The team laughs, and I have to stop dribbling and bend over laughing myself at the look August levels at me.
“Wow,” Ean says, taking his time crossing the court to reach us. “I expected more from the team captain.”
August is the franchise player and the future of the team, but he’s only got a few seasons under his belt. They brought me in because of my reputation for discipline, my on- and off-court leadership, and because of my two championship rings. I know how to win. All attributes they’re hoping I can pass on to my younger teammates, especially August.
“Since you and West seem to have so much to chat about,” Ean says once he’s standing right in front of us, “let’s see if you can climb and talk at the same time.”
August groans, and I’m with him. Nobody likes climbing the rope. It’s old school and not one of our standard drills anymore. But that is part of what makes Ean so coveted. He’s a great blend of old-school sensibility and cutting-edge innovation.
“I hope you kept in shape over the summer break, old man,” August jibes as we head for the two ropes hanging at the far end of the court.
“Summer break?” I ask blithely. “What’s a summer break? I think I heard about those. Maybe I’ll take one some day.”
“Apparently, this isn’t the best way to shut down the chatter,” Ean says dryly, “since both of you are still running your damn mouths. Go at the whistle. Touch top and mat. Touch top and mat again.”
“Shit,” August mumbles. “Last time I’m talking to you during drills, Glad.”
“Well that’s one bright spot.” I give him a dead face and curl my hands around the rope.
I’m gonna smoke his ass.
The whistle blows.
August is out of the gate like a thoroughbred, racing up and inches above me. I pace myself, but never let him get too far ahead. No way I’m letting this kid show me up.
He’s still slightly in the lead when we touch the mat and start back up for the second climb. That’s when I make my move, digging deep for a burst of speed I keep in reserve. I’ve also got nearly three inches in height, six inches in wingspan and a good fifty pounds of muscle over him. My reach is longer, and I pull myself up higher with less effort. I tap the top and start back down milliseconds before he does. When my feet touch the mat half a breath before his do, I’m relieved I held my ground. I’m the guy with the rings. I’m the team captain, but in this league, you’re never done proving yourself.
“Age before beauty today, Rook,” I tell him through harsh puffs of air.
“Don’t feel too bad,” August says, swiping Gatorade from his lips. “I’m sure your girlfriend Lotus thinks you’re beautiful.”
That sparks the curiosity and jokes I’m sure he knew it would.
“Glad got him a girl?”
“When do we meet her?”
“Bet she’s a dime.”
I can barely focus for the rest of the practice with all the grown-ass men asking me nosy questions about my girl.
“Bet you wish you’d let me win, huh?” August asks, grinning like a thirteen-year-old while we walk to the parking lot after practice.
“No, but you do.”
“Nice whip,” he says, whistling and walking around the Urus. “That max contract money is long, huh?”
Banner negotiated a max contract deal for me the year before I left Houston. Lucky for me, since I traded the following year. It gave me a nice paycheck before I left.
“You should talk.” I click the truck open. “You got that franchise tag money.”
“We both know which is longer,” he says with no spite and much humor. “You’ve earned it.”
“Get it while you can,” I tell him, sobering. “Too many of us live high on the hog, and then when it’s time to retire, the butcher is closed. Make your money. Invest your money, and then make more money. Banner told me that from the beginning, and is riding me about it at the end.”
“The end?” August goes still, leaning against the truck and frowning. “You ain’t trying to leave now, are you?”
I shrug. “Everybody hangs it up at some point.”