Smooth Play

by Regina Hart

  Andrea lay back down and watched him. Her eyes were sharp and intense. Troy covered his erection with the condom, then joined her. He needed to slow his pace. He ached for her too much. But he didn’t want her to think he was an animal without control. He didn’t want her to turn away from him.

  Troy drew Andrea into his embrace and kissed her, slowly, thoroughly. She shifted closer to him. Her body was soft and hot to his touch. He slid his hand down her smooth back, loving its curves and the toned muscle beneath her silky skin. He tangled his fingers in her thick, dark hair.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured against her lips.

  “I want you,” she said against his.

  Troy closed his eyes. Her words strained his self-control. He rose away from her, then watched as Andrea rolled onto her back. She raised her arms, encouraging him to come to her. Troy settled between her legs, lowering himself gently onto her. Andrea wrapped her arms around his neck and he lost himself in her kiss.

  He lifted his hips to enter her. Troy squeezed his eyes shut and groaned into Andrea’s mouth at the pleasure of being in her. She was tight, hot, and wet. He stilled to catch his breath. Andrea wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed herself against him. Troy had to move. He pressed into her. Deeper. Wanting to get even closer to her. She arched her back, lifting her breasts. They were an offering he couldn’t refuse. Troy dipped his head to kiss and suckle her nipples. Her restless movements beneath him made his body burn. The spell of desire wove around him until it was just the two of them and their hunger for each other. Their breaths gasping. Their blood rushing. Their muscles straining. He needed their release now. He never wanted this feeling to end.

  Andrea threw back her head and screamed his name. Troy covered her mouth with his own, then leaped over the edge with her.

  16

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were having problems with your job?” Charles Marshall’s voice commanded his son’s respect from the other end of the long-distance telephone line.

  His father’s attack stole the satisfaction he’d felt in the wake of his afternoon with Andrea. Minutes ago he’d kissed her good-bye before she left for the Empire Arena to cover game four of the Cavaliers versus Monarchs series. “Shelley told you?”

  “No, she didn’t.” His mother was on the other extension. “We guessed.”

  “How?” Troy hadn’t really believed Michelle had told their parents he’d been fired. She was a know-it-all younger sibling, but she wasn’t a tattletale.

  Danielle Marshall’s patience sounded forced. “When we asked her when she’d last spoken to you, she sounded concerned. And, since all you ever do is work, we thought that was it.”

  His father interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.” Troy pinched the bridge of his nose. That had been a lame response. But it also was the truth. He hadn’t wanted them to think less of him, either.

  “What happened?” His mother made it sound like all his woes were skinned knees and all his cures could be found in Neosporin and a hug.

  Troy hesitated. How much had they figured out? “I had a difference of opinion with Gerry Bimm. He’s one of the team’s owners.”

  “You argued with your boss and got yourself fired?” His father sounded as though his head were going to pop off. Troy was twelve years old again.

  In the background, probably in the room from which his father spoke, Troy could hear the television. “The situation sounds worse than it is.”

  Charles spoke over him. “Were you fired?”

  Troy’s temples throbbed as muscle memory kicked in. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s as bad as it sounds.” Charles’s tone didn’t leave room for debate. “What were you thinking?”

  “What about your other boss, Jackie? Can she help you?” Danielle seemed to realize Troy would need more than Neosporin and a hug.

  He sank into his armchair. “It’s complicated, Mom.”

  “We aren’t nitwits. Explain it to us.” Charles made it a command.

  Was there any way out of this conversation? He stared around his living room and imagined his parents in the home where he’d grown up. His father must be in the living room watching the Washington Wizards on the big-screen television. His mother was using the extension in the master bedroom, perched on the edge of the mattress.

  Troy stood and wandered to his picture window. “I went on TV and accused Gerry of writing a damaging column about the team. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the anonymous columnist. Gerry demanded my resignation.”

  “Oh, my word.” Danielle whispered the words.

  His father’s response was stronger. “Are you kidding me?”

  Troy pushed his fisted right hand into the front pockets of his sweatpants. “Dad, I wanted to—”

  Charles interrupted again. “What were you thinking?”

