Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

Decker ignored the steaks, went straight for the pan roasted sea bass, and has been drinking water all night.

I take a long, grateful sip of my second martini, thanking God for whomever had the foresight to invent them. It’s a massage, a hot bath and an orgasm all shaken and stirred into one delightfully numbing concoction. And the closer we get to Christmas, the more numb I need to be.

“You look like you’re enjoying that,” Decker says, pushing his plate away.

“And it looks like you didn’t enjoy that.” I nod toward his half-eaten fish.

“No, it was delicious. I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.”

“And you decided to forego the alcohol, too? Even though martinis and steak are your faves?” I shouldn’t toy with him, but it’s kind of fun watching a man so notoriously pursued by women making excuses to spend time with me, even though I’m not exactly sure what he wants.

Scratch that.

The barely concealed lust steaming in his eyes tells me what he wants. Problem is, I think I might want it, too, but I can’t. If my vagina was the only thing I had to worry about, this would be a no-brainer. Six feet and seven inches of tanned, beautiful man. What’s there to think about? But even just in our first week working together, I’ve seen a depth to him I didn’t expect. The same determination and commitment to excellence that has him Hall of Fame-bound, he’s applied to guest hosting. TV’s a steep learning curve, and I gotta give it to him. He’s doing a great job. He’s funny, sharp, thinks on his feet, and can talk any other sport almost as easily as he can basketball. For most women that wouldn’t be a turn on, but for me? Yeah, very much so. With a man like Decker, the vajayjay isn’t the only body part to consider. He could endanger my heart, and that troubled organ still hasn’t recovered from Will.

“So, seems like we have pretty much opposite picks for every prediction,” Decker says, leaning back in his seat.

“Prediction?” I snap out of my own thoughts and tune into our conversation. “What do you mean?”

“For the Holiday Picks segment.” Decker lifts his brows, waiting for me to catch up. “For next week’s show.”

“Oh, yes,” I deadpan, warming to a subject I’m comfortable discussing. “Shocking that we’re at odds.”

“I know, right?” He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table and turns his body toward me, effectively blocking out the rest of the table. “We both have the Wolves and the Sabers going to the NCAA Championship, but I have the Wolves winning. You picked the Sabers.”

“Yeah, because Caleb Bradley and the Sabers took it last year,” I remind him. “What makes you think they won’t do it again?”

“August West makes me think they won’t do it again. If West hadn’t sprained his ankle last year, he could have taken it then. He’s got that killer instinct.”

“If we’re both right and they both advance, it’ll be one helluva final no matter who comes out on top.”

“It’ll be West. Mark my words. I recognize a champ in the making when I see one. Caleb Bradley may be the All-American Golden Boy, but August is the one to watch.”

His smile is smug, but I can’t help smiling in return. It’s basketball. I know my shit, but he’s lived it and has two championships to show for the years he put into the League.

“Who am I to disagree? You are the future Hall of Famer.” My sarcasm delivers the compliment backhanded.

“Don’t you forget it,” he replies with a chuckle.

“Did you always know you wanted to play ball?” I shock myself by asking. I don’t do lengthy conversations with this man. Or at least I haven’t over the last week. This martini must be dirtier than I thought. It’s going to my head. As long as it doesn’t start heading south, we should be okay.

“Always.” He shrugs. “Honestly it could have gone either way. Basketball or football. I had looks for both.”

“You were scouted for both sports? College?”

“Yeah, I played both even through high school, but it came to the point I had to choose.”

“What position did you play? Football, I mean, obviously.” Everyone knows he’s one of the greatest point guards to ever play basketball.

“What do you think I played?” He props his chin in his hand, the bourbon-flavored eyes brimming with curiosity. About me.

“Hmmm.” I tip my head and squint one eye, assessing. “Your leadership skills are off the chart.”

“Well thank you.” He dips his head and smiles to acknowledge the compliment.

“You don’t follow others well.”

His smile falters, and he glares at me, even though there’s still humor in his eyes.