“Will do, thanks.” I had totally different plans: I wanted to try to call my midnight caller, she was funny. I opened my locker door and pulled out shorts and a shirt from my duffle bag.
The score was sixty-two to sixty-six, and the Bulls were winning. Dominic recovered the rebound, passed it to Gage, who passed to LeShawn, who shot from the three-point line and scored.
Two down with seven seconds on the clock.
It was their ball, but Dominic stole it from their point guard, brought it over half court and then spun right before crossing over and passing it hard toward where I was supposed to be. I was running, breaking free of my guard and reaching the ball with two seconds left on the clock.
The buzzer blared a second after the ball lost contact with my fingertips, and it was as if time froze, no one moved. A trail of sweat ran into my eyes, but I didn’t blink, there was no way in hell I’d miss this moment. Then the ball hit the board, bounced back to the rim of the net, and rolled along the edge, teasing me, that motherfucker, as I held my breath watching it. When it wobbled, I inwardly prayed until it rolled over and into the basket.
The team and Lightning fans in the stadium went wild; although, we were silenced out by the overpowering disappointment of the home team fans. I totally understood that, but I was on cloud nine, we had beaten the Bulls.
“Holy shit, Skkye, that was fucking unbelievable,” Gage hollered.
“Aaron.”
“Aaron.”
Reporters vied to push forward and be the one to get my first quote. I finally stopped once my heart and breathing had slowed a fraction.
“Aaron, Sylvia Summers with NBA TV, you looked a little shocked when Dominic threw the ball to you, any comments?”
“I have to give high praise to Dom for that play, I heard the coach shouting for him to pass it to Casimir, so when it came my way instead, I did what I love to do, I caught the ball and shot.”
“Any clue as to why Dominic Flanders passed to you instead of Casimir?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I smiled and then moved in an attempt to get closer to the tunnel.
“Aaron, Mike Overbrook with Beckett Basketball, your contract is coming up for renegotiation, any truth to the rumors that you are looking at the Lakers?”
I paused, totally taken aback. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with the rumors, but I assure you that I’m not leaving. My contract still is solid and so is my commitment to the Lightning.” He looked like he was going to ask me something else, but I moved swiftly through the crowd until I was at my locker.
By the time I settled into my seat on the plane that would bring us to the next city we were playing in, it was almost eleven. Too late to call, so I sent a text.
Me: Hey, it’s Aaron with an A, lol. I wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Hopefully you got some aspirin and tons of water into you.
I was stunned when the tiny speech bubble appeared followed by her reply moments later.
Vivian: I wish I were sleeping. I am actually at work.
Me: Still? What kind of work do you do?
Vivian: I own a bar, which is probably the best job ever.
Me: Sounds like a dream job, but if you’re the boss, don’t you have people to stay late so you don’t have to?
Vivian: I usually do, but she called in sick at the last minute, so it’s just me.
Me: You don’t have security there with you?
Vivian: Nope. There really isn’t any need for it because of where I’m located.
Me: What’s the name of it?
“Great shot, Aaron,” Casimir said as he passed and patted me on the back.
I nodded and returned to my text.
Vivian: I doubt you’ve eaten here or heard of it.
Me: And why would you say that?
Vivian: My place isn’t close to the typical hangouts. Since you have my sister-in-law’s old number, I’m guessing you haven’t been in the area long, so the odds are in my favor that you’ve never been here.
Me: Is that your sly way of asking me how long I’ve lived in Orlando?
Vivian: Ha! You caught me.
Me: I’ve been there about a year and a half. But I just got this number. How about you, you still in Orlando?
Vivian: Yep, grew up not too far from here and have no interest in leaving. I’m wrapping things up here.
Me: Say no more. I’ll let you get closed up and get home. Can I call you tomorrow?
A speech bubble appeared but a new text didn’t come through. She was either typing the next Great American Novel or was she second-guessing what she wanted to say. My money was on the latter, but I didn’t want her to second guess, I wanted her to jump, follow this crazy urge. Then the words appeared.
Vivian: Okay
Vivian: But not before ten
I chuckled.
Me: Deal.
The next morning, I watched last night’s game reels, but at quarter after ten, I reached for my phone.
She answered with a groggy, “Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?” I asked.
“No, I just haven’t had my coffee yet. Hold on, I need to add some sugar and then take a long sip.” The sound of a metal spoon hitting the sides of ceramic mug was the only sound I heard, then silence followed by, “Okay, now we can talk. Rule number one is never talk to me before coffee.”
“I thought that was rule number two; rule number one was never call you before ten.”
Vivian chuckled. “Good memory, and who says men can’t be taught?”
“I’m keeping notes or I’ll forget. Anyway, sorry about interrupting you with your friends the other day, was just calling to check on you. You were really hammered that night.”
“Don’t worry about it, it gave them fodder.