  “That Gerry is a coward who hides behind other people.” Troy raised his voice to be heard above his father’s condemnation. “I thought if I exposed him, he wouldn’t be able to hurt the team.”

  “But you were wrong and now you’re out of a job.” Charles’s pronouncement was another punch in the gut.

  “Charles.” Danielle’s exclamation demanded attention. “His intention was in the right place. He was trying to help his company.”

  “His intensions are always in the right place.” His father was implacable. “His actions are the problem. He’s still behaving like an unruly teenager.”

  Troy stiffened, hearing the reference to his failed marriage in his father’s words. “Calling out Gerry was a risk I was willing to take.”

  “But you didn’t have to.” Charles paused as though searching for patience. “You don’t think things through. Your impulses were great when you were a kid working on your basketball skills, stealing passes and making rebounds. But you’re an adult. Be responsible.”

  “This isn’t the time for this lecture, Charlie.” Danielle’s tone was a warning. “Troy, there’s no need to limit your job search. Why don’t you come home?”

  Because I don’t want to be within easy access of Dad’s lectures. “Mom, this isn’t over.”

  Charles’s voice sharpened. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I want my job back.” Troy paced back to his armchair.

  “How are you going to do that if Gerry’s still there?”

  Troy dropped into the chair. Yes, how? “I’m working on that.”

  “Congratulations on exposing the Insider, Benson.” Jenna Madison shifted in her seat at the Empire Arena Sunday night.

  Andrea hesitated as she made her way to the empty seat beside Frederick Pritchard. Jenna’s warm greeting was still unfamiliar to her. “Thanks.”

  Game four of the Cleveland Cavaliers series against the Brooklyn Monarchs was less than an hour away. The seats were filling quickly. Tonight, the Monarchs would either win or go home. Kevin Rudolf’s “I Made It” filled the arena with a hopeful note.

  Andrea unpacked her laptop. The smell of the chicken strips, hot dogs, and pretzels fans purchased from the concession stands overlaid the arena’s basic gym scent.

  Sean Wolf leaned forward. “Yeah. How’d you know it was Mindy Sneal?”

  Andrea glanced at the Post reporter as she set up her laptop. “Troy’s divorce was the subject of her last post.”

  Jenna propped her elbows on the media desk. “I didn’t know Troy’d been married. Did you?”

  Andrea ignored the question. She powered her computer, trying not to think about the woman who’d been Troy’s first wife and whose lies had left permanent scars. “I knew Mindy was one of the few people who’d learned of it. As I wrote in my article, she admitted to being the anonymous blogger.” Her colleagues didn’t need to know about Troy’s involvement.

  Jenna inclined her head. “You’re good.”

  “Or lucky.” Sean tapped his pen against the long laminate desk.

  Jenna looked at Sean. “You would need luck. Other
people have talent.” She returned her attention to Andrea without giving Sean a chance to respond. “Your phone will be ringing off the hook with other newspapers interested in adding you to their staff.”

  Andrea could only stare at Jenna. It had been a long time since the other reporters had held a conversation with her. Now it seemed as though the chilly period of their relationship was over. The knot of nerves in her stomach relaxed.

  Andrea tried a smile. “I hope you’re right. I could use some good news.”

  Frederick Pritchard glanced at her before returning to his Internet searches. “Is it true that Sports is going under?”

  Andrea logged on to her computer to avoid facing her colleagues. “Yes. Will made the announcement last week. Unless something drastic happens, the paper will probably fold this summer.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.” Frederick spoke with almost stunning insensitivity. “It’s time you moved on. It’s been four years since your Jackie Jones story ruined your career. You’re ready for a fresh start.”

  Andrea blinked her surprise. “Thank you, Fred.” I think.

  “I agree with Fred,” Jenna added. “You’re good. You’ll get another newspaper job, and quickly. I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.”

  Andrea was breathless with surprise. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “So will I.” Sean sounded grudging, but Andrea would take even that type of help.

