Block Shot (Hoops 2)

“That was an awful lot,” Cal says suspiciously. “What did you say to him?”

Before I can answer, Alonzo responds.

“I will sign with Bagley,” he says in Spanish.

“Oh my God!” I turn a wide smile to Cal. “He says he will sign with Bagley.”

“Yes.” Cal rubs his hands together. “We just need you to—”

“Con una condición,” Alonzo interrupts.

“Um, on one condition,” I say.

“I’ll sign with Bagley,” he repeats.

“He’ll sign with Bagley,” I translate.

“If Banner Morales is my agent.”

“If Banner Morales . . .” My eyes saucer and my mouth drops open. “Oh, shit.”

Alonzo grins, and for the first time, the clouds break in his somber eyes.

“Oh, shit,” he replies in heavily accented English, chuckling and sitting back in his chair. “That I understand.”

“What is it?” Cal asks sharply. “Did I hear your name?”

“Um, yeah.” I lick my lips nervously and force myself to face Cal’s curious demand head on. “He says he’ll sign with Bagley on the condition that I’m his agent.”

“What the hell?” Cal leans toward me, anger in the lines of his face and his taut body. “What did you say to him, Morales?”

“Just what you said,” I fib. I did take a few liberties in the beginning, and I was honest when all rights I should have lied, but that’s all.

“Tell him that you are a fucking intern.” Cal squashes the word like gum under his shoe. “Who has not taken the agent test and isn’t qualified to represent a professional athlete. Tell him that you know nothing about this business and he would deeply regret trusting a wet-behind-the-ears novice with a future as promising and complex as his.”

I bite my lip, preparing myself to tell Alonzo what Cal said verbatim, no matter how ridiculous it makes me look.

“That is my condition. No Banner, no deal.” Alonzo responds before I can . . . in English!

Cal and I gape at his perfect, if heavily accented, English words. When neither of us have managed a response, Alonzo stands and starts for the door.

“Okay, okay,” Cal says to Alonzo’s back. “She’ll be your agent.”

Alonzo slowly turns and leans against the door, his eyes fairly twinkling at me.

“But she won’t have her degree for a few months,” Cal offers, his voice grudging. “And she has to pass the agent test. You need to be with an agency soon to take advantage of this window before the draft in June. Nike, Reebok, Gatorade—all of them will be sniffing around before the draft, and you need some representation in the meantime.”

Out of habit, I begin translating.

“I understood him,” Alonzo interrupts softly. Of course he did since I guess he magically learned English in the last five minutes. “But surely I can sign a provisional contract ensuring that as soon as Banner is eligible and available, she will represent me. You will guide her, yes?”

Cal slants me a side-eye and blows out a weary breath.

“Yes.”

And just like that, I went from lowly intern to agent for one of the biggest fish who has walked through the doors of Bagley & Associates in years. And all, I guess, because I showed some basic human decency and told the truth.

Let them have their Pride of Lions and their alpha male cliques and the parties and connections they don’t want me privy to. I’ll do this my way. Represent clients my way. Lead my way. Fight my way. Survival of the fittest, my ass. Who needs The Pride?