Am I flirting with Eli right now?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I woke up with a singular goal in mind. Show up and get this “basic training” shit over with as quickly as possible. Instead, I’m holding a basketball underneath a ten-foot hoop—which I only know because of the giant handwritten sign taped to it—trying to stop my stomach from flipping.
I have no clue why my reaction to him is so strong. I don’t want to react to him at all. But, good Lord, seeing him handle that ball in his gigantic hands makes me wonder how he could handle me. Which is an issue within itself because I don’t like to get handled. Ever.
I peek over my shoulder. Eli’s eyes are slits as he stalks toward me, and I cringe at how pissed he looks. Regardless of how I feel about him personally, I should probably rein it in so we can get through these lessons without killing each other. But damn, he makes it difficult.
I spin around, hugging the ball to my chest. “So, what are we learnin’ today, Coach?”
Eli stops in his tracks, the right side of his mouth lifting. “No need to call me Coach. Sir will work just fine.”
I roll my eyes. “In your dreams. It’s either Coach or asshole. Take your pick.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay, I laid out painter’s tape to signify the important areas of the court. We’ll start with the basics. You already know you’re holding a basketball.”
“Only because of your superb teachin’ skills.”
“Don’t you forget it.” He winks.
A tingle rushes through me. Shit.
He points to the net. “That’s the hoop. The goal is to get the ball into the hoop.”
“Fascinatin’, but I already know this. I used to kick Lee’s ass playin’ HORSE in y’all’s driveway.”
“Basketball is not like HORSE,” he scoffs. “It’s a team sport.”
I nod. “Okay. Well, how many players are on a team?”
He squats down in front of me, hands dangling between his thighs, pants pulling tight across his hips.
Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick.
I look. I can’t help it, he’s just hovering. Spread eagle. And he’s got big feet, so I really can’t be blamed for wanting to know if the saying holds true.
“It differs depending on the league. But in general, fifteen players on the roster. Thirteen of which dress for games. Ten players on the court, five from each team. The main goal is to score more points than your opponent.” He quirks a brow, standing back up. “You with me so far?”
My head bobs to his words, but my mind isn’t soaking in anything. Talk about an info dump.
Maybe I should take notes.
Holding up a finger, I run to my bag, grabbing the first notebook I can find. I rush back, plopping down with my legs crossed, and look up at him. His nostrils flare as he peers down at me. I shift in place, his gaze making me antsy. With the way he’s staring, you’d think I just dropped to my knees and offered to suck his dick. The thought brings a very much unwanted image to my mind, and even though I try to stop it, my pussy throbs.
The air grows thick as it crackles through the silence, and I don’t like the way it feels. I point my pen at him. “Don’t think ‘cause you’re lookin’ down on me this means you’re in a position of power. I just wanna be comfortable while I have to listen to that voice of yours drone on.”
He clears his throat and looks away. “Got it.”
“Okay, so five players on each side and the goal is to score.” I’m writing down feverishly, trying to hide the flush on my cheeks.
What just happened?
“How many points if they get it in the hoop?”
“Two points if they score. Unless—” He puts up a finger and walks to an area marked with painter’s tape. “Unless they’re outside of this area, right here. You see this painted arch?” His arm stretches as he gestures, and I force myself not to inventory every dip and curve of his bicep.
I divert my gaze. “Mmhm.”
“That’s the three-point arc. If they shoot from outside this arch then the basket’s three points, not two.”
“Uh-huh.” I frown, chewing on the end of my pen.
He blows out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to go into any of that today. I really just want to focus on the actual court itself. Once you get that down, we’ll get into owning the paint.”
My face scrunches. “Own the paint? That doesn’t even make sense.”
He smiles. “It will.”
Class is over for the day. It’s six p.m. and I am so ready for a long bath and a night of binge-watching The Real Housewives. My hand is cramping from all the notes I’ve taken, most of them from my lesson with Eli. My brain is still jumbled from all the “lines.” Mid-court lines, free-throw lines, sidelines, baselines, and center circles.
Who knew those shapes on the high school gym floor actually meant somethin’?
I’ll never admit it out loud, but Eli’s a great teacher and he’ll be a phenomenal coach. The Florida Coast Stingrays are lucky to have him. I can’t imagine loving anything the way he loves the game. It bleeds through in every word he speaks, every action he takes, making it impossible not to feel his passion.
Plus, he’ll be a nice decoration to the sidelines during the games. He is an exceptional specimen.
I send up a quick thanks to Mrs. Carson—may she rest in peace—for creating such a masterpiece. Now if only his personality could match that perfect face.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when my phone vibrates with a text from Lee. About damn time. Lee will put off calling me for weeks if it means she doesn’t have to hear me bitch about her choices.
Like not tellin’ me her brother was at FCU.
She grew up living a pretty charmed, sheltered life. Innocent in comparison to mine, but we balanced each other out. Still do. The yin to my yang. She was always full of sparkle and sunshine, until a douchebag boy moved to town and stole her light. Life slapped her silly and she still hasn’t fully recovered.
But I’ll take a sad Lee over a catatonic one.
My anger at Eli re-emerges as I think about everything Lee’s had to go through without him.
