“You’re not fascinated with the great Steph Curry?” he asks, mirth lighting his eyes.
“Is that who’s out there with Kohl?” I inquire glancing the men on the court. Kohl is matching this Steph guy shot for shot.
“You have the best seat in the house, a hall of fame shoe-in playing right in front of you and you’re sitting here reading a book,” he says shaking his head with a chuckle.
“Meh, basketball is not my thing. I know the ball goes into the net thingy if you want to score points but much more than that and I’m clueless,” I mutter timidly. Kicking myself mentally because I really should know more about the sport that Kohl loves so much. Even though I don’t like sports, as an intellectual woman I should at least take some time to learn the game.
“You have the main part down, I guess,” he chortles extending his hand, “I’m Paul George.”
Shaking his hand, “Hello, Paul, I’m Tensanne and that’s my boyfriend, Kohl, out there shooting.”
His eye brows shoot up and his smile grows while I shake his hand, “You really have no idea, huh?”
“No idea about what?”
“Wait, you’ll see,” he smirks, winking one dark eye at me.
Kohl keeps glancing my way in between shots, smiling. I give him a little wave and he shakes his head.
What the hell am I missing?
“Hey George, who’s that kid out there shooting?” a man calls from behind me.
Turning I see an older, tall, handsome blonde-haired man in an impeccable suit.
What’s with the tall men. I’m no slouch in height, for a woman, but these men are trees. That Paul guy stands and holy crap he’s gotta be pushing seven feet, the exact same size as the blonde in the suit.
“Hey, Mr. Bird. His names Kohl, uh Kohl . . . ,” Paul hesitates, turning to me for help.
“Black. His name’s Kohl Black. Power forward for the Jalapa State University Fighting Berries,” I finish, holding my chin high.
“What are his stats?” the blonde tower asks.
“Uh, I don’t know, but Kohl could tell you,” I answer lower my head, hating that I can’t rattle off the greatness of the man I love.
“He’s matching Curry shot for shot. Has he missed?” he asks Paul.
“Since I’ve been sitting here with this pretty lady, I haven’t seen him miss one,” Paul replies.
“Impressive,” the blonde man says nodding with appreciation, “Shouldn’t you be out there?”
“Yes, Sir,” Paul says. Grabbing the side of his pants, tearing away the material. The buttons on the sides popping revealing basketball shorts underneath.
Tossing his pants in my lap, he smiles, “It was a pleasure to meet you, young lady. Enjoy the game,” he says jogging to the court shaking Kohl’s hand.
Was I sitting next to a player this whole time?
Forgetting the man behind me, grabbing my phone, I google Paul George. My screen lights up with statistics and photos of one of the star players of the Indiana Pacers. The same man who was sitting with me for the last thirty minutes. I really need to get better acquainted with this sport, I think, feeling like a complete idiot.
The stadium starts to fill with spectators while the men rush off the court. Excitement buzzing in the air, the anticipation of the upcoming game runs like a current all around me. The smells of popcorn and cotton candy drift through the air making my mouth water. I wait, expecting Kohl to change quickly and join me in our seats.
The National Anthem plays, players are introduced and the game begins.
Still, I wait for Kohl.
The first period ends and cheerleaders are dancing on the floor. Surveying the stadium, my eyes searching, my heart wondering.
Where in the hell is he?
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ is a bunch of Disney crap.
—Kohl’s inner thoughts
Kohl
I’M IN ANOTHER world. This whole experience is surreal. I’m out on the court shooting hoops with Steph Curry and Paul George. Sweat is dripping heavily down my back, my heart is beating in my ears, my blood pounding in my brain. I’m sinking some of the best shots of my life.
My eyes find Ten when she takes a break from the book in her lap, I see her eyes sparkle with pride, she gives me a little wave and lowers her head back down to read. I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips, only my woman would sit at an NBA game, in the best seat available, with an all-star player sitting next to her and read a book.
The guys tell me it’s almost game time, they shake my hand, tell me how great my shots are and they hope to see me soon on the court with them. My head is ensconced in the clouds while we jog to the locker room.
Throwing my clothes back on, grabbing my bag I rush to make my way to my seat floating on pure adrenaline. I can’t wait to show Ten how much I appreciate this gift with my tongue all over her body. Almost to the door, I hear my name called. Stopping, I turn and standing before me is the owner of the Pacers, Larry Bird.
“Mr. Black, that was some pretty impressive shooting you were doing out there. It’s not easy to go toe to toe with Steph,” he says extending his hand.
“Y-yes, Sir,” I stutter, “Thank you and thank you for the opportunity.”
“What do you say we sit and discuss your future, Mr. Black. Come with me,” he instructs leading me into an office at the end of the hall.
Flutters fill my stomach, my blood rushes in excitement my minds races while I follow him into the office.
Forty-five minutes later I exit the office feeling like I’m in a dream. I hear the roar of the crowd, the thumping music. I know I need to get to Tensanne, she’s probably worried about what is taking me so long but I need a minute. A minute to comprehend everything that’s happened.
Leaning against the wall