  Silence settled over the group as they prepared to cover the game. The Monarchs cheerleaders came out to entertain the audience with dance routines to various pop songs, including B.o.B.’s “I Am the Champion.”

  The arena lights went down and Andrea’s pulse picked up. The laser light show glowed above the fans and danced around the ceiling. The announcer called the names of the Cleveland Cavaliers’ players. Then his booming voice introduced the Monarchs’ starting lineup—Serge Gateau, Vincent Jardine, Anthony Chambers, Jamal Ward, and Barron Douglas.

  The game started, and Andrea tuned out everything else.

  Win or go home. Postseason was on the line.

  A stressful hour later for Monarchs fans, the team emerged from their locker room to start the third quarter and face their 21-point deficit to the Cavaliers. Their fans had booed them off the court at halftime in response to the 68-to-47 score. Many of those fans had left the arena in anger. The rest sat in silent disgust.

  DeMarcus Guinn joined the players. His hand rested on Warrick’s shoulder as he motioned the other players to him. Though his expressionless mask was firmly in place, he delivered last-minute instructions with an intensity Andrea felt eight rows up in the stands. If only she could hear his words.

  The buzzer sounded the start of the third quarter. DeMarcus stepped back. Andrea watched Serge, Anthony Chambers, Vincent Jardine, Jamal Ward, and Warrick Evans jog to the court. Her eyes widened as she realized Barron remained behind. On the bench, the team captain sat with his head cupped in his hands. On the court, the team had renewed energy.

  Warrick positioned his teammates with gestures and words Andrea couldn’t hear. But she knew his directions accounted for more talking than the Monarchs had done all game. Seeing Warrick on the court revived Andrea’s optimism. If you weren’t talking, you weren’t winning. She’d heard athletes say that often.

  Over the next twelve minutes, she sat mesmerized as the Monarchs challenged the Cavaliers’ lead. Warrick provided the strongest defense the team had seen all series. He kept the Cavaliers’ point guard from shooting from the outside or driving in the paint. He blocked passing lanes and stole rebounds, opening opportunities for his teammates to score.

  Serge, Vincent, and Anthony had hot hands in the post and the perimeter. And, for the first time during the game, the players worked Jamal into the offense. The rookie’s participation helped keep the Cavaliers’ defense off balance. By the end of the third quarter, the Monarchs had cut the Cavaliers lead by more than half, finishing 77 to 69. The fans were back in the game, whipped into a frenzy by their team’s resurgence. Andrea felt the electricity in the arena.

  The fourth and final quarter began. Twelve more minutes. Andrea sat straighter in her chair.

  The Monarchs returned to the court. The effort of their third quarter showed in their legs. Immediately, the Cavaliers sped past the older, more winded team, adding 6 points to their lead, 83 to 69. Warrick clapped his hands and called to his teammates. Andrea couldn’t make out his words above the crowd noise, but the Monarchs seemed to dig deep to pick up their pace. Andrea pressed her left fist against her lips as she watched her Brooklyn team make their stand to remain in the play-offs.

  Nine minutes later, the score stood at 103 to 98. The arena shook with excitement as fans dared to hope their beloved Monarchs would take the win. Andrea couldn’t hear herself think. Her shoulders tensed with suspense. Would the Monarchs survive?

  Her gaze shot to DeMarcus, who prowled the sideline in his black suit and silver tie. His attention bounced between the court and the game clock. Three minutes remained in game four. The Monarchs needed a miracle.

  On the court, Anthony Parker, one of the Cavaliers’ stars, inbounded the ball past Warrick to his Cavaliers teammate Antawn Jamison. Serge moved up to defend Jamison as the Cavalier worked his way into the paint. The six-foot-ten Monarch shut down the six-foot-nine Cavalier, forcing Jamison to pass the ball back to Anthony Parker. Warrick leaned into the open lane and stole the pass, sending the Monarchs back to their basket, the Cavaliers in heavy pursuit. Midway down the court, Warrick jettisoned the ball to Anthony, who stood at the perimeter and took a leap of faith for a three-point shot.

