King of the Court

Ben hates this plan and lets that be known as he leads me out of the house and into the back seat of his SUV. Up front, a security guard sits beside Ben’s driver. The guard turns back to nod at me while Ben finishes explaining why it’s better if I just let his driver take me all the way home.

“Nikko agrees.”

“Sure do,” his security guard says with a big smile.

“You pay him—of course he agrees with you.”

We start to drive away from the house and Nikko turns to speak into a radio, reporting on where we’re headed to someone on the other end.

“Let me see your phone for a minute,” Ben says.

I hand it over without a second thought and watch as he programs in his number. He looks up at me pointedly, as if waiting for me to argue. I smile and shake my head, letting him know he won’t hear a peep out of me on the subject. Not this time around.

While he has it, he also quickly changes his settings so I have access to his iCloud calendar. Then he shows me how to view it on my end.

“I think it’ll be easier for you to stay up to date with where I’m traveling and when I have games.”

I nod, grateful that he thought of it, that way I know what to expect a bit more.

“Just so you know, the next month will be kind of intense for me,” I admit sheepishly. “The spring semester ends in early May, so for the next five weeks, I’ll be wrapping up projects, finishing papers, studying for final exams. I also TA for a class…so it can be a lot, especially toward the end of April.”

He nods, mulling it over. “I’ll be in the same boat until the NBA season wraps up in May.”

My stomach drops, and he must sense it because he takes my hand as he continues, “My schedule will be intense until then. I’ll play a game every two to three days either in LA or on the road. If the season continues like it is, we’ll play in the finals as well.”

It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by this news. I mean, what time does that leave for us? When will I see him next?

“Now you see why I asked you to move in,” he says with a sad smile as he squeezes my hand.

I swallow past the emotion tightening my throat.

Moving in.

No.

It’s too soon. Far too soon.

We’ll just have to make do with what we have.

We come to a stop as we wait for the neighborhood gates to slowly swing open. I lament the fact that it’s already time for me to leave Ben. The drive was too short. In a moment, I’ll get out to wait at my bus stop, and Ben will continue on to the airport. I won’t see him for a few days, if then.

I take my phone back from him and stuff it into my bag, prepared to unbuckle my seat belt when I hear Ben curse under his breath. I look up and follow his gaze to see the two photographers parked on the side of the road, right near the stop, their cameras aimed straight at us.

I flinch in shock.

“The windows are tinted,” Ben assures me, but I still duck slightly in my seat, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to hide from them. Have they been sitting here for two days? Lurking and hoping we’d show? Or are they always here, waiting for Ben?

“Duncan has also reported a paparazzi helicopter circling overhead. I don’t feel comfortable letting you out here, ma’am,” Nikko tells me, turning around with an apologetic expression. “Unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“It’s not,” Ben answers quickly on my behalf before turning to me. “Do you have time to ride with me to the airport first, or should I take you back so Duncan can drive you straight to campus?”

I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed for causing a problem. “Whatever’s easier. I don’t mind dropping you off.”

He nods to Nikko, confirming he heard the information, and then Nikko’s radioing someone else, relaying the plan so everyone’s on the same page.

I stare out the window, watching the photographers hurriedly snap photos as we drive out of the neighborhood. I wince with every flash.

“It’s not something anyone should have to deal with,” Ben says, and his tone momentarily distracts me from the scene outside. When I refocus my attention on him, I’m surprised to see how angry he is. Tense shoulders, tight fist, furrowed brow. The tension radiating off him warns me to keep my distance, but I ignore it and lean closer, trying to get him to look at me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand before. I’m sorry I fought you about the driver.”

His brown eyes flit to me, and I see the storm brewing in them.