Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

Point guard Barron Douglas folded his long, damp frame onto one of the bleachers. He ran both hands over his thick cornrows. “Why can’t we just enjoy the win? Why do you always have to look at the negatives?”

The team captain was frustrated. So was DeMarcus. He dropped his arms to his sides. “We’re still last in the Eastern Conference. Do you like being there?”

Barron dragged his tattooed forearm across his damp upper lip. “Of course I don’t.”

DeMarcus lifted his gaze to the other Monarchs. “We need to build on the single success we have.”

“What do you mean?” Jamal set the basketball on the tip of his left index finger and started it spinning with a slap of his right hand.

DeMarcus stepped forward and took the ball from the younger man’s fingertip. “As a team, against Atlanta, we were stronger on defense in the first half and committed fewer fouls. We’re improving in those areas. But we couldn’t match them for speed or shooting accuracy.”

Jamal barked a laugh. “Maybe these old men were slow and nearsighted. But I ran with them, and I got the looks, too.”

“What looks?” Anthony Chambers glanced at his teammates in confusion before turning back to Jamal. “You were shooting bricks, son.”

Barron Douglas chuckled. “You need glasses if you thought those were good looks.”

“We could have used your help on defense.” Warrick’s tone forced the young shooting guard to hear the truth.

Jamal bristled. “Coach said I was good on defense.”

DeMarcus shook his head. “I said as a team we were strong on defense and played a clean game. Individually, you carried the most fouls playing the fewest minutes. You have to do better.”

Anthony tapped his shoulder. “And God knows you were missing in action on the defense.”

Warrick shrugged. “What good are all those fancy shots if you don’t get the ball back?”

Jamal’s expression darkened. “At least I got game, old man. Your best playing days are behind you.”

Warrick crossed his arms. “If you want my spot, earn it, rookie.”

“That’s enough.” DeMarcus passed Oscar the basketball he’d taken from Jamal. The assistant coach caught it with one hand, then tossed it into the large metal cart with the other balls.

DeMarcus returned his attention to his team. “Thursday, we’re playing the Pacers in Indianapolis. The week before Thanksgiving. They’re a faster, more accurate team as well. We need to stick with what worked for us, a strong defense and a clean game.”

“And a late-night booty call.” A salacious grin spread across Jamal’s face.

DeMarcus’s body iced over. He turned to face the rookie. “Excuse me?”

The shooting guard chuckled knowingly. “You heard me. Ms. Jones fine-tuned your coaching.”

Icy anger melted to red-hot rage. DeMarcus clenched and unclenched his fists, straining against the urge to knock the lascivious smile from the younger man’s face. “Jaclyn Jones is your employer. She owns this team. You’d better use a respectful tone and language when you talk to or about her.”

A rebellious flame sparked in Jamal’s black eyes. “Were you using a respectful tone when she was using her skills to relax you?”

Caution exploded as DeMarcus lunged for the smaller man. Jamal jumped back.

Someone grabbed DeMarcus from behind. Heavily muscled arms wrapped around his chest. Oscar’s urgent voice came from behind his ear. “Don’t do it. He’s not worth the hassle.”

Jamal bounced on his toes. His words tumbled over each other in an adrenaline rush. “Yeah. You know what they’d do to you if you hit me, man? You know what they’d do? They’d suspend your ass. Yeah. And they’d probably fine your ass, too. Yeah. Come on, then. Hit me. You want to hit me? Come on, then.”

DeMarcus saw red. He forced himself to remain still within Oscar’s hold. He couldn’t pummel his players, no matter how much they deserved it. Not only was it against NBA rules, but it also was not the way to maintain discipline and control of the team.

DeMarcus’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, loosening Oscar’s bond across his chest. “I’m all right.”

As Oscar stepped back, a movement from the corner of his right eye distracted DeMarcus.

Two strides carried Warrick to Jamal’s side. He drew back his right arm and planted a punch to the rookie’s jaw that knocked the younger man on his butt and silenced the court.