Devastated

She dribbled the ball in front of her, the familiar feel of leather against her hand coaxing her muscle memory to life. She made her second free throw. Already she was up three to nothing. Eighteen more points to go.

She missed her third and failed to get the rebound. Ben dribbled the ball up top and took a fader over her. The ball bounced off the rim and into the net.

“Lucky motherfucker,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He had taken the shot from the three-point line, though in her version of Twenty-one, it counted for two points while all other field goals counted for one. A good three-point shooter had the advantage since a three-point shot was worth twice a two-point shot. Like her, he made two of his free throws, putting him up, four to three.

She beat him to the rebound, dribbled over to half-court, charged toward the basket, pulled back as he continued forward, and drained her own three-pointer. She made all three of her free throws. Now it was eight to four. And she got the ball back. But she missed her jumper.

After taking the ball up top, Ben attacked the basket. She planted herself in the key just as he went into the air for his layup, knocking her to the ground. The ball went in.

“Hey, that ain’t cool,” one of the spectators said. “Knocking a girl down.”

Ben offered her a hand up. “Want me to go more gentle?”

Refusing his hand, she got to her feet. “Hell no.”

“That’s right, you got girl power,” a female encouraged.

Ben made two of his free throws, making him down only one point. They exchanged field goals and free throws, working up a sweat, till she was eventually up nineteen to eighteen. She had the ball for her first throw. If she made the first one, she got a second, and if she made that one, she would get her third. But if she missed, she would drop back down to eleven. She could deliberately miss the free throw, but then Ben might get the rebound and go on a run.

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. “Not confident in your free throw?”

“Now who’s trash-talking?” she returned as she considered what she should do.

He lowered his voice, “When I win, our first night is going to be at The Lair.”

She nearly lost her dribble. Best to put an end to the game. She went for the free throw.

And missed.

“Ouch,” someone said as the crowd groaned in sympathy.

Ben recovered the ball, took it up top, and backed his way to the basket. He pivoted and drained a jumper over her head.

Shit.

Deciding that two can play head games, she inched in close to him as he prepared to take his free throw shot. “What do you have in mind for The Lair? You want me to go down on you?”

He turned to her and smiled. “Among many things, pet.”

His free throw went nothing but net. He made his next free throw and was within one of winning. Her heart clenched. She was going to lose.

But he threw his third shot casually, and it bounced off the rim.

It was almost as if he’d intended to miss. Why would he do that?

But she couldn’t dwell on it. She retrieved the ball and took it up top. Most of the crowd was with her and cheered when she made a basket from downtown. She then nailed her three free throws. She could win this. But when her gaze met his, her concentration faltered. Ben stole the ball and dribbled toward the basket.

She caught up to him, but again his height became an advantage. He pulled up, and even though she ended up fouling him on the arm, his shot still went in.

She had lost.

“COME WITH ME,” A WOMAN behind the check-in of The Lair told Kimani. It was the redhead who had delivered the invitation that first night.

The night had barely begun, and Kimani was all nerves, like she was the night before the Northern California high school girls’ basketball championship. She reminded herself that she had survived four days with Ben. She could survive another three. And part of her was almost giddy at the heights he could take her body to. It was getting there, the road to rapture, that frightened her.

“My name’s Amanda,” said the woman who led her up the stairs to the Upper Balcony. “I’m going to help you get ready.”