  Andrea held her breath until the ball swooshed through the net. The daring play had cut the Cavaliers lead further, 103 to 101. The game clock showed two minutes and ten seconds remaining. Andrea fisted her palm beneath the media desk. The Monarchs had to win. They just had to.

  The Cavaliers’ Ramon Sessions caught the rebound and hustled his team back down the court. Vincent caught Sessions across the court, defending him close. Sessions tried a quick spin around the Monarchs center, but Anthony moved in to close off access. Double-teamed, Sessions stepped back to try to match the Monarchs three-point shot. The shot traveled past the fingertips of Vincent and Anthony and over Jamal’s head. A foot from the basket, Serge leaped. He blocked the ball from its goal and held on to it.

  Andrea swallowed her heart. She watched as Serge dribbled three steps before lobbing the ball to Vincent. Vincent sped straight for the basket. Two points. The Monarchs had tied the game at 103. The game clock ticked down to fifty-five seconds.

  The Cavaliers head coach, Byron Scott, called for a timeout. Andrea breathed a sigh of relief. She needed the break.

  Frederick leaned closer to Andrea and raised his voice above the fan frenzy. “Even if the Monarchs win this game, they’ll probably still lose the series. In the history of the play-offs, ninety-eight teams have been down three and oh, and all ninety-eight teams have gone on to lose the series.”

  Frederick was bringing up the odds now? Really?

  Andrea controlled her irritation. “I’ll take this win.”

  The timeout ended. The Cavaliers moved into position. The Monarchs circled like predators assessing their prey. The Cavaliers’ Antawn Jamison inbounded the ball to Anthony Parker. Warrick moved in to defend. Parker passed the ball to the Cavaliers’ Anderson Varejao. Anthony stepped closer to Varejao.

  Fifty-three seconds remained in the game. Monarchs fans surged to their feet like the sixth man rallying their team. They chanted, “Defense!” Andrea pressed her fist against her lips as faith and tension blanketed the arena. With the score tied at 103, it was a whole new ball game. A lot could happen in fifty-three seconds.

  Serge defended Jamison. Warrick guarded Parker. Anthony had Varejao. Vincent was assigned to Ramon Sessions, and Jamal took Daniel Gibson. The Cavaliers played a wicked game of keep-away as they passed the ball from Jamison to Parker, Varejao, Sessions, and then Gibson without
anyone taking a shot.

  The game clock showed thirty-seven seconds. The shot clock wound down to eight seconds. Andrea watched the action on the court. Were the Cavaliers trying for a shot clock violation by exceeding the twenty-four-second limit? How would that benefit them?

  Five seconds on the shot clock.

  The Cavaliers’ Gibson dribbled twice before pulling up to take the shot. Jamal rushed forward to block him and ran into the point guard. A referee blew his whistle and charged Jamal with a personal foul. It was the rookie’s fifth foul of the game. The crowd let out a collective gasp and went silent with disappointment.

  Gibson made both of his free throws, giving the Cavaliers the lead, 105 to 103. Thirty-four seconds left to the game.

  Warrick grabbed the rebound. He sent the ball to Vincent, who advanced it to Anthony. Anthony set his feet and went for the easy layup. But Parker was waiting and slapped the ball straight into Varejao’s hands.

  Twenty-seven seconds on the game clock. A fresh twenty-four on the shot clock. Andrea’s heart turned to ice. Beneath the media desk, her nails bit into her palms.

  Varejao raced to the other end of the court, where Warrick stood alone to defend the basket. His arms were spread. His knees were bent. His stance was wide. The clock was ticking. Varejao charged toward him, at the last moment spinning left. Warrick danced with him. Varejao pressed forward. Warrick held ground.

  Twenty seconds. The shot clock turned off.

  Nineteen.

  Eighteen.

  The Monarchs were out of timeouts. They’d need to foul the Cavaliers—and soon—to save precious seconds.

  The rest of the Cavaliers circled the paint. The Monarchs took their defensive positions. Varejao passed the ball to Gibson. Instead of letting more time drain from the game clock, the Cavalier aimed at the wide-open basket ... and missed the shot.