Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

“I’m on your beat?” I lean into the locker door, too, crossing my arms over my chest. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Well you’ll be seeing me from now on because I was just assigned.” Her gaze drops to my chest and I make my pectoral muscles jump. She rolls her eyes. “And I won’t compromise my professional objectivity with the ‘or something’ you probably have in mind.”

“One drink,” I urge, shifting against the door.

“My answer is still—” Her gasp chokes out the rest of her sentence when the precariously knotted towel slides right down my hip and plops at my feet. The sight of my dick, slightly erect and on the loose for all the world to see, leaches the air from the room for just a moment, the total quiet before a storm of laughter and good-natured cat calls.

“Oh, shit.” Ignoring my teammates’ snickers, I scramble to grab the towel from the floor, jerking it back around my waist to cover up my junk. I’ve been sharing showers and locker rooms since my dick was half this size, so I’m unfazed. Avery, though, looks like she swallowed her little recorder and it’s about to come back up with her dinner. Over the wolf whistles, a leftover reporter adds his misplaced mockery to the mix.

“Getting an exclusive, are you, Hughes, your first night on the job?” he asks with a leer. “An exposé? Deck would give me the scoop, too, if I had an ass like yours.”

What the hell? I’d heard comments like that all my life. Hell, maybe I’ve even thought them myself. This sport, this industry, is male-dominated, and we’re basically overpaid, overgrown adolescents, most of us, until we’ve been around for a while. Some of us longer than others. Hearing that shit with her standing right here, though, seeing the hurt and irritation spark in her eyes before she quells it, makes me want to knock the bitch-ass reporter’s glasses off his face. Laughter from a few others at his rude comment overtakes any hope I have of convincing her. I glare at the idiot already on his way out the door.

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” she mutters, jerkily adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” I agree, shaking my head. “He’s a piece of work.”

“I meant you,” she says, exasperation evident in her tone. “You’re the asshole.”

“Me?” I thrust my thumb into my naked chest. “What’d I do?”

“Could you just . . .” she sputters, and gestures in the general area of my groin. “Hold onto your little towel? Those are my colleagues. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman in this field? To earn their respect as an equal?”

My mouth opens to commiserate, but I never get the chance.

“The answer is no,” she barrels over my would-be response. “You have no idea because you’ve been catered to and coddled since you made your first triple-double in high school. Those other reporters don’t have to worry about being pinched or grabbed on the sly. It doesn’t bother them conducting interviews with half-naked men, which I don’t mind either until one of them pulls me into a corner and asks for a drink ‘or something.’”

I let those words sink into the quiet that collects around us after her diatribe. By any reasonable measure, this would be considered a rough start, but I’ve never met a woman who could resist my charm, my smile, my good humor. My tanned half-naked body. If I’m a betting man, I don’t think Avery can either.

“Soooooo . . . you’ve been following me since high school?” I break out my fail-proof grin. “That’s really flattering. I didn’t realize you were a fan.”

“I’m not a fan,” she snaps. “And if I were I’d be pretty disappointed with your sorry performance on the floor tonight.”

“Hey now.” My grin slips. “You don’t have to get personal. That’s my career we’re talking about.”

She turns to leave, tossing the last words over her shoulder. “And this is mine.”

I stand there like an idiot, thinking of all the ways I could arrange to meet her. I’m sure I’ll see her on the regular from now on if she’s assigned to this beat. I dry the last of the water from my aching body and pull on my T-shirt and sweats before I head to the hotel alone. I’m not worried that it didn’t happen for Avery and me tonight.

Maybe I’m being cocky, but I’m sure it won’t take long.

It never does.

2

Avery

Ten Years Later

“I’m convinced the fundamental problem of society is technology evolves much faster than the male brain.”

I aim the words at my producer and best friend Sadie, meeting her eyes over my iPad.

“How else do you explain dick pic scandals?” I ask. “Something as simple as not sending pictures of your dick because it could cost you an election, a career, a marriage—men just cannot grasp. It’s like this ancient urge to prove who has the bigger dick. Only instead of pissing on things, they send images of their penises into the ether.”

I point to yet another post about my co-host’s JunkGate. “I thought Gary was smarter than this.”

Sadie walks to the desk and peers over my shoulder at the screen.