Lee: It’s been more than a day and I don’t see your big booty anywhere in town. Guess you’re all talk, huh?
Me: Oh, the threat is still good. I’ve just been busy dealing with YOUR DAMN BROTHER at my school. What the hell, Lee?
Lee: Oh, did he get the job there? Last I heard, he was only interviewing. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d care!
My eyebrows furrow, wondering why she doesn’t know. It seems like a big piece of information, and while I know Eli hasn’t been back in years, I also know they talk on the phone once a month.
I roll my eyes, reminding myself that I don’t actually care, and toss my phone on my nightstand. Laughter trickles in from the hallway, so I go to investigate, finding Sabrina and Jeremy sitting on the couch, giggling.
I put my hands on my hips. “What’s so funny, y’all? And how come I wasn’t invited to the party?”
Jeremy shrugs. “You stormed through here like hellfire and damnation were chasin’ after you.”
My lips twitch at his poor attempt at a southern accent. “Cute.”
“How’d your first day go?” Sabrina asks.
I walk over, nudging Jeremy’s leg to scooch him over. He doesn’t move, so I plop down on his lap. His arms come around my waist and I sigh, leaning into him. “It went surprisingly well, all things considered.”
“I still can’t believe you know Elliot Carson. That’s so wild.” Jeremy’s chomping at the bit to meet him. He’s a little starstruck, which is annoying.
“He’s an asshole.”
“He’s one of the best point guards I’ve ever seen play the game. It’s a shame what happened to him.” Jeremy sighs.
I push his arm off me, standing up and scrunching my nose. “Try to tone down that hero-worship some before you meet
him. I can’t have people thinkin’ I keep company with ass kissers.”
Jeremy laughs. “I’m just happy I’ll have my best girl at my games. I need that sweet ass on the sideline cheering.” He smacks my ass cheek, making me jump. “You gonna wear my number? Or is that like… against the rules?”
“Rules never stopped me before.” I smile. “When does practice even start for y’all? Coach didn’t go over any of that, just gave me my hours.”
“October. But you’ll probably see some of us around before then for conditioning.”
I blink. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Me neither,” Sabrina chimes in.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got a fine as hell, talented, assistant coach to help you study up.” Jeremy’s brows wiggle.
Irritation nags at my gut when I picture Eli’s arrogant face. But under the irritation, a spark simmers, flushing my cheeks and heating my veins.
8
Becca
It’s been days of monotonous classes and grueling basketball lessons. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Eli and I have come to an unspoken truce. One where I don’t antagonize him half to death, and he doesn’t piss me off just by breathing. I’m not sure it will last, but I’m going to roll with it as long as I can.
On Sunday, I gave in to the urge to check on Momma, but she didn’t answer. I haven’t talked to my folks since I got to Florida and Papa cut me off, but it’s not for lack of trying on my part. I should write them off completely like they seem to have done with me, but I’ve got a soft spot for Momma and I always will. I can’t just leave her in the snake pit without making sure she’s not bit.
I tried to tell her once—about Papa sleeping with the twenty-two-year-old youth leader. I was just trying to help, and I thought she deserved to know. In my mind, if Papa had the nerve to pretend he was a man of God who upheld his vows, then Momma deserved to know she married a viper.
I expected tears, and maybe sympathy that my eyes had to see what they did, being that I was just a thirteen-year-old girl. Instead, she told me it was high time I learned that all men are liars. That love was a fairy tale told to children, and fairy tales don’t exist. She told me to never disrespect her again by bringing it up.
I lost a lot that day. Respect for both my folks and my faith in God. If I couldn’t trust my folks’ love, how could I trust a man up in the sky who supposedly loved me the most?
Up until that point, I spent every day of my life loving God more than anything. I prayed every night at supper and then again by my bed. I looked at my folks’ marriage with hearts in my stupid eyes, and soaked up Papa’s sermons like a sponge. So when Momma sent me to the church, and I walked in on Sally Sanderson spread out on Papa’s desk while he rutted on top of her, shock froze my heart and dropped my stomach to the floor. They were so lost in their sin they didn’t even hear me at the door.
I still don’t think he realizes I know. But I do. I’ll never forget the grief of learning the man I thought raised me didn’t exist.
Love is a fairy tale.
I’m sitting in the stands of Waycor Arena when Momma’s name lights up my phone. Half of me doesn’t want to answer. Especially since she didn’t reach out to make sure I was okay after Papa cut me off. But the other side of me—the one that prods my insides to make sure she’s okay—gives in and picks up the phone.
“Hi, Momma,” I answer just as Eli strolls onto the court. He’s dressed down today, in black basketball shorts and a white undershirt that pulls tight across his chest and abs. Good Lord. He sets down his gym bag and smiles, making his way over. I muster up a half-grin, too pissed off he’s still affecting me to give him a full one.
“Rebecca Jean.” Momma’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I waited a good long time before makin’ this phone call, thinkin’ maybe you would come to your senses and smooth things over with your father.”
“Momma, it’s amazin’ how you can defend him. Why do I need to be the one to smooth things over? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She scoffs. “He said you’d say that.”
