lap and looks down at his watch.

  “My grandson said he’d be dropping by around eleven thirty today. I’m so happy he’s coming to visit. I haven’t seen him…well, in a long time.”

  This much I know is true. I’ve been working at Ethel’s Estates for several months and not once has Simon had any visitors. At least not while I’ve been on duty. So I want to do everything I can to make this visit extra special for him. He deserves it.

  “That’s wonderful! Would you like to wait for him before you eat?”

  Just as the question slips out of my mouth, the front doorbell chimes, announcing the visitor.

  “That must be him now!” He exclaims in an animated voice that has me smiling over his excitement.

  Because we are a family home and some of our patients are early-stage dementia, we are required to keep doors locked and a security alarm armed twenty-four hours a day. That ensures the safety of all our patients and staff. All visitors, even if they are daily drop-ins like Dimitri’s wife, must be escorted in by a staff member.

  Since Gail is on the other side of the room still helping Mr. Parker with the crossword, and I’m closest to the door, I announce I’ll get it. I give a gentle squeeze to a still-smiling Simon’s shoulder and head toward the door.

  My own smile is still strung across my face as I enter the alarm code and open the door.

  And just like that, my smile dies a quick death.

  Standing on the front porch, towering over me like a real-life version of Marvel’s Captain America, is him.

  Number 23.

  I’m in such a shocked stupor that I just stand there, my mouth gaping open like a Monk fish, staring up into the face of that giant asshole.

  I see a flicker of amusement light his eyes and he cocks his head and smiles.

  To his credit, he takes a small step backwards, probably for fear I might reach out and slap him. Or better yet, kick him in the balls. He seems to read my unsaid thoughts and his hand moves across his thigh to protect himself where it counts. I want to laugh, but his presence is too much for me to fully comprehend.

  Everything around me fades away and I’m left utterly speechless. If you asked me my name, rank, and serial number right now, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. My brain is cluttered with too many questions. With curiosity over his appearance. And animosity toward him for being such an entitled dickhead.

  It doesn’t register why he’s standing here at my place of employment. At first I think he’s stalking me, but then I hear Simon call out from behind me.

  “Kincaid! My boy! Come in and let your old gramps get a good look at you.”

  My muddled brain processes what I’ve just heard. Kincaid? His grandson? There is no way this arrogant jock could be in any way related to Simon Forsberg. No. Freaking. Way.

  Our eyes are tethered to one another, his blue-green eyes locked fervently on my blue ones, neither of us wanting to be the first to look away.

  But I’m not interested in winning any staring competition with him. I just want to get back to work and then home so I can study in peace. Away from the likes of Kincaid.

  His name alone clearly depicts his born-with-a-silver-spoon in his mouth spoiled attitude. Entitled. Arrogant. My-daddy-can-fix-everything with his wallet.

  I despise him even more.

  The only thing going for him is that he’s related to Simon.

  Okay, that’s a lie.

  There may be one other desirable asset that I notice as soon as he walks past me toward his grandfather. His ass is covered in thin nylon basketball shorts, and is so tight you could bounce quarters off it.

  I’m still standing with the door held wide open when he turns suddenly and watches with cocky interest as my eyes dart from his butt back up to his face.

  Shit. I am so busted.

  I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment as he begins backtracking toward me. When he’s a chin length away, he reaches out his hand to introduce himself. Formally. Like a gentleman. But I know the truth. He’s a prick.

  “Cade Griffin.” he divulges, his voice pouring over me like whisky and chocolate.

  I awkwardly stick my hand out and he grabs it gently, pulling me in like a wild rabbit in a snare. I can’t help but look down to where we’re connected, amazed at the sheer size of his hand.

  Gigantic. He could crush every single bone in my right hand without breaking a sweat. Yet I feel enveloped in warmth, the gentle rub of his calluses doing funny things to the inside of my tummy.

  “And you are?”

  Suddenly Mr. Forsberg appears from behind Cade, slapping his grandson’s back in welcome.

  “This is the beautiful Ainsley Locker. My nurse. She sure is a looker, isn’t she?” He winks, his bushy white eyebrows arching upward and his hand clamps down on Cade’s shoulder.

  Oh my god. Can I die now? Did he really just call me a looker like I’m some sort of 1940’s pin-up girl? Embarrassment floods my cheeks again and I’m sure I’m as red as Rosie the Riveter’s bandana. It’s as if these two men want to outdo each other in a game of ‘who can embarrass Ainsley the most.’

  I try to get Cade to drop my hand, but instead, his middle finger begins drawing little circles into my palm.

  Ew. Really, dude? Can he be any less subtle? Boys in the sixth grade tried doing that to me on the playground when they thought it was cool. And it never worked. So why Cade thinks it’s a great come-on tactic is beyond me.

  Giving a swift jerk of my hand, I pull away forcefully and turn around to re-enter the house code on the door.

  That’s when I glance down at my bright pink scrubs. The ones with the penguins on them. Oh God. This day keeps getting better.

  “She is indeed,” Cade replies to Simon, his eyes roving over me salaciously. “Looking good, Ainsley. It’s like serendipity to run into you again, isn’t it?”

  Serendipity? More like just plain shitty luck.

  I did not want to ever see this guy again. I don’t understand his game. I don’t need a rich, cocky jock trying to make a play to get into my pants. And he’s putting more effort into fli
rting with me than he needs to. ´Cause it ain’t gonna happen.

  I give a sigh of resignation before plastering on a fake smile for Simon. It’s not fair to get him stuck in the crosshairs of this little strange exchange between his grandson and me.

  “Yeah, what an awesome coinky dink running into you twice in one week, Kincaid. Small world, huh?” You’d have to be deaf not to catch the sarcasm dripping from my tone. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me or something.”

  Either he ignores this comment or is hard of hearing, because Simon grins from ear-to-ear, looking excitedly between Cade and me, as if he’s watching some dating show with hopes that Cade will land a mate. Not in this lifetime, buddy.

  “Do you two know each other from school?”

  Cade and I both respond together at the same time.

  “Yes.”

  “No.” I say emphatically.

  But it just goes right over Simon’s head. “How wonderful! Let’s go in for lunch, Cade, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Simon shuffles into the dining room, using his walker with the tennis balls on the wheels and leaves Cade and me to follow him. Just out of earshot, Cade leans down, his breath warm against my face and he murmurs in my ear.

  “I have to say. I’ve never seen penguins look as sexy as they do on you, Ainsley.”

  I snort – loudly – at his horrible attempt to charm me. I tip my head up and sneer at him.

  “Does that sort of thing work on other girls, Cade? Because if you’re going for originality or sincerity, that sucked. Big time.”

  I roll my eyes and leave him standing there looking a bit flabbergasted by his crash and burn. I snicker inwardly because that’s probably the first and only time he’s ever been turned down.

  Returning to the kitchen, I open the kitchen cupboard and pull out two glasses. Then I grab an Ensure drink from the fridge for Simon and fill up the empty glasses with water. It’s when I walk back to the table that I notice Cade is staring at me over Simon’s shoulder, as Simon eats his lunch, oblivious to the strange vibe going on around him.

  It’s a bit sad to think that this is the first time I’ve heard of Cade coming to visit him. Simon is everything I could ever imagine in a grandfather. Kind, generous, sweet-natured. And it makes me a curious to know why. And maybe I’m also looking for a way to get in some jabs at Cade.

  I’d taken an instant dislike to him and his arrogant demeanor and full-of-himself attitude. I’ve had all of two previous interactions with him, so I honestly can’t say I know him at all, but so far everything leads me to believe he’s just a vain, self-important douchebag. And nothing like his grandfather.

  I slam down the glass of water a little harder than I mean to, gaining curious stares from both men at the table. Cade gives me a lopsided grin, which for all intents and purposes should make my insides all gooey, but instead have me wanting to dump the glass contents all over his perfectly coifed curls.

  A good defense is a good offense. Isn’t that what they say in sports lingo? So I decide to go on the offensive attack.

  In the sweetest, most innocent tone I can muster, I ask my pointed question.

  “So tell me, Cade…Why is this the first time you’ve come to see your grandfather? I didn’t even know Mr. Forsberg had a grandson.”

  There, that should hit him where it hurts.

  I didn’t count on Cade being such a good defensive player. He picks up the ball I just hurled at him and lobs it back at me. His smile goes from lopsided to full-on blinding white teeth.

  “Well, Ainsley. I’ve been gone most of the summer coaching at a basketball camp for kids in Tucson. And I just got back a week before school started. So I haven’t had much time in between school work and informal basketball practices. But I did call you a few times this summer, didn’t I gramps?”

  Simon raises his arm to pat his grandson on the shoulder, his loving smile enough to break my heart. What I wouldn’t give for a family like that.

  “Did I tell you, Ainsley, that Kincaid was an All-American in high school? And is studying to become a biomedical engineer? I’m so proud of this boy.”

  Geez. Now I feel like a complete bitch for cutting him down in front of Simon, who is clearly enamored with the success of his grandson. It’s like the sun shines from this kid’s ass and Simon doesn’t mind the smell of bullshit.

  Cade gives his grandfather a smile and a head nod before turning to grin at me again. I’m not a mind-reader, but the look Cade shoots me basically says, “Good try. Want another go at the champ?”

  It becomes painfully obvious that I won’t win the battle because of the high-regard Simon has for Cade, but that doesn’t mean I can’t win the war. So I decide it’s time for me to return to my job and assist the other patients with their lunches, leaving them to have some time together.

  “Enjoy your lunch, gentleman. Let me know if I can do anything else for you.”

  Just as I’m about to walk down the hall toward the bedrooms, Cade calls after me.

  “Thanks, Ainsley. I’ll be sure to let you know if there’s anything else you can do for me.”

  Ugh.

  Game.

  On.

  6

  Cade

  Spending time with my grandfather wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. I’d actually had a lot of fun. The stories he told, although they veered off into some crazy tangents at times, were full of interesting aspects of his life.

  Gramps was a pretty fun guy and I feel closer to him than anyone else in my family right now. We also have a lot in common. He told me that before the war he served in, he was recruited to play for Penn State and that’s where he met my grandma, Martha. I really miss my grandma. She was this beautiful wrinkled woman with the softest skin. She always smelled like baby powder and made the best pies.

  I’ve been kicking myself for not visiting more often. And now it’s a condition of my probation. I’m required to serve three-months of community service. My attorney easily finessed a deal that allows me to continue working with the local Boys and Girls Club afterschool basketball program, which I already do. My parents’ condition is that I would spend time with my grandfather a minimum of once a week.

  But the piece de resistance in all of this is that I not only enjoy both these stipulations, but I’m also secretly enjoying watching Ainsley work. There’s no win-win in a basketball game, but there definitely is in this deal.

  Ainsley has an inner beauty that goes well beyond anyone I know. She’s youthful, but holds a degree of maturity I’ve not seen in other females my age. I had to hold myself back on more than one occasion from slipping my fingers through her dark, inky hair and untying it from the low-hanging ponytail she wore it in. I wanted to feel the texture of it, because it looked so soft, and let it hang across her face to accentuate her alabaster skin, the curve of her long graceful neck, and the strong, stubborn chin that jut out with determination.

  She’d tried hard to ignore me during my four-hour visit, but she couldn’t avoid interacting with my grandfather or the other patients. I could sense she didn’t like me there. Or like me in general, actually, which leaves me utterly confused.

  What did I ever do to this girl that would make her detest me so much? I figured out early on that we hadn’t hooked up. That much was clear. I would have remembered a body like hers. Did I do or say something rude when I met her at the café? There’s no doubt that I was riding a roller coaster of emotion that morning and my dad was reading me the riot act, which made me angry and obstinate, but I don’t think I said anything nasty to her.

  But the more I observed Ainsley work, and the way she carried herself, I knew she would never be one of those girls I banged at a party. What I saw in her was enough to convince me that this girl was the real deal.

  Her smile, when given freely, is as bright as the sun and does something weird to my insides. It packs a punch. The sweet charm she uses on the male patients, which as far as I can tell
are the only occupants in the home, is easygoing and natural. She embodies a sweetness so genuine that even the grumpy octogenarians couldn’t resist laughing or smiling back at her.

  The funny thing is, I don’t normally go for the sweet girls. They don’t interest me. Sweet girls always want something I’m not willing to give them and aren’t willing to give me what I want. I am a horny-all-the-time nearly twenty-one-year-old male. Getting into a girl’s panties has been top of my list of priorities since I was fifteen. That and basketball. Oh, and food. Food is a big priority, too.

  Just as that thought entered my brain, my stomach growls, reminding me that I have to grab something before my practice later this evening. Officially, team practices couldn’t begin until mid-October. But we players have to stay in shape and limber all year long. Many of us play the entire summer on various squads. As for me, I coach high-school kids at The Boys and Girls Club, and also play on a traveling team. I live and breathe the sport of basketball.

  My grandfather gives me a sad smile as I begin packing up the deck of cards we’d been using the last hour playing gin rummy.

  His shaky, wrinkled hand stretches out to touch mine. “I’m glad you came to visit me, Kincaid. I had a good time today, even though you whooped my ass in gin. I’d be penny broke if we’d been playing for real money.”

  I laugh, but feel a stab of guilt wash over me. My grandfather doesn’t know the real reason behind my visit. As Ainsley pointed out earlier, I haven’t been by to see him since…well, since my mom, my sisters and I came to visit him last Christmas. I am pretty certain my mom didn’t mention the reason to him when she called him this week. Knowing him a little better now, I think he would be wounded to know about the trouble I’ve gotten myself into and that this visit, and others to come, were basically forced upon me. So, yeah. I’m not about to burst his bubble with the truth.

  “Gramps, you better start boning up on your playing skills for the next time, because I plan to kick your butt more often.” I stand up and lean in to grasp his shoulder, giving him a tender squeeze.