“God forbid you realize Papa’s word ain’t the gospel,” I snark.
“You watch your mouth, young lady. Now, I want you to stop this nonsense and tell me you’ll be comin’ home at the end of the school year.”
Irritation boils in my stomach, rising up my throat and coating my words. “I would, Momma, but you and Papa always taught me lyin’ was a sin, and I don’t wanna end up burnin’ in the fiery pits of Hell just to appease y’all.”
Eli’s eavesdropping, and not even trying to hide it. He runs his hand over his mouth, clearly stifling his smile. I beam back at him, unable to stop myself, my heart quickening while Momma’s voice screeches in the background.
“One day, you’re gonna need to grow up, Rebecca. It’s shameful the way you act.”
Her words slice through my moment of happiness.
I swallow and nod, my eyes closing briefly against the sting. “Well, I figure at this point you expect it. I’m just tryin’ to live up to your expectations.”
Eli’s lips turn down, his eyes boring a hole in the side of my head. I fidget, feeling too vulnerable under his gaze.
“Anyway, Momma. Thanks for callin’. School’s goin’ great, by the way, thanks for askin’. I’m actually at work, so I’ve gotta go.”
I hang up before she responds, sucking in air through my teeth. I don’t know why I let her words affect me the way they do. I should be used to them, I’ve been hearing them since I was thirteen. Time lessens the burn, but at the heart of it all, I’m just a girl who wants my folks to accept me for me. Not for who they want me to be.
I glance at Eli. His arms are crossed, sinewy muscles on full display, his eyes honing in on my face.
“What?” I snap.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I take the wild hair Momma gave me out of its ponytail and retie it up.
Eli’s still standing there, hovering like a damn gnat.
I throw my arms in the air. “We just gonna stand here, or are we gonna do this?”
Those blue irises trail up and down, assessing me. The ache from Momma’s shame drains away, replaced with the heat from his pensive gaze. I thought being around him would desensitize me, but instead it’s gotten worse.
I gotta get myself under control.
I can’t entertain thoughts of him for so many reasons. One, he’s technically my boss. Pretty sure we’d both get in heaps of trouble if I let him dive into my honey pot. Two, and most importantly, I can’t stand his stupid ass. Which leads me to believe my body is only reacting because I’ve never had a hate fuck before. Plus, it’s going on three weeks since my last orgasm, which is a goddamn tragedy, so I’m a ball of pent-up hormones.
“You hungry?” Eli’s voice snaps me out of my lustful thoughts.
“What?”
“Food. Do you wanna get something to eat?”
I look around. “Uhh… aren’t we supposed to be ‘trainin’?’”
He shrugs. “Seems like you could use a day off.”
His words shock me into silence. I’m not sure anyone has ever given a damn about what I could use, and even though I hate him, my chest warms at his thoughtfulness. “Okay. But you’re buyin’.”
9
Eli
We’ve been sitting at my favorite diner for thirty minutes and Becca’s barely said three words. The quiet is different than what I’ve come to expect, and I don’t like it.
The spark in her eyes dimmed every second she spent on her phone, a heaviness sinking in my gut as I watched. Which is funny because I thought I hated that fire. It’s annoying as hell. She’s annoying as hell, but I still find myself wanting to smooth away her frown and pluck the sadness from her eyes.
I lean back in the booth, taking her in. She’s sipping on her Coke, looking at her surroundings, those damn curls threading through her fingers. She does that a lot, I’ve noticed—play with her hair.
“Yep. The one and only.” She nods.
“Things okay at home?” I don’t know why I’m bothering to ask, it’s not like she’ll tell me.
“What is this, an after-school special? The coach takin’ out the player to bond and learn life lessons?”
I point at her. “You should learn how to shoot the ball before calling yourself a player.”
“I can shoot the damn ball.” She crosses her arms. “I’ve been doin’ it for days now.”
“You’re shit at it.” My mouth tilts up. “Maybe you should try harder. You’d never make the team.”
My heart skips when I see a flash in her eyes.
“Maybe I need a better coach.” She chews on a fry, cocking her head. “You really wanna get into how things are with our families? Out of the two of us, I’m the one who’s better off.”
That shuts me up quick. In all the time we’ve spent together, we haven’t mentioned my sister. It feels almost taboo, especially with the thoughts I have of Becca when I’m alone.
She drives me fucking crazy.
Besides, thinking of how close they are just highlights the fact that if Becca hates me the way she does, Lee must feel a thousand times worse. Sadness slithers its way up my spine, reaching around my neck and strangling me. I rub at my throat, trying to ebb the sting.
“You’re right.”
Her jaw drops. “I am?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath, leaning back. “When it comes to my family, we’re all pretty fucked.”
“Hmm.” She grabs the straw from her drink, plugging one end with her finger as she sucks liquid from the other. Is she doing that on purpose? I watch how her lips close around the straw, my cock growing as I adjust in my seat.
“You really are fucked,” she agrees. “How come you never go home, Eli?”
“What is this, an after-school special?” I mock. “It really isn’t your business, Rebecca.”
Beneath the Stands: An Enemies to Lovers, Best Friend's Brother Romance (Sugarlake Series, Book Two) Page